“The main complication,” Wolfe said in his purring tone, “is this. There are a man and a woman in the front room. Granting that one of them is the murderer, which one?”
Cramer frowned at him. “You didn’t say anything about granting. You said that you had caught the murderer.”
“So I have. He or she is in there, under guard. I suppose I’ll have to tell you what happened, if I expect you to start your army of men digging, and it looks as though that’s the only way to go about it. I have no army. To begin with, when I received that threat I hired a man who resembles me — superficially — in physical characteristics to be visible, both in this house and on the street, and I kept to my room. Nothing occurred—”
“Not involved, not inter—”
“Please don’t interrupt,” Wolfe snapped. “I’m telling you what happened.”
He did so. I have a high opinion of myself as a reporter of a series of events, but, listening to Wolfe as an expert, I had to admit I couldn’t have done much better. He didn’t waste any words, but he got it all in.
Purley nearly bit the end of his tongue off, trying to get it all in his notebook, but I didn’t bother.
Wolfe finished. Cramer sat scowling. Wolfe purred, “Well, sir, there’s the problem. I doubt if it can be solved with what we have, or what is available on the premises. You’ll have to get your men started on the indicated lines. I’ll be available for consultation.”
“I wish,” Cramer growled, gazing at him as if he were looking at a puzzle he had seen and worked at many times but had never got solved, “I wish I knew how much dressing you put on that.”
“Not any. I have only one concern in this. I have no client. I withheld nothing and added nothing.”