“Maybe.” Cramer straightened up like a man of action. “Okay, we’ll proceed on that basis and find out. First of all, I want to ask them some questions.”
“I suppose you do.” Wolfe detested sitting and listening to someone else ask questions, especially in his own office. “And Miss Geer is going to be difficult. She wants a lawyer. You are handicapped, of course, by your official status. Which one do you want first?”
Cramer stood up. “I’ve got to see that room before I talk to either of them. I want to see where things are. Especially that vase.”
I was amazed to see that Wolfe was leaving his chair too, knowing his attitude toward all non-essential movement, but as I went to open the door to the front room for them I reflected that while he hated hearing Cramer ask questions, under the circumstances he would hate even more not hearing him, in case conversation got started in the front room. Stebbins tagged in after them, and I brought up the rear.
Jane was seated on the piano bench. Jensen was on the sofa, but arose as we entered. Fritz was standing by a window, his hand with the gun coming up as Jensen moved.
Wolfe said, “This is Inspector Cramer, Miss Geer.”
She didn’t make a sound or move a muscle.
Wolfe said, “I believe you’ve met the inspector, Mr. Jensen.”
“Yes, I have.” Jensen’s voice had gone unused so long it squeaked, and he cleared his throat. “So the agreement not to call in the police was a farce too.” He was bitter.
“There was no such agreement. I said that Mr. Cramer couldn’t be kept out of it indefinitely. The bullet that was fired at me — at Mr. Hackett — came from the gun that was found in that vase” — Wolfe pointed at it — “and so did those that killed your father and Mr. Doyle. So the field has become— ah, restricted.”