Bright as it was, it didn’t go over so well because they stepped in with the first hello and were well along the hall by the time I finished. I shut the door and followed. Entering the office, it struck me as encouraging that Wengert and Wolfe were shaking hands, but then I remembered the District Attorney who always shook hands with the defendant before he opened up, to show there was no personal feeling. Cramer usually took the red leather chair at the end of Wolfe’s desk, but this time he let Wengert have it, and I moved up one of the yellow ones for him.
“I sent you my regards the other day by Goodwin,” Wengert said. “I hope he remembered.”
Wolfe inclined his head. “He did. Thank you.”
“I didn’t know then I’d be seeing you so soon.”
“Nor did I.”
“No, I suppose not.” Wengert crossed his legs and leaned back. “Goodwin said you had taken on a job for Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Rackell.”
“That’s right.” Wolfe was casual. “To investigate the death of their nephew. They said he had been working for the FBI. It would have been impolitic to wander into your line of fire, so I sent Mr. Goodwin to see you.”
“Let’s cut the blah. You sent him to get information you could use.”
Wolfe shrugged. “Confronted with omniscience, I bow. My motives are often obscure to myself, but you know all about them. Your advantage. If that was his errand, he failed. You told him nothing.”
“Right. Our files are for us, not for private operators. My coming here tells you that we’ve got a hand in this case, but that’s not for publication. If you didn’t want to get into our line of fire you certainly stumbled. But officially it’s a Manhattan homicide, so I’m here to listen.” He nodded at Cramer. “Go ahead, Inspector.”