Cramer had been holding in with difficulty. Holding in is a chronic problem with him, and it shows in various ways, chiefly by his big red face getting redder, with the color spreading lower on his thick muscular neck. He blurted at Wolfe, “Honest to God, I’m surprised! Not at Goodwin so much, but you! Subornation of perjury. Attempting to bribe a witness to give false testimony. I’ve known you to take some fat risks, but holy saints, this ain’t risking it, it’s yelling for it!”
Wolfe was frowning. “Are you saying that Mr. Goodwin and I have suborned perjury?”
“You’ve tried to!”
“Good heavens, that’s a serious charge. You must have warrants. Serve them, by all means.”
“Just give it to him, Inspector,” Wengert advised.
Cramer’s head jerked to me. “Did you go last evening to the apartment of Delia Devlin on Fifty-first Street?”
“It’s hotter than yesterday,” I stated.
“I asked you a question!”
“This is infantile,” Wolfe told him. “You must know the legal procedure with suspected felons. We do.”
“Just give it to him,” Wengert repeated.