Cramer snorted. “If you ask me there’s too much of you. About a hundred and eighty pounds too much. Come on, Wengert, I’m late.”
They went. I supposed that was the last of that, but a couple of days later, Monday afternoon, while Wolfe was dictating a letter, the phone rang and a voice said it was Carol Berk. I said hello, showing no enthusiasm, and asked her, “How are your manners?”
“Rotten when required,” she said cheerfully. “Privately like this, from a phone booth, I can be charming. I thought it was only fair for me to apologize for calling you little.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“I thought you might prefer it face to face. I’m willing to take the trouble if you insist.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I had an idea last week, Wednesday I think it was, that I ought to find time some day to tell you why I don’t like you. We could meet and clean it up. I’ll tell you why I don’t like you, and you’ll apologize. The Churchill bar at four-thirty? Can you be seen with me in public?”
“Certainly, I’m supposed to be seen in public.”
“Fine. I’ll have a hammer and sickle in my buttonhole.”
As I hung up and swiveled I told Wolfe, “That was Carol Berk. I’m going to buy her a drink and possibly food. Since she was connected with the case we’ve just finished, of course I’ll put it on the expense account.”
“You will not,” he asserted and resumed the dictation.