“Mr. Goodwin is impulsive. You read that receipt. So you’re going to charge Mrs. Poor?”
“I think I am.”
“Indeed.”
Cramer scowled at him. “Don’t indeed me. Goddam it, didn’t I take the trouble to stop and tell you about it?”
“Go ahead and tell me.”
“Very well.” Cramer screwed up his lips, deciding where to start. “First I’d appreciate an answer to a question. What is this identity angle anyhow? There’s not the slightest doubt it was Poor. Not only the corpse itself, other things, like the elevator man that took them up when they came home, and the people up at the tavern where they ate dinner. He was known there. And what did you want a photograph for?”
“Did you bring one?”
“No. Apparently there aren’t any. I wasn’t interested after the dentist and barber verified the corpse, but I understand the papers had to settle for sketches drawn from descriptions. One reason I came here, what’s your idea doubting the identity of the corpse?”
Wolfe shook his head. “Evidently silly, since you’re ready to take Mrs. Poor. You were telling me...”
“Yeah. Of course Goodwin told you about the box of cigars.”