I don’t know how he did it. Basically and visibly he was a chinless bald-headed runt, and his voice sounded like a hinge that needed oil, but there was something in the way he said Inspector Cramer that gave the double impression that (a) there was a rumor going around that Cramer did not actually exist, and (b) that if he did exist Conroy Blaney could make him stop existing by lifting a finger if he wanted to. I regarded him with admiration.
“Yes,” I said. “Are you tailing him?”
“Good heavens, no. I want to see Nero Wolfe.”
“Okay, then follow me, and after we are inside, don’t talk. Get it?”
“I want to see Nero Wolfe immediately.”
“Will you follow instructions or won’t you? Do you also want to see Cramer?”
“Very well, open the door.”
As I inserted my key I was telling myself, murderer or not, I am going to be wishing this specimen was big enough to plug in the jaw before this is finished. He did, however, obey orders. I conducted him into the front room, the door connecting it with the office being closed, left him there on a chair, and went back by way of the hall.
“It can wait,” I told Wolfe. “The man from Plehn’s with the Dendrobiums.”
But a minute later Cramer was standing up to go. Knowing how suspicious he was, as well as how many good reasons he had had for being suspicious on those premises, and also knowing how cops in general love to open doors that don’t belong to them just to stick a head in, I escorted him to the front and let him out, then returned to the office and told Wolfe who the company was.