“Thanks for the conclusion,” Cramer growled. “Did she tell you that? That she had killed her uncle?”
“Oh, no. No, indeed.”
“Exactly what did she want you to do?”
Wolfe smiled the same smile. “That’s why I came to that conclusion. She left it very vague about what I was to do. I couldn’t possibly tell you.”
“Try telling me what you told Goodwin to do when you sent him up there.”
Wolfe frowned and called on me. “Do you remember, Archie?”
“Sure I remember.” I was eager to help. “You told me to keep a sharp lookout and report everything that happened.” I beamed at Cramer. “Talk about the dancers of Bali! Did you ever sit and watch six beautiful girls prancing—”
“You’re a goddam liar,” he rasped at Wolfe.
Wolfe’s chin went up an eighth of an inch. “Mr. Cramer,” he said coldly, “I’m tired of this. Mr. Goodwin can’t throw you out of here once you’re in, but we can leave you here and go upstairs, and you know the limits of your license as well as I do.”
He pushed back his chair and was on his feet. “You say I’m lying. Prove it. But for less provocation than you have given me by your uncivilized conduct in my dining room, I would lie all day and all night. Regarding this murder of a bearded stranger, where do I fit, or Mr. Goodwin? Pah. Connect us if you can! Should you be rash enough to constrain us as material witnesses, we would teach you something of the art of lying, and we wouldn’t squeeze out on bail; we would dislocate your nose with a habeas corpus ad subjiciendum.”