His eyes moved. “Come, Miss Nieder. Come, Archie.”
He headed for the door to the hall, detouring around the red leather chair, and I followed him, gathering Cynthia by the elbow as I went by. I presumed we were bound for the plant rooms, which were three flights up, and as we entered the hall I was wondering whether all three of us could crowd into Wolfe’s personal elevator without losing dignity. But that problem didn’t have to be solved. I was opening my mouth to tell Wolfe that Cynthia and I would use the stairs when here came Cramer striding by. Without a glance at us or a word he went to the front door, opened it, crossed the sill to the stoop, and banged the door shut.
I stepped to the door and put the chain bolt in its slot. Any city employee arriving with papers would have only a two-inch crack to hand the papers through.
Wolfe led us back to the office, motioned us to our chairs, sat at his desk, and demanded of Cynthia, “Did you kill that man?”
She met his eyes and gulped. Then her head went down, her hands went up, her shoulders started to shake, and sounds began to come.
VI
That was terrible. The only thing that shakes Wolfe as profoundly as having a meal rudely interrupted is a bawling woman. His reaction to the first is rage, to the second panic.
I tried to reassure him. “She’ll be all right. She just has to—”
“Stop her,” he muttered desperately.
I crossed to her, yanked her hands away, using muscle, pulled her face up, and kissed her hard and good on the lips. She jerked her face aside, shoved at me, and protested, “What the hell!”