“Were there no passers-by?”
“None. No one appeared.”
“Did she scream?”
“I didn’t ask her.” He was getting irritated. “I didn’t subject her to an inquisition, you know. She had been hurt and needed attention, and I gave it to her.”
“Sure.” I stood up. “I won’t say much obliged because I squeezed it out. I accept your facts — that is, what you were told — but I ought to warn you that you may get a phone call from Nero Wolfe. I can find my way out.”
He stood up. “I think you used the word ‘confidential.’ May I tell Mrs. Whitten that she need not expect a visit from a police doctor?”
“I’ll do my best. I mean it. But if I were you I wouldn’t give her any more quick promises. They’re apt not to stick.”
I reached for the doorknob, but he was ahead of me and opened it. He took me back down the hall and let me out, and even told me good night. The elevator man kept slanted eyes on me, evidently having been told of the vulgar message I had sent up to a tenant, so I told him that his starting lever needed oil, which it did. Outside I climbed in the car and rolled downtown a little faster than I was supposed to. The clock on the dash said ten minutes to midnight.
When I’m not in the house, especially at night, the front door is always chain bolted, so I had to ring for Fritz to let me in. I went along with him to the kitchen, got a glass and a pitcher of milk, took them to the office, and announced, “Home again, and I brought no company. But I’ve got a tool I think you can pry Pompa loose with, if you want to play it that way. I need some milk on my stomach. My nerves are doubling in brass.”
“What is it?” Marko demanded, out of his chair at me. “What did you—”