“That’s a lie!” Julie blurted, not at Mrs. Whitten, since she wasn’t speaking to her, but at Wolfe. She was fully as pale as Mrs. Whitten had been the evening before, but not like a corpse, anything but. She was blurting on. “I didn’t say that! I said ‘You killed him and I’ll kill you!’ And I wish I had — oh, I wish I had!”
“You came close to it,” Wolfe growled. He let his eyes come halfway open, now that he had them. “I should explain to both of you that I’ve merely been trying to get started. Please forget each other, as far as possible, and listen to me. If we’re going to work this out together you need to know how I got where I am now.”
The doorbell rang. Under the circumstances it was up to Fritz, but on the other hand we didn’t want any trivial interruptions just then, so I scooted for the hall, closing the office doors as I went. One glance through the glass panel showed that my point was well taken. Inspector Cramer was there. He was alone, so I didn’t bother with the chain bolt but put my foot where it would keep the door to a six-inch crack. I spoke through the crack to his big broad shoulders and his round, red, but by no means flabby face.
“Good morning. What have I done now?”
“We sent a man,” he snapped, “to see Mrs. Whitten about something, and he was told she’s here. What’s Wolfe up to? I want to see her.”
“I never know what he’s up to, but I’ll go ask him. He’ll want to know how it stands. Is there a warrant for her?”
“Hell no. A warrant for what?”
“I merely asked. Kindly withdraw your toe.”
I banged the door shut, went to the office, and told Wolfe, “The man about the chair. The one with a gash in it. He learned more or less accidentally that it’s here, and that made him curious, and he wants to talk. He has no signed paper and no idea of getting one. Shall I tell him you’re busy?”
I was sure he would say yes, but he didn’t. Instead, he decoded it. “Is it Mr. Cramer?”