“Nothing.” I swiveled and buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone, and in a moment Wolfe answered.
“Inspector Cramer is here,” I told him. “A woman named Priscilla Eads has been murdered, and Cramer says my fingerprints are on her luggage and wants to know how come. Have I ever heard of her?”
“Confound it.”
“Yes, sir. I double. Do you want to come down here?”
“No.”
“Shall we go up there?”
“No. You know all that I do.”
“I sure do. So I unload?”
“Certainly. Why not?”
“Yeah, why not. She’s dead.”