I got a glass of milk from the kitchen and took it to the office. Wolfe, who was drinking beer, didn’t scowl at me. He seldom scowls when he is drinking beer.
“Where’s Bootsy?” I inquired.
“No,” he said emphatically.
“Okay.” I surrendered. “Where’s Jet?”
“Down in Fritz’s room. He’ll sleep there. You don’t like him.”
“That’s not true, but you can have it. It means you can’t blame him on me, and that suits me fine.” I sipped milk. “Anyhow, that will no longer be an issue after Homicide comes in the morning with a document and takes him away.”
“They won’t come.”
“I offer twenty to one. Before noon.”
He nodded. “That was roughly my own estimate of the probability, so while you were out I phoned Mr. Cramer. I suggested an arrangement, and I suppose he inferred that if he declined the arrangement the dog might be beyond his jurisdiction before tomorrow, though I didn’t say so. I may have given that impression.”
“Yeah. You should be more careful.”