“Have you talked with them?”
“No. I merely invited them to lunch.”
“Then don’t until I’ve reported. I ran into Cramer and Stebbins at the barber shop.”
“Confound it.” The serving spoon stopped en route.
“Yeah. It’s quite interesting. But first lunch, of course. I’ll go put the chain bolt on. Please dish me some veal?”
Carl and Tina were speechless.
That lunch was one of Wolfe’s best performances; I admit it. He didn’t know a damn thing about Carl and Tina except that they were in a jam, he knew that Cramer and Stebbins dealt only with homicide, and he had a strong prejudice against entertaining murderers at his table. Some years back a female prospective client had dined with us in an emergency, on roast Watertown goose. It turned out that she was a husband-poisoner, and roast goose had been off our menu for a solid year, though Wolfe was very fond of it. His only hope now was his knowledge that I was aware of his prejudice and even shared it, and I took my seat at the end of the table and disposed of a big helping of the veal and mushrooms, followed by pumpkin puffs, without batting an eye. He must have been fairly tight inside, but he stayed the polite host clear to the end, with no sign of hurry even with the coffee. Then, however, the tension began to tell. Ordinarily his return to the office after a meal was leisurely and lazy, but this time he went right along, followed by his guests and me. He marched across to his chair behind the desk, got his bulk deposited, and snapped at me, “What have you got us into now?”
I was pulling chairs around so the Vardas family would be facing him, but stopped to give him an eye.
“Us?” I inquired.
“Yes.”