“Good enough for me. No man has stepped outside this shop alone. Something could have been slipped to a customer, but that’s stretching it, and we’ve had them under our eyes.”
“Not, apparently, the one who assaulted Miss Stahl.”
“That was in the shop. Is that a point?”
“I suppose not. Then we assume that the object is still here. The seventh and last assumption is this, that no proper search for such an object has been made. I hasten to add, Mr. Stebbins, that that is not a point either. You and your men are unquestionably capable of making a proper search, but I assume that you haven’t done so here on account of Carl and Tina. Thinking them guilty, naturally you thought they wouldn’t leave an incriminating object behind them. However, I can just ask you. Have you searched thoroughly?”
“We’ve looked.”
“Yes. But granting all my assumptions, which of course you don’t, has there been a proper search?”
“No.”
“Then it’s about time. Mr. Fickler!”
Fickler nearly jumped out of his skin. He, like all the others, had been buried, intent on Wolfe’s buildup, and the sudden pop and crackle of his own name startled him. He jerked his head up, and I had never seen his pudgy face look so bloated.
“Me?” he squeaked.