“You run this place and can help us. However, I address all of you who work here. Put your minds on this. You too, Jimmie. Stop a moment and listen.”
“I can work and listen too.”
“No. I want full attention.”
Jimmie backed off a step and stood.
“This,” Wolfe said, “could take a few minutes or it could take all night. What we’re after is an object with something on it that identifies it as coming from this shop. Ideally it should be the name and address or phone number, but we’ll take less if we have to. Since we’re proceeding on my assumptions, we are supposing that it was inside the newspaper as Wallen was carrying it, so it is not a business card or match folder or bottle or comb or brush. It should be flat and of considerable dimensions. Another point, it should be easily recognizable. All of you went to the booth and were questioned by Wallen, but he showed you no such object and mentioned none. Is that correct?”
They nodded and mumbled affirmatives. Ed said “Yes!” in a loud voice.
“Then only the murderer saw it or was told of it. Wallen must for some reason have shown it to him or asked him about it, and not the rest of you; or its edge may have been protruding from the newspaper, unnoticed by the others; or the murderer may merely have suspected that Wallen had it. In any case, when opportunity offered later for him to dive into the booth and kill Wallen he got the object and disposed of it. If Mr. Stebbins is right about the surveillance that has been maintained, it is still here in the shop. I put it to you, and especially to you, Mr. Fickler: what is it and where is it?”
They looked at one another and back at Wolfe. Philip said in his thin tenor, “Maybe it was the newspaper itself.”
“Possibly. I doubt it. Where is it, Mr. Cramer?”
“At the laboratory. There’s nothing on it or in it that could have brought Wallen here.”