“Hold it!” Cramer snapped. “You’re charging Jean Estey with murder, with no evidence. I said you’re responsible for what you say, but I got them here, and there’s a limit. Give me a fact, or you’re through.”
Wolfe made a face. “I have only one fact, Mr. Cramer, and that hasn’t been established.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Very well, Archie, get them.”
As I got up to go to the connecting door to the front room I saw Purley Stebbins pay Wolfe one of the biggest tributes he ever got. He turned his head and dropped his eyes to Jean Estey’s hands. All Wolfe had done was make a speech. As Cramer had said, he hadn’t produced a sliver of evidence. And Jean Estey’s face showed no sign of funk. But Purley, next to her, fastened his eyes on her hands.
I pulled the door open and called, “Okay, Orrie!”
Some heads turned and some didn’t as they entered. Orrie stayed in the rear, and I conducted Levine through the crowd to a chair that was waiting for him at the corner of my desk, from which he had an unobstructed view of the front row. He was trying not to show how nervous he was, but when he sat he barely got onto the edge of the chair, and I had to tell him to get more comfortable.
Wolfe addressed him. “Your name is Bernard Levine?”
“Yes, sir.” He licked his lips.
“This gentleman near the end of my desk is Inspector Cramer of the New York Police Department. He is here on duty, but as an observer. My questions are my own, and you answer at your discretion. Is that clear?”