“If you promised not to I’m afraid we’re at an impasse. I’m not surprised that Mr. Goodwin makes this demand; he would be a ninny if he didn’t. So that ends it. I shall not pursue it. If you are not justified in expecting an answer to an anonymous accusation, neither am I.”
Kuffner puckered his mouth, and the mustache was a parenthesis lying on its back. His hand went automatically to his side pocket and came out with a cigarette case. He opened it and removed one, looked at it and became aware of it, and asked, “May I smoke?”
“No,” Wolfe said flatly.
That was by no means a hard and fast rule. It had been relaxed not only for some men, but even for a few women, not necessarily prospective clients. Kuffner was frustrated and confused. A performance of a basic habit had been arbitrarily stopped, and also he had a problem. Taking a cigarette from a metal case with a clamp needs only a flick of a finger and thumb, but putting one back in is more complicated. He solved it by returning the case to his left side pocket and putting the cigarette in his right one. He was trying not to be flustered, but his voice showed it. “It was Miss Angela Wright.”
I met it like a man. “Miss Wright told you that?”
“Yes.”
“That I made her that offer?”
“Yes.”
I got up and made for my desk. Wolfe asked, “What are you doing?”
“Phoning Miss Wright to ask her. If she says yes, I’ll call her a purebred liar and offer her a pedigree certificate for five thousand bucks.”