“Oh,” Cramer said. “Them?”
“Yes, sir,” Wolfe assured him cooperatively. “As you know or can learn from the files, there is plenty to ask them about it. Mr. Weppler was there for lunch that day, with others, and when the others left he remained with Mrs. Mion. What was discussed? What did they do that afternoon; where were they? Why did Mr. Weppler return to the Mion apartment at seven o’clock? Why did he and Mrs. Mion ascend together to the studio? After finding the body, why did Mr. Weppler go downstairs before notifying the police, to get a list of names from the doorman and elevator man? An extraordinary performance. Was it Mion’s habit to take an afternoon nap? Did he sleep with his mouth open?”
“Much obliged,” Cramer said not gratefully. “You’re a wonder at thinking of questions to ask. But even if Mion did take naps with his mouth open, I doubt if he did it standing up. And after the bullet left his head it went up to the ceiling, as I remember it. Now.” Cramer put his palms on the arms of the chair, with the cigar in his mouth tilted up at about the angle the gun in Mion’s mouth had probably been. “Who’s your client?”
“No,” Wolfe said regretfully. “I’m not ready to disclose that.”
“I thought not. In fact, there isn’t one single damn thing you have disclosed. You’ve got no evidence, or if you have any you’re keeping it under your belt. You’ve got a conclusion you like, that will help a client you won’t name, and you want me to test it for you by arresting two reputable citizens and giving them the works. I’ve seen samples of your nerve before, but this is tops. For God’s sake!”
“I’ve told you I won’t eat it, and neither will you. If—”
“You’d eat one of your own orchids if you had to earn a fee!”
That started the fireworks. I have sat many times and listened to that pair in a slugging match and enjoyed every minute of it, but this one got so hot that I wasn’t exactly sure I was enjoying it. At 12:4 °Cramer was on his feet, starting to leave. At 12:45 he was back in the red leather chair, shaking his fist and snarling. At 12:48 Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes shut, pretending he was deaf. At 12:52 he was pounding his desk and bellowing.
At ten past one it was all over. Cramer had taken it and was gone. He had made a condition, that there would first be a check of the record and a staff talk, but that didn’t matter, since the arrests were to be postponed until after judges had gone home. He accepted the proviso that the victims were not to know that Wolfe had a hand in it, so it could have been said that he was knuckling under, but actually he was merely using horse sense. No matter how much he discounted Wolfe’s three words that were not to be eaten — and he knew from experience how risky it was to discount Wolfe just for the hell of it — they made it fairly probable that it wouldn’t hurt to give Mion’s death another look; and in that case a session with the couple who had found the body was as good a way to start as any. As a matter of fact, the only detail that Cramer choked on was Wolfe’s refusal to tell who his client was.
As I followed Wolfe into the dining room for lunch I remarked to his outspread back, “There are already eight hundred and nine people in the metropolitan area who would like to poison you. This will make it eight hundred and eleven. Don’t think they won’t find out sooner or later.”