“Not again. Prior to.”
“Prior to what?”
“To the discovery of the body.” His eyes slanted at me. “What do you think of this? A man — or a woman, no matter which — entered the studio and killed Mion in a manner that would convey a strong presumption of suicide. He deliberately planned it that way: it’s not as difficult as the traditional police theory assumes. Then he placed the gun on the base of the bust, twenty feet away from the body, and departed. What do you think of it?”
“I don’t think; I know. It didn’t happen that way, unless he suddenly went batty after he pulled the trigger, which seems far-fetched.”
“Precisely. Having planned it to look like suicide, he placed the gun on the floor near the body. That is not discussible. But Mr. Weppler found it on the bust. Who took it from the floor and put it there, and when and why?”
“Yeah.” I scratched my nose. “That’s annoying. I’ll admit the question is relevant and material, but why the hell do you let it in? Why don’t you let it lay? Get him or her pinched, indicted, and tried. The cops will testify that the gun was there on the floor, and that will suit the jury fine, since it was framed for suicide. Verdict, provided you’ve sewed up things like motive and opportunity, guilty.” I waved a hand. “Simple. Why bring it up at all about the gun being so fidgety?”
Wolfe grunted. “The clients. I have to earn my fee. They want their minds cleared, and they know the gun wasn’t on the floor when they discovered the body. For the jury, I can’t leave it that the gun was on the bust, and for the clients I can’t leave it that it stayed on the floor where the murderer put it. Having, through Mr. Weppler, got it from the bust to the floor, I must now go back and get it from the floor to the bust. You see that?”
“Only too plain.” I whistled for help. “I’ll be damned. How’re you coming on?”
“I’ve just started.” He sat up straight. “But I must clear my own mind, for lunch. Please hand me Mr. Shanks’s orchid catalogue.”
That was all for the moment, and during meals Wolfe excludes business not only from the conversation but also from the air. After lunch he returned to the office and got comfortable in his chair. For a while he just sat, and then began pushing his lips out and in, and I knew he was doing hard labor. Having no idea how he proposed to move the gun from the floor to the bust, I was wondering how long it might take, and whether he would have to get Cramer to arrest someone else, and if so who. I have seen him sit there like that, working for hours on end, but this time twenty minutes did it. It wasn’t three o’clock yet when he pronounced my name gruffly and opened his eyes.