“I suspected he would have lit on that.” Wolfe scratched his ear, and I knew he was pleased. “Having read his novels, I am not unacquainted with his style of thought and his taste in allusion.—So he married her. She, of course, having but one jewel and the rest all slag, would not be finicky. Do they make a happy pair? Do you ever see her?”
“Not frequently.” Burton hesitated, then went on, “I see her very seldom. She comes once or twice a week to dress my wife’s hair, and occasionally to sew. I am usually not at home.”
Wolfe murmured, “It is a temptation to cling to competence when we find it.”
Burton nodded. “I suppose so. My wife finds it impossible to forgo the indulgence. Dora is an expert hag.”
“Well.” Wolfe took some beer. “Thank you, doctor. It has often been said, you will find romance in the most unlikely spots. Mr. Chapin’s no longer upsets me, since it fits my presumptions. By the way, this probably clears up another little point. Permit me.—Archie, would you ask Mr. Farrell to join us?”
I went and got Farrell and brought him over. He was brisk; the Scotch was putting some spring into him. He gave Wolfe an amiable look.
“Mr. Farrell. Earlier this evening you remarked to Dr. Burton that it was a wonder he was not the first. I suppose that you meant, the first victim of Mr. Chapin’s campaign. Did that remark mean anything in particular?”
Farrell looked uncomfortable. “Did I say that?”
“You did.”
“I don’t remember it. I suppose I thought I was cracking a joke, I don’t know.”