“Not at all. We were not excited, except possibly Eugene. He was the only one who left his chair.”
“Did he change his coat, or put it on or anything, after you got there?”
“No. He wore a morning coat. He did not remove it.”
“The bottle with what was left of the nitroglycerin was found in the pocket of his coat.”
“So I understand.”
I sat back and looked at him again. I would have given the roadster and a couple of extra tires to know if he was lying. He was as much out of my class as Paul Chapin was. There was no way for me to get at him that I could see. I said:
“Will you have lunch with Mr. Nero Wolfe tomorrow at one o’clock?”
“I’m sorry. I shall be engaged.”
“Friday?”
He shook his head. “No. Not any day. You are in error regarding me, Mr. Goodwin. I am not a knot to be untangled or a nut to be cracked. Give up your hope that I am deceptive, as most men are; I am really as simple as I seem. Give up your hope, too, to demonstrate the guilt of Paul Chapin in the death of Eugene Dreyer. It is not feasible. I know it isn’t; I was there.”