“I’m Archie Goodwin. You know me.”
“Certainly.” Gebert’s voice sounded purely conversational. “You’re the fellow who doesn’t like scenes.”
“Right. That’s why I’m out here when I ought to be in bed. Why are you out here?”
“I drove out to get my umbrella which I left here last fall.”
“Oh. You did. Did you find it?”
“No. Someone must have taken it.”
“That’s too bad. Listen to me a minute. Out on the porch is an army of state police and New York detectives and a Putnam County prosecutor. How would you like to have to tell them about your umbrella?”
I saw the outline of his shoulders move with his shrug. “If it would amuse them. I hardly suppose they know where it is.”
“I see. You’re fancy free, huh? Not a care in the world. In that case, what are you doing sitting in here alone in the dark? — A little louder, Orrie.”
Gebert shrugged again. “Your colleague — the little chap with the big nose — asked me to come in here. He was very courteous to me when I was trying a window because I had no key.”