“Well, don’t take it out on me. I’m not the law, I’m just a cop. Where did you buy the oil of bitter almonds?”
“Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean to ask me that?”
Cramer looked uncomfortable. But he stuck to it: “I ask it.”
“You do. Very well, sir. I know, of course, that the sale of that stuff is illegal. The law again! A chemist who is a friend of mine accommodated me. If you are petty enough to attempt to find out who he is, and to take steps to punish him for his infraction of the law, I shall leave this country and go to live in Egypt, where I own a house. If I do that, one out of ten of your murder cases will go unsolved, and I hope to heaven you suffer for it.”
Cramer removed his cigar, looked at Wolfe, and slowly shook his head from side to side. Finally he said, “I’m all right, I’m sitting pretty. I won’t snoop on your friend. I’ll be ready to retire in another ten years. What worries me is this, what’s the police force doing to do, say a hundred years from now, when you’re dead? They’ll have a hell of a time.” He went on hastily, “Now don’t get sore. I know a jack from a deuce. There’s another thing I wanted to ask you. You know I’ve got a room down at headquarters where we keep some curiosities — hatchets and guns and so on that have been used at one time or another. How’s chances to take that red box and add it to the collection? I’d really like to have it. You won’t need it any more.”
“I couldn’t say.” Wolfe leaned forward to pour more beer. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Goodwin. I presented it to him.”
Cramer turned to me. “How about it, Goodwin? Okay?”
“Nope.” I shook my head and grinned at him. “Sorry, Inspector. I’m going to hang onto it. It’s just what I needed to keep postage stamps in.”
I’m still using it. But Cramer got one for his collection too, for about a week later McNair’s own box was found on the family property in Scotland, behind a stone in the chimney. It had enough dope in it for three juries, but by that time Calida Frost was already buried.