Since it was the first group conference we had had for a long time, all five of us, I thought it should be done right, so I went to the kitchen, and Fritz and I collaborated. It was nothing fancy — a bourbon and soda for Saul, and gin fizzes for Orrie and me, and beer for Fred Durkin and Wolfe. Straight rye with no chaser was Fred’s drink, but I had never been able to talk him out of the notion that he would offend Wolfe if he didn’t take beer when invited. So while the rest of us sat and enjoyed what we liked, Fred sipped away at what I had heard him call slop.
Since they were supposed to be thinking something over, they tried to look thoughtful, and I tactfully filled in by giving Wolfe a few sidelights on the afternoon, such as the bottle of Scotch Rony had kept in the bond box. But it was too much for Saul, who hated to mark time. When his highball was half gone he lifted the glass, drained it, put it down, and spoke to Wolfe.
“What you were saying. If you want me to work on this, all I expect is to get paid. If I get anything for you, then its yours. My mouth doesn’t need any special arrangement to keep it shut.”
Wolfe nodded. “I know you’re discreet, Saul. All of you are. But this time what you’ll get for me may be evidence that would convict a murderer if it were used, and there’s a possibility that it may not be used. That would be a strain.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make out all right. If you can stand it I can.”
“What the hell,” Fred blurted. “I don’t get it. What do you think we’d do, play pattycake with the cops?”
“It’s not that,” Orrie told him impatiently. “He knows how we like cops. Maybe you never heard about having a conscience.”
“Never did. Describe it to me.”
“I can’t. I’m too sophisticated to have one and you’re too primitive.”
“Then there’s no problem.”