“Excuse me,” I said coldly, “for bringing in something that doesn’t help.”
“I don’t say it doesn’t help. If and when this gets to a courtroom, it will unquestionably help there. Tell me again what Mrs. Emerson said.”
I did so, in a restrained manner. Looking back now, I can see that he was right, but at the time I was damn proud of that stone.
Since it gives the place an unpleasant atmosphere for one of us to be carrying a grudge, I thought it would be better if I got even immediately, and I did so by not eating dinner with him, giving as a reason my recent consumption of sandwiches. He loves to talk when he’s eating, business being taboo, so as I sat alone in the office, catching up with the chores, my humor kept getting better, and by the time he rejoined me I was perfectly willing to speak to him — in fact, I had thought up a few comments about the importance of evidence in criminal cases which would have been timely and appropriate.
I had to put off making them because he was still getting himself arranged to his after-dinner position in his chair when the doorbell rang and, Fritz being busy with the dishes, I went to answer it. It was Saul Panzer and Orrie Cather. I ushered them into the office. Orrie got comfortable, with his legs crossed, and took out a pipe and filled it, while Saul sat erect on the front half of the big red leather chair.
“I could have phoned,” Saul said, “but it’s a little complicated and we need instructions. We may have something and we may not.”
“The son or the mother?” Wolfe asked.
“The son. You said to take him first.” Saul took out a notebook and glanced at a page. “He knows a lot of people. How do you want it, dates and details?”
“Sketch it first.”
“Yes, sir.” Saul closed the notebook. “He spends about half his time in New York and the rest all over. Owns his own airplane, a Mecklin, and keeps it in New Jersey. Belongs to only one club, the Harvard. Has been arrested for speeding twice in the past three years, once—”