“No,” Cramer said, “that would only be a regrettable accident. That’s all for now, Mr. Koven. Take him out, Sol, and bring Hildebrand.”
As Koven arose and the dick came forward I reached for the phone on Pat Lowell’s desk. My hand got there, but so did Cramer’s, hard on top of mine.
“The lines here are busy,” he stated. “There’ll be a phone you can use downtown. Do you want to hear Hildebrand before you comment?”
“I’m crazy to hear Hildebrand,” I assured him. “No doubt he’ll explain that I tossed the gun in the monkey’s cage to frame the monkey. Let’s just wait for Hildebrand.”
It wasn’t much of a wait; the Homicide boys are snappy. Byram Hildebrand, ushered in by Sol, stood and gave me a long straight look before he took the chair Koven had vacated. He still had good presence, with his fine mat of nearly white hair, but his extremities were nervous. When he sat he couldn’t find comfortable spots for either his hands or his feet.
“This will only take a minute,” Cramer told him. “I just want to check on Sunday morning. Yesterday. You were here working?”
Hildebrand nodded, and the squeak came. “I was putting on some touches. I often work Sundays.”
“You were in there in the workroom?”
“Yes. Mr. Getz was there, making some suggestions. I was doubtful about one of his suggestions and went upstairs to consult Mr. Koven, but Mrs. Koven was there in the hall and—”
“You mean the big hall one flight up?”