“Yes.”
“You accept the condition?”
“Yes.”
Wolfe headed for the steps. I passed him to go ahead and unlock the door. When they were inside I closed it and put the bolt back on. They hung up their coats, and Wolfe took Cramer down the hall and around the corner to the nook. I brought a stool from the kitchen, but Cramer shook his head. Wolfe slid the panel aside, making no sound, looked through, and nodded to Cramer. Cramer took a look and nodded back, and we left him. At the door to the office Wolfe muttered about his hair, and I let him use my pocket comb.
From the way they looked at us as we entered you might have thought they suspected we had been in the cellar fusing a bomb, but one more suspicion wouldn’t make it any harder. I circled to my desk and sat. Wolfe got himself back in place, took a deep breath, and passed his eyes over them.
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but that was unavoidable. Suppose we start over” — he looked at Koven — “say with your surmise to the police that Getz was shot by Mr. Goodwin accidentally in a scuffle. That’s absurd. Getz was shot with a cartridge that had been taken from your gun and put into Goodwin’s gun. Manifestly Goodwin couldn’t have done that, since when he first saw your gun Getz was already dead. Therefore—”
“That’s not true!” Koven cut in. “He had seen it before, when he came to my office. He could have gone back later and got the cartridges.”
Wolfe glared at him in astonishment. “Do you really dare, sir, in front of me, to my face, to cling to that fantastic tale you told the police? That rigmarole?”
“You’re damn right I do!”
“Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “I had hoped, here together, we were prepared to get down to reality. It would have been better to adopt your suggestion to take my information to the police. Perhaps—”