Levy went. The shorthand dick had collected notebooks and other papers and was putting them into a battered briefcase. Cramer looked at Wolfe. Wolfe looked back at him.
“A while ago,” Cramer rasped, “you said something had occurred to you.”
“Did I?” Wolfe inquired coldly.
Their eyes went on clashing until Cramer broke the connection by turning to go. I restrained an impulse to knock their heads together. They were both being childish. If Wolfe really had something, anything at all, he knew damn well Cramer would gladly trade the seals on the office doors for it sight unseen. And Cramer knew damn well he could make the deal himself with nothing to lose. But they were both too sore and stubborn to show any horse sense.
Cramer had circled the end of the table on his way out when Levy re-entered to report, “That man Morley insists on seeing you. He says it’s vital.”
Cramer halted, glowering. “What is he, a screwball?”
“I don’t know, sir. He may be.”
“Oh, bring him in.” Cramer came back around the table to his chair.
VII
This was my first really good look at the middle-aged male with the mop of black hair. His quick-darting eyes were fully as black as his hair, and the appearance of his chin and jowls made it evident that his beard would have been likewise if he gave it half a chance. He sat down and was telling Cramer who and what he was.