“The commissioner wants you.”
“Is he eating?” Waiting for no reply, Wolfe turned his head and bellowed, “Mr. Skinner! I’m dining!”
It wasn’t very polite, I thought, to be sarcastic about the sandwiches and beer. Chisholm had provided. Hennessy started a remark which indicated that he agreed with me, but it was interrupted by the appearance of Commissioner Skinner at his elbow. Hennessy stepped in and aside, and Skinner entered, followed by Chisholm, and approached the couch. He spoke. “Dining?”
“Yes, sir.” Wolfe reached for another sandwich. “As you see.”
“Not your accustomed style.”
Wolfe grunted and bit into the sandwich.
Skinner kept it friendly. “I’ve just learned that four men who were told they could go are still here — Baker, Prentiss, Neill, and Eston. When Inspector Hennessy asked them why, they told him that Mr. Chisholm asked them to stay. Mr. Chisholm says that he did so at your suggestion. He understood that you want to speak with them after our men have all left. Is that correct?”
Wolfe nodded. “I made it quite plain, I thought.”
“M-m-m-m.” The commissioner regarded him. “You see, I know you fairly well. You wouldn’t dream of hanging on here half the night to speak with those men merely as a routine step in an investigation. And besides, at Mr. Chisholm’s request you have already been permitted to speak with them, and with several others. You’re cooking something. Those are the four men who were drugged, but they left the clubhouse for the field with the rest of the team, so, the way we figure it, none of them killed Ferrone. How do you figure it?”
Wolfe swallowed the last of a well-chewed bite. “I don’t.”