“I want to see Mr. Wolfe,” she blurted, and proved it by going right on, to the office door and in. I am supposed to block visitors until I learn if Wolfe will see them, but it would have taken a flying tackle, and I let her go and merely followed. By the time I got there she was in the red leather chair as if she owned it.
Wolfe, a germination card in each hand, was scowling at her.
“They’ve arrested him,” she said. “For murder.”
“Naturally,” Wolfe growled.
“But he didn’t do it!”
“Also naturally. I mean naturally you would say that.”
“But it’s true! I want you to prove it.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Not required. They must prove he did. You’re all tight, madam. Too tight. Have you eaten today?”
“Good lord,” she said, “all you two think about is eating. Last night him, and now—” She started to laugh, at first a sort of gurgle, and then really out with it. I got up and went to her, took her head between my hands to turn her face up, and kissed her on the lips unmistakably. With some customers that is more satisfactory than a slap, and just as effective. I paid no attention to her first convulsive jerks, and released her head only when she quit shaking and got hold of my hair. I pulled loose and backed up a step.
“What on earth—” She gasped.