“You drank to excess last night. A man who works for me took you home and removed your trousers. Another man who works for me — Mr. Goodwin here, Mr. Archie Goodwin — went there this morning and identified you from articles in your pockets. As for your dining with Miss Karn, she was being followed.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that. I was stupid. It still surprises me to realize I was stupid, because originally I wasn’t meant to be. About my being Dawson, I would like to know who has been informed. The police?”
“No. No one. Mr. and Mrs. Dunn know that you were found somewhere in a drunken stupor, but not where, and not that you were incognito.”
“Is that straight?”
“Yes, sir. I would have no compunction about lying to you, but that’s straight.”
“I’ll take it that way.” I could see that the fingernails of his right hand were digging into his palm. He saw that I saw it, and stuck the hand into his coat pocket. He went on, “In view of the way things are, I suppose it’s an affectation for me to try to keep the Dawson thing — that place — secret, but as I say, I can’t be counted on any more not to act stupidly. I don’t want that known, Mr. Wolfe. I’ll talk about anything you want me to, within reason.”
Wolfe was frowning. “Not with any pledge of secrecy from me, sir. Neither tacit nor explicit. But I expose no man’s privy affairs unnecessarily.”
“If that’s all I can get, I’ll take that. What do you want to ask me?”
“Several things. First, where were you Tuesday afternoon from 4 to 6?”
There was no immediate reply. I could see there was movement inside the pocket where his fist was. To make things easier I horned in: “Which do you want, Scotch or rye?”