“He didn’t say. If you want facts, I’m out. If you want an opinion, you can have mine.”
“Let’s have it.”
“I think he went home to dinner.”
“Nonsense. He was here on an important case, with important clients, and a murder was committed right under his nose. Do you expect me to believe — not even Nero Wolfe would be eccentric enough—”
“I don’t know about eccentric enough, but he was hungry enough. He had a bum lunch.” I made a gesture. “You say you were told he isn’t home. Naturally. He doesn’t want to be disturbed. You might pry the door open with a search warrant, but what would you write on it? If you’ve asked questions around here, you must have discovered by now that he was upstairs in the library from 10:30 this morning until just before we discovered the body. He didn’t leave it once. So what do you want him for anyway?”
Commissioner Hombert barked, “One thing we want is to ask him where and when he saw Naomi Karn today and what was said.”
“He didn’t see her today.”
“We want to know the terms of the agreement he made with her on behalf of his clients. We want to see the agreement.”
“There isn’t any. He didn’t make any.”
“I choke on that,” Cramer declared bluntly. “If she made no agreement, signed nothing, Hawthorne’s fortune belonged to her when she died, and Wolfe’s clients are out of luck.”