“Gosh, that wasn’t cute,” I protested. “To be honest, I was worried. I saw that bruise on her head which must have come from a good hard blow. The handiest thing around there to strike a blow with, enough to put her out at one crack, was one of those bottles, especially if the murderer approached through the bar and the draperies, which seemed likely. If he did that, of course he would wipe his prints from the bottle before he put it back. But my prints were there, nice fresh ones, on that bottle of MacNeal’s. Would you fellows find them? That’s what had me worried stiff. You might possibly miss them. But probably you wouldn’t. So I finally decided the only thing to do was to come clean and tell you exactly—”
“Shut up and beat it!” Cramer growled. “Why in the name of God 40,000 people get killed in automobile accidents every year and not one of them is you — take him out, Grier.” That to the dick who had brought me in and who was on a chair by the door. “Go home and if Nero Wolfe’s there tell him — don’t tell him anything. I’ll see him. I’ll see you too. Stay where I can find you.”
“Right.” I got up. “Good night, gentlemen, and good luck. You can imagine how I felt when I realized that when I reached across the bar for that bottle of MacNeal’s the body was right there — already there on the floor, dead — must have been — okay, I’m going, sorry if I irritated you—”
Grier followed me out and told the cop at the entrance door to let me through to freedom. Outside another pair of cops looked me over as I went by. There was still a row of P.D. cars parked at the curb. I walked to the corner and flagged a taxi. On the way downtown the driver wanted to chat about the murder, but the best I had to offer was ill-natured grunts.
I inserted my key and turned it and the knob, but the door opened two inches and stopped. The chain was on. So I leaned on the bell. In a second there were steps in the hall, and Fritz’s eye was at the crack, peering at me.
“Ah, Archie?” He sounded relieved. “Are you alone?”
“No, I’ve got a machine-gun squad. Open up!”
He did so. I left the closing to him and proceeded. The office was dark. I entered the kitchen. It was illuminated and smelled good as usual, and the French newspaper Fritz had been reading was on a chair. He trotted in and I confronted him.
“What time did Wolfe get home?”
“At 6:40. There’s some duckling left, and some cheese cake, if you—”