Any fear that Wolfe had actually dived into a relapse was removed a little after nine o’clock, when Orrie Cather and Fred Durkin arrived simultaneously and told me they had been instructed to report and await orders. I was plenty relieved, but I was still determined that if communication was going to be re-established it wouldn’t be through any advances by me. I knew he was up in the plant rooms because I had heard his elevator. Then I took a step. A phone call came from Inspector Cramer. I talked with him, and hung up, and buzzed the plant rooms on the inside wire. Wolfe answered.
I addressed him formally. “Good morning, sir. Inspector Cramer of the homicide squad just phoned that he was up all night, he wants to see you, and he will be here probably a little after twelve. He is working on a murder case. There are two kinds of detectives that work on homicides. One kind hastens to the scene of a murder. The other kind hastens away from it. Inspector Cramer is the first kind.”
“I said in that note that I’m not at home.”
“You can’t continue being not at home indefinitely. Are there any orders for Fred and Orrie?”
“No. Have them wait.”
The receiver went dead.
An hour later, at the customary time, eleven o’clock, his elevator descended and he entered the office. I waited until he was holding his chair down and then stated to him:
“I see you intend to brazen it out. I admit nothing is to be gained by a prolonged controversy. All I say is, that was the most preposterous goddam performance in the entire history of the investigation of crime. That’s all. Now for my report—”
“There was nothing preposterous about it. It was the only sensible—”
“You couldn’t sell me that in a thousand years. Do you want my report?”