“He hasn’t admitted anything. They can’t find him. At least they hadn’t found him at noon today.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes half closed. “Do you know where he is?”
“Of course not. How could I?”
“I don’t know, I’m asking. I should think Prescott might know. Davis bolted out of the library yesterday at a quarter to six, and Prescott went after him a moment later. What about that?”
“Prescott says he reached the entrance hall just as Davis was opening the front door to leave. He called to him, but Davis went on out without answering. Turner was there and his statement verifies that. Stauffer and I were in the living room with that police lieutenant and Ritchie of the Cosmopolitan Trust. I myself heard Prescott’s voice calling Davis’s name, and went to the hall and asked him to join us in the living room. A few minutes later we sent Turner upstairs to ask you to come down.” Dunn’s voice was better, and a gleam of life, even intelligence, was showing itself in his eyes. He fixed them on Wolfe, calculating, and suddenly demanded, “What about Davis?”
Wolfe shook his head. “Nothing much. Curiosity. The fact that he can’t be found—”
“I don’t believe it.” Dunn’s voice was getting obstreperous. “Your man was telling you something about Davis yesterday — about finding him somewhere drunk. If you expect me to have confidence in you, at least you can give me an idea of what—”
“No, I can’t!” Wolfe cut him off. “What good will an idea do you? I’ll give you something much better than an idea, as soon as I can, and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. You ought to eat something.” He looked around. “All of you. Eat something and take off your shoes and lie down a while.”
“My Lord,” May Hawthorne said. “If you’re a humbug you’re a good one. It’s four o’clock and you’re going upstairs to your orchids.”
“I am,” Wolfe agreed. “And arrange a few things, including my mind.” He arose, and looked at Sara. “If you’ll come with me, Miss Dunn? You said you’d like to.”