They asked some questions, especially Saul, and got answers. After they had gone Wolfe went into a trance. I overlooked it and didn’t try any prodding, because it was one o’clock and I knew what he was expecting. Pretty soon it arrived. The butler himself brought one tray and a maid in uniform with a split in the nail of her right index finger followed him with the other one. I saw the split when she nearly stuck the finger in my milk. Her intention was to stay and arrange things for us, but Wolfe sent her away.
He lifted the covers from the servers with a sanguine hope and a stern misgiving fighting for the mastery in his expression. When no steam came out he looked so disconcerted I could have wept. He bent over the server and glared into it incredulously.
“This is dandy,” I asserted, rubbing my hands with pleasure. “Jellied consommé and a good big Waldorf salad and iced tea and these cute little wafer things—”
“Good God,” he muttered, stupefied.
It was from purely selfish motives that I went downstairs myself and found somebody and requisitioned a pair of lamb chops and a pot of coffee.
The trays were empty, and Wolfe was sipping the last of the coffee, which I admit wasn’t hot enough, in gloomy dissatisfaction, when the door opened and Inspector Cramer entered.
“How-do-you-do, sir,” Wolfe snapped. “I’m busy.”
“So I hear.” Cramer crossed to a chair and sat down, got out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth and took it out again. His big phiz was redder even than usual, from the heat.
He observed, as if passing the time of day, “I understand you’re working for Mr. Dunn.”
Wolfe grunted offensively.