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226 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 18, 1963
"Mr. Cramer is at the door," Wolfe said. "Archie and I are leaving at the back and don't know when we'll return. Certainly not tonight. Don't admit him. Put the chain bolt on. Tell him we are not here and nothing else. Nothing. If he returns with a search warrant you'll have to admit him, but tell him nothing. You don't know when we left."
"The police will press you, now that they have connected Carol Mardus with me and therefore with you, and I have decamped. You're my client and I should be shielding you, but instead you're shielding me.
If I had known the job would develop thus -- a murder, and my involvement, and routine fishing in a boundless sea -- I wouldn't have taken it.
He might spot it the second time around and should have the chance without a tip from me.
The only time he has been overruled about the furniture in his house was when he bought a king-size armchair for the kitchen and Fritz vetoed it. It was delivered, and he sat in it for half an hour one morning discussing turnip soup with Fritz, but when he came down from the plant rooms at six o'clock it was gone. If he or Fritz ever mentioned it again they did so in privacy.
"You ask if I'm blocked. I am. I'm at my wit's end."
"I'll bet you are." Cramer's eyes were slits. "If you're reserving the message why did you tell me about it?"
No man with any sense assumes that a woman's words mean to her exactly what they mean to him.
"You spent the night in Mrs. Valdon's house. Last night."
I raised a brow. "There are two things wrong with that statement. First, it's not true. Second, even if it were true, what would it have to do with homicide?"
"What time did you leave?"
"I didn't. I'm still there."