Before Midnight

"I can't answer. I wasn't at the meeting. Neither was Mr. Buff."

"Oh." Cramer wasn't fazed. Even an inspector can't remember everything. "You, Mr. O'Garro? You heard the question."

"Yes," O'Garro said.

"Mr. Heery?"

"It looks like it. Assa had it?"

Cramer nodded. "In his breast pocket."

"I knew it!" Miss Frazee cried. "A trick! A cheat! I knew all the time--"

Rowcliff gripped her arm, and she whirled and used the other one to smack him in the face, and I made a note to send a contribution to the Women's Nature League. Others started to ask Cramer things, or tell him, but he showed them a palm. "You'll all get a chance to talk before you leave here. Plenty. Stay here until you're sent for."

"Are we under arrest?" Harold Rollins asked, as superior as ever.

"No. You're being detained by police authority at the scene of a violent death in your presence. Anyone who prefers to be arrested will be accommodated." He turned, looked around for me, found me, said, "Come with me, Goodwin," and made for the door.

Chapter 19

I supposed he was taking me to the office, but no, he told me to wait in the hall, and anyway there wasn't room for me in the office. A mob of experts was expertizing in every directipn, and Fritz was seated in Wolfe's chair behind his desk, watching them. Wolfe was nowhere in sight. From the door I saw Cramer go to one sitting at my desk and deliver the wallet by depositing it gently in a little box. Then he passed a few orders around, came to me and said, "Wolfe's up in his room," and headed up the stairs. I followed.

Wolfe's door was closed, but Cramer opened it without bothering to knock, and walked in. That was bad manners. He was unquestionably in command of the office, since a man had just died there violently with him present, but not the rest of the house. However, it wasn't the best possible moment to read him the Bill of Rights, so I followed him in and shut the door.

At least Wolfe hadn't gone to bed. He was in the big chair under the reading lamp with a book. Lifting his eyes to us, he put the book on the table, and as I moved a chair up for Cramer I caught its title: Montaigne's Essays. It was one of a few dozen he kept on the shelves there in his room, so he hadn't removed anything from the office, which might have been interfering with justice.

"Was he dead when you left?" Cramer asked.

Wolfe nodded. "Yes, sir. I stayed for that."