The Rubber Band

"Much more, sir, if you included mine." Wolfe opened his eyes at him. "Miss Fox is accused of stealing. How do you know, justly or unjustly? You thought she was in my house. Had you any reason to suppose that I would aid a person suspected of theft to escape a trial by law? No. If you thought she was here, could you not have telephoned me and arranged to take her into custody tomorrow morning, when I could have got her release on bail? Did you need to assault my privacy and insult my dignity by having your bullies burst in my door in order to carry off a sensitive and lovely young woman to a night in jail? For shame, sir! Pfui!" Wolfe poured himself a glass of beer.

Cramer shook his head slowly back and forth. "By God, you're a world-beater. I hand it to you. You know very well, Wolfe, I wasn't interested in any larceny. I wanted to talk with her about murder and about this damned marquis."

"Bah. After your talk, would she or would she not have been incarcerated?"

"I suppose she would. Hell, millions of innocent people have spent a night in jail, and sometimes much longer."

"The people I engage to keep out of it don't. If what you wanted was a talk, why the warrant? Why the violent and hostile onslaught?"

Cramer nodded. "That was a mistake. I admit it. I'll tell you the truth, the Commissioner was there demanding action. And the phone call came. I don't know who it was. He not only told me that Clara Fox was in your house, he also told me that the same Clara Fox was wanted for stealing money from the Seaboard Products Corporation. I got in touch with another department and learned that a warrant for her arrest had been executed late this afternoon. It was the Commissioner's idea to get the warrant and use it to send here and get her in a hurry."

I went on and got the signs for that down in my notebook, but my mind wasn't on that, it was on Mike Walsh. It was fairly plain that Wolfe had let one get by when he had permitted Walsh to walk out with no supervision, considering that New York is full not only of telephones, but also of subways and railroad trains and places to hide. And for the first time I put it down as a serious speculation whether Walsh could have had a reason to croak his dear old friend Harlan Scovil. Seeing Wolfe's lips moving slowly out and in, I suspected that the taste in his mouth was about the same as mine.