'All right for what?' Edwin Laidlaw asked.
'For privacy. Unless you came to see Inspector Cramer of Homicide?'
'I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came to see you.'
'I thought you might have, and I also thought you might prefer not to collide with Cramer. He’s in the office chatting with Mr Wolfe, and is about ready to go, so I shunted you in here.'
'I’m glad you did. I’ve seen all I want of policemen for a while.' He glanced around. 'Can we talk here?'
'Yes, but I must go and see Cramer off. I’ll be back soon. Have a chair.'
I went to the door to the hall and opened it, and there was Cramer heading for the front. He didn’t even look at me, let alone speak. I thought if he could be rude I could too, so I let him get his own hat and coat and let himself out. When the door had closed behind him I went to the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk. He spoke.
'I will make one remark, Archie. To bedevil Mr Cramer for a purpose is one thing; to do so merely for pastime is another.'
'Yes, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re asking me if my position with you, privately, is the same as it was with him. The answer is yes.'
'Very well. Then he’s in a pickle.'
'That’s too bad. Someone else is too, apparently. Yesterday when I was invited to the party and given the names of the male guests, I wanted to know who they were and phoned Lon Cohen. One of them, Edwin Laidlaw, is a fairly important citizen for a man his age. He used to be pretty loose around town, but three years ago his father died and he inherited ten million dollars, and recently he bought a controlling interest in the Malvin Press, book publishers, and apparently he intends to settle down and-'
'Is this of interest?'
'It may be. He’s in the front room. He came to see me, and since my only contact with him was last night it could be of interest. I can talk with him there, but I thought I should tell you because you might possibly want to sit in-or stand in. At the hole. In case I need a witness.'
'Pfui.'
'Yeah, I know. I don’t want to shove, but we haven’t had a case for two weeks.'
He was scowling at me. It wasn’t so much that he would have to leave his chair and walk to the hall and on to the alcove, and stand at the hole-after all, that amount of exercise would be good for his appetite-as it was that the very best that could come of it, getting a client, would also be the worst, since he would have to work. He heaved a sigh, not letting it interfere with the scowl, muttered, 'Confound it,' put his palms on the desk rim to push his chair back, and got up and went.
The hole was in the wall, at eye level, eight feet to the right of Wolfe’s desk. On the office side it was covered by a picture of a pretty waterfall. On the other side, in a wing of the hall across from the kitchen, it was covered by nothing, and you could not only see through but also hear through. I had once stood there for four solid hours, waiting for someone to appear from the front room to snitch something from my desk. I allowed Wolfe a minute to get himself posted and then went and opened the door to the front room and spoke.
'In here, Laidlaw. It’s more comfortable.' I moved one of the yellow chairs around to face my desk.
Chapter Five
Laidlaw sat and looked at me. Three seconds. Six seconds. Evidently he needed priming, so I obliged.
'I thought it was a nice party up to a point, didn’t you? Even with the protocol.'
'I can’t remember that far back.' He leaned forward. His hair was still perfectly uncombed. 'Look, Goodwin. I want to ask you a straight question, and I hope you’ll answer it. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.'
'I may not either. What?'
'About what you said last night, that you thought that girl was murdered. You said it not only to us, but to the police and the District Attorney. I can tell you confidentially that I have a friend, it doesn’t matter who or where, who has given me a little information. I understand that they would be about ready to call it suicide and close the investigation if it weren’t for you, so your reason for thinking it was murder must be a pretty good one. That’s my question. What is it?'
'Your friend didn’t tell you that?'
'No. Either he wouldn’t, or he couldn’t because he doesn’t know. He says he doesn’t know.'
I crossed my legs. 'Well, I can’t very well say that. So I’ll say that I have told only the police and the D.A.’s office and Mr Wolfe, and for the present that’s enough.'
'You won’t tell me?'
'At the moment, no. Rules of etiquette.'
'Don’t you think the people who are involved just because they were there-don’t you think they have a right to know?'
'Yes, I do. I think they have a right to demand that the police tell them exactly why they are going ahead with a homicide investigation when everything seems to point to suicide. But they have no right to demand that I tell them.'
