'Yeah. Quite a pleasure.' Cramer sat down, took the cigar from his mouth, scowled at me, replaced the cigar at a better angle, and spoke.
'Where have you been, Goodwin?' He was practically snarling. Before I could reply he went on: 'Forget it. If I already knew you'd tell me, and if I didn't you wouldn't.' He removed the cigar again and leaned at me. 'You're the most damn contrary pest within my knowledge. Twenty times I've had you under my feet when I was busy and had no use for you. Now I go to look at a murder and I am told that an important witness has calmly took his hat and coat and departed, and, by God, it turns out to be you! The one time you're supposed to be there, you're not! I've told you before that I'd throw you in the jug for a nickel. This time I'd do it for nothing!'
I inquired, 'Did you find Arthur?'
'We found-none of your damn business what we found. What did you run away for?'
'Because I wanted to.' I requisitioned a friendly grin for him. 'Look, Inspector, you know perfectly well you're just being rhetorical. I ran away to keep from losing my job. Mr Wolfe had sent me there on an errand with instructions to report back when the errand was finished. It was finished, and, as you know, Mr Wolfe doesn't take an excuse. By the way, I left my car there, parked on 48th-'
'Nuts. Why did you beat it?'
'I'm telling you. I would have been kept there till midnight, and for nobody's benefit, because there were a dozen people there who knew more than I did about the murder, and at least one of them a lot more.' I let my voice rise a little in indignation. 'I helped out all I could, didn't I? Didn't I guard the front door until the radio and precinct guys-'
I stopped short.
'Uh-huh.' Cramer nodded grimly. 'Just occurred to you, huh? Brain slowed up on you? I thought of that a long while ago, all by myself. What was it, Goodwin? What was it that happened between the time the precinct men arrived and the time you took your overcoat from the rack?'
'Nothing happened.'
'Yes, it did. I want to know what it was.'
'Nothing, except that when a cop relieved me at the door there was nothing I could do to help, and you know damn well what Mr Wolfe is like if I let anything interfere with his business.'
He glared at me. Then he slid back to a more comfortable position in the big leather chair, looked at Wolfe, and slowly shook his head. 'I'm tired out,' he said resentfully. 'I was up most of last night on the Arlen case, and I was going to bed at eight o'clock, and now here's this, and I find you're in on it even before it happens, and you can guess how pure and simple that makes it seem like.'
'I can assure you,' Wolfe said sympathetically, 'that Mr Goodwin's errand was neither to prevent nor to provoke murder. We really didn't know there was to be one.'
'Oh, I know all about his errand. Driscoll's diamonds. To hell with that. Let's be reasonable. There was Goodwin, alone right at the front door for six or seven minutes after he came downstairs with Mrs Miltan, before the radio men got there. Then they left him alone again until the precinct men arrived. He knew from the beginning what a murder investigation means for those on the premises when the squad gets on the job. If he wanted to get away and get to you to report, all he had to do was walk right out and get in his car and go. Instead of that, he waits until the precinct men come and one of them is stationed at the door, then he goes to the office and stands there and looks around, and all of a sudden he grabs his hat and coat, sneaks down to the basement, pulls a gun and scares the daylights out of a coloured porter who-'
'He had no daylights left in him.'
'Shut up. Tells the porter to stay where he is, takes a ladder to the rear court and climbs the fence and talks about his wife's cat and pretends to fall off, beats it through a kitchen and a restaurant to 49th Street, and jumps a taxi and tells the driver he likes to go fast. And he tells me nothing happened between the time the precinct men came and the time he reached for his coat! I ask you, what does that sound like?'
'It sounds like a delayed cerebral process. I am accustomed to it-unfortunately.'
'It sounds bughouse. And Goodwin's not bughouse.'
'No, he isn't. Not quite. Will you have some beer?'
'No, thank you.'
Wolfe pushed the button, leaned back and let the tips of his fingers meet at the apex of his middle mound. 'Let's cut across, Mr Cramer,' he suggested helpfully. 'You're busy and you need sleep. Regarding the point you have broached, as to what happened up there between this time and that time, Archie says he didn't want to be detained until midnight by the prolonged routine of your staff. I say delayed cerebration. If something significant really did happen, it's obvious that we don't intend to tell you, at least not now, so let's pass that. Next, if you ask why we kept ourselves incomunicado until half past nine, my reply is that I wished to get his complete report without interruption and that I abhor any disturbance during the dinner hour; further, that you had a large number of people up there to deal with, and Archie could tell you nothing that you couldn't learn from them.'
Fritz came with a tray, and Wolfe uncapped a bottle and poured. 'Next? I suppose, why Archie was sent there? Because a girl named Carla Lovchen, whom we had never seen before, came this afternoon to engage me in the interest of a friend of her named Neya Tormic, who had been accused of theft. That matter was cleared up by a statement from Mr Driscoll, who appears to be a blundering ass. Next, you will doubtless ask, after the affair had been settled and Mr Goodwin had departed, why did he return? Because he phoned me and I told him to. As you know, when I accept a commission I like to get paid. I try to stop this side of rapacity, but I like to collect, even when, as in this case, I have furnished more will than wit. I sent him back to see Miss Tormic. He was waiting for her in the office when the porter's yells were heard.'
Cramer was slowly rubbing at his chin, looking stubborn and unconvinced. He watched Wolfe swallow the glass of beer and wipe his lips, and then turned to me:
'You're not bughouse, you know. Some day when I'm not busy I'd like to tell you what you are but you're not bughouse. Now, suppose you tell me a little story.'
'Sure, I'll even tell you a big one. I was in the office talking with Mr and Mrs Miltan when we heard the yelling-'
