My brows went up. “He was in a panic, and it’ll wear off. Why not string him along?”
“It would take time, and I haven’t any. I told him I intend to appear in court tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” I stared. “With what, for God’s sake?”
“At the least, with a diversion. If Miss Weltz’s panic endures, possibly with something better, though I didn’t know that when I was talking with Mr. Unger.”
I looked it over. “Uh-huh,” I said finally. “You’ve had a hard day, and soon it will be dark and dinnertime, and then bedtime, and deciding to go back to court tomorrow makes it possible for you to go home. Okay, I’ll get you there by five o’clock.”
I turned and reached for the ignition key, but had barely touched it when his voice stopped me. “We’re not going home. Mr. Cramer will have a man posted there all night, probably with a warrant, and I’m not going to risk it. I had thought of a hotel, but that might be risky too, and now that Miss Weltz may want to see me it’s out of the question. Isn’t Saul’s apartment conveniently located?”
“Yes, but he has only one bed. Lily Rowan has plenty of room in her penthouse, and we’d be welcome, especially you. You remember the time she squirted perfume on you.”
“I do,” he said coldly. “We’ll manage somehow at Saul’s. Besides, we have errands to do and may need him. We must of course phone him first. Go ahead. To the city.”
He gripped the strap. I started the engine.
IV
FOR MORE YEARS THAN I have fingers Inspector Cramer of Homicide had been dreaming of locking Wolfe up, at least overnight, and that day he darned near made it. He probably would have if I hadn’t spent an extra dime. Having phoned Saul Panzer, and also Fritz, from a booth in a drugstore in Washington Heights, I called the
“No. If I told you where I am you’d be an accomplice. Has our absence been noticed?”
“Certainly, the town’s in an uproar. A raging mob has torn the courthouse down. We’re running a fairly good picture of Wolfe, but we need a new one of you. Could you drop in at the studio, say in five minutes?”
“Sure, glad to. But I’m calling to settle a bet. Is there a warrant for us?”
“You’re damn right there is. Judge Corbett signed it first thing after lunch. Look, Archie, let me send a man-”
I told him much obliged and hung up. If I hadn’t spent that dime and learned there was a warrant, we wouldn’t have taken any special precaution as we approached Saul’s address on East Thirty-eighth Street and would have run smack into Sergeant Purley Stebbins, and the question of where to spend the night would have been taken off our hands.
It was nearly eight o’clock. Wolfe and I had each disposed of three orders of chili con carne at a little dump on 170th Street where a guy named Dixie knows how to make it, and I had made at least a dozen phone calls trying to get hold of Jimmy Donovan, Leonard Ashe’s attorney. That might not have been difficult if I could have left word that Nero Wolfe had something urgent for him, and given a number for him to call, but that wouldn’t have been practical, since an attorney is a sworn officer of the law, and he knew there was a warrant out for Wolfe, not to mention me. So I hadn’t got him, and as we crawled with the traffic through East Thirty-eighth Street the sight of Wolfe’s scowl in the rear-view mirror didn’t make the scene any gayer.
My program was to let him out at Saul’s address between Lexington and Third, find a place to park the car, and join him at Saul’s. But just as I swung over and was braking I saw a familiar broad-shouldered figure on the sidewalk, switched from the brake to the gas pedal, and kept going. Luckily a gap had opened, and the light was green at Third Avenue, so I rolled on through, found a place to stop without blocking traffic, and turned in the seat to tell Wolfe, “I came on by because I decided we don’t want to see Saul.”
“You did.” He was grim. “What flummery is this?”
“No flummery. Sergeant Purley Stebbins was just turning in at the entrance. Thank God it’s dark or he would have seen us. Now where?”
“At the entrance of Saul’s address?”
“Yes.”
A short silence. “You’re enjoying this,” he said bitterly.
“I am like hell. I’m a fugitive from justice, and I was going to spend the evening at the Polo Grounds watching a ball game. Where now?”
“Confound it. You told Saul about Miss Weltz.”
“Yes, sir. I told Fritz that if the Queen of Hearts phones she is to call Saul’s number, and I told Saul that you’d rather have an hour alone with her than a blue orchid. You know Saul.”
Another silence. He broke it. “You have Mr. Donovan’s home address.”
“Right. East Seventy-seventh Street.”
“How long will it take to drive there?”
