bolt allowed and tell him Wolfe wasn't available and there was no telling when he would be, and I was under instructions to tell nobody anything whatever. He probably couldn't get a warrant, since all he could tell a judge was that some of the people involved in a murder case had spent part of an evening in the house, but if he did, and used it, we would stand mute--or sit mute. Or I could open the door wide and let him in, and Wolfe would play it by ear, and we voted for that. There was always a chance that he would supply one or more useful facts. We had also decided to spend thirty-one dollars an hour, for as long as necessary, of the client's money, on Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin, and Orrie Cather--eight each for Fred and Orrie, and fifteen for Saul. If no one had known that Odell intended to go to Browning's room, the bomb couldn't have been intended for him, and it was going to take more doing than having people come to the old brownstone for some conversation. I had phoned Saul and Orrie and asked them to come Wednesday at ten o'clock, and left a message for Fred. And I had Please Pass the Guilt 61 phoned Theodore Fallc, OdelTs best and closest friend, and told him that Wolfe wanted to have a talk with him, without an audience, and he said he would come around six o'clock. By a couple of phone calls--one to a vice- president of our bank and one to Lon Cohen--I had learned that Falk was way up. He was a senior member of one of the oldest and solidest investment firms and sat on eight boards of directors. He had a wife and three grown-up children, and he and they were also solid socially. Evidently a man the race could be proud of, and from personal observation the only thing I had against him was his buttoned-down shirt collar. A man who hates loose flaps so much that he buttons down his collar should also button down his ears. He came at 6:34. Wolfe told him that he needed all the information he could get about Odell. Specifically, he needed the answer to a question: If Odell decided to do something secretly, some shabby deed that would help him and hurt someone else, how likely was it that he would have told anyone? And Falk said, 'It would depend on what it was he was going to do. You say 'shabby'?' Wolfe nodded. 'Opprobrious. Mean. Furtive. Knavish. Tricky.' Palk uncrossed his legs, slid his rump dear back in the red leather chair, which is deep, recrossed his legs, and tilted his head back. His eyes went left and then right, in no hurry, apparently comparing the pictures on the wall--one of Socrates, one of Shakespeare, and an unwashed coal miner in oil by Sepeshy. (According to Wolfe, man's three resources: intellect, imagination, and muscle.) In half a minute Falk's head leveled and his eyes settled on Wolfe. 'I don't know about you,' he said. 'I don't know you well enough. A cousin of mine who is an assistant district attorney says you are sharp and straight. Does he know?' 'Probably not,' Wolfe said. 'Hearsay.' 62 Please Pass the Guilt 'You solicited Mrs. Odell.' I cut in. 'No,' I said. 'I did.' Wolfe grunted. 'Not material.' To Falk: 'Mr. Goodwin is my agent, and what he does is on my tally. He knew my bank balance was low. Does your firm solicit?' Falk laughed, showing his teeth, probably knowing how white they looked with his deep tan. 'Of course,' he said, 'you're not a member of the bar.' He lifted a hand to rub his Up with a finger tip. That helped him decide to say something, and he said it, 'You know that the police have a vial of LSD that was in Odell's pocket.' 'Do I?' 'Certainly. Mrs. Odell has told me that she told you. Has she told you what he was going to do with it?' 'I'm sharp, Mr. Falk.' 'So you are. Of course you'll tell her what I say, but she already knows that I think she knew what Pete was going to do with the LSD, though she won't admit it, and no wonder, not even to me.' 'And you knew.' 'I knew what?' 'What he was going to do with the LSD.' 'No, I didn't. I don't know even now, but I can make a damn good guess, and so can the police. So can you, if Mrs. Odell hasn't told you. Going to Browning's room and opening that drawer, with LSD in his pocket? Better than a guess. You would call it shabby and opprobrious for him to dope Browning's whisky? And knavish?' 'Not to judge, merely to describe. Do you disagree?' 'I guess not. Not really. Anyway another good guess is that it was her idea, not his. You can tell her I said that, she already knows it. Of course your question is, did I know about it, did he tell me? He didn't. He wouldn't. If he told anybody it would have been me, but a thing like that he wouldn't tell even me. The reason I'm telling you this, I'm beginning to Please Pass the Guilt 63 doubt if the police are going to crack it, and you might. One reason you might, Mrs. Odell will probably tell you things she won't tell them. Another reason is that with people like these, like us, the police have to consider things that you can ignore.' 'And you want it cracked.' 'Hell yes. Pete Odell was my favorite man.' 'If no one knew he was going to open that drawer, he died by inadvertence.' 'But whoever planted that bomb killed him.' Falk turned a palm up. 'Look, why am I here? This will make me an hour late for something. I wanted to know if you were going to waste time on the idea that the bomb was intended for Odell. The police still think it could have been and there's not a chance. Damn it, I knew him. It just isn't thinkable that he would have told anyone he was going to try to bust Browning by doping his whisky.' 'M he had told you, would you have tried to dissuade him?' Falk shook his head. 'I can't even discuss it as a hypothesis. If Pete Odell had told me that, I would just have stared at him. It wouldn't have been him. Not his doing it, his telling me.' 'So the bomb was for Browning?' 'Yes. Apparently.' 'Not certainly?' 'No. You told us yesterday that the journalists have different ideas, and we have too--I mean the people who are involved. They are all just guessing really--except one of course, the one who did it. My guess is no better than anybody else's.' 'And no worse. Your guess?' Falk's eyes came to me and returned to Wolfe. 'This isn't being recorded?' 'Only in our skulls.' 'Well--do you know the name Copes? Dennis Copes?' 'No.' 'You know Kenneth Meer. He was here last evening. He's Browning's man Friday, and Copes would like to be. Of course 64 Please Pass the Guilt in a setup like CAN, most of them want someone else's job, but the Copes-Meer thing is special. My guess is that Meer had a routine of checking that drawer every afternoon and Copes knew it. Copes did a lot of work on that program about bombs and getting one would have been no problem. That's my best guess partly because I can't quite see anyone going for Browning with a bomb. A dozen people could have, but I can't see any of them actually doing it. You said one of the reporters thinks it was Browning's wife, but that's absurd.' 'Did Kenneth Meer check the drawer every day?' 'I don't know. I understand he says he didn't.' I could fill three or four pages with the things Theodore Falk didn't know, but they didn't help us, so they wouldn't help you. When I returned to the office after going to the hall to let him out, we didn't discuss him, for two reasons: the look we exchanged showed that we didn't need to, and Fritz came to announce dinner. The look was a question, the same question both ways: How straight was Falk? Did we cross him off or not? The look left it open. The fact was, Wolfe hadn't really bit into it. It was still just batting practice. He had taken the job and was committed, but there was still the slim chance that something might happen-- the cops might get it or the client might quit--so he wouldn't have to sweat and slave. Also in my book there was the idea that I had once mentioned to him, the idea that it took a broil with Inspector Cramer to wind him up. Of course when I had offered it, he had fired me, or I had quit, I forget which. But I hadn't dropped the idea, so when the doorbell rang at 11:10 Wednesday morning and I went to the hall and saw who it was on the stoop through the one-way glass, and stepped back in the office and said 'Mr. Fuzz,' I didn't mind a bit. Wolfe made a face, opened his mouth and then clamped his jaw, and in five seconds undamped it to growl, 'Bring him.' 9 that was a FIRST--the first time Inspector Cramer had ever arrived and been escorted to the office in the middle of a session with the hired hands. And Saul Panzer did something he seldom does--he stunted. He was in the red leather chair, and when I ushered Cramer in I expected to find Saul on his feet, moving up another yellow chair to join Fred and Orrie, but no. He was staying put. Cramer, surprised, stood in the middle of the rug and said, loud, 'Oh?' Wolfe, surprised at Saul, put his brows up. I, pretending I wasn't surprised, went to get a yellow chair. And damned if Cramer didn't cross in front of Fred and Orrie to my chair, swing it around, and park his big fanny on it. As he sat, Saul, his lips a little tight to keep from grinning, got up and came to take the yellow chair I had brought. That left the red leather chair empty and I went and occupied it, sliding back and crossing my legs to show that I was right at home. Wolfe didn't merely turn his head left to face me; he swiveled. 'Was this performance arranged?' he demanded. 'Not by me,' I told him. 'This chair was empty, that's all.' 'I guess I was just too surprised to move,' Saul said. 'I didn't know the Inspector was coming.' 'Balls,' Cramer said. 'No one knew I was coming.' He focused on Wolfe. 'I hope I'm not interrupting anything important.'
'I hope you are,' Wolfe said, not thorny. 'We are discussing 66 Please Pass the Guilt the prospect of making an important contribution to the investigation of a murder.' Cramer nodded. 'Yeah. I thought you would be.' Actually the discussion had barely begun. Saul Panzer, who looks like a guy who was trying to sell encyclopedias but gave up and quit, and is actually the best operative alive; and bigfooted, heavy-set Fred Durkin, who looks as if he wouldn't know what an encyclopedia is but actually bought a Britannica for his kids; and good-looking, six-foot Orrie Cather, who would trade an encyclopedia for a full-length mirror if he didn't already have one, but can handle a tough assignment when he needs to, had come in at ten o'clock, and I had briefed them good. On some jobs they are called in on, some details have to be reserved, but not that one. I had given them the whole picture, and Wolfe, coming down from the plant rooms at eleven o'clock, had just got started. When Wolfe faced Cramer in my chair with me in the red leather chair, I had his profile from his left instead of his right, and I had to adjust to it. I don't know why it made so much difference, but it did. His chin looked more pointed and his hair thicker. He asked Cramer politely, 'You have questions?' 'Nothing specific.' Cramer was leaning back, comfortable, also polite. 'Don't
