He walked out. Cramer twisted his neck to watch him go, then twisted it back to give me a look.
“Nag hell,” he rasped. “Just a big gob of egomania, and you’re not much better. Okay, I’ll ask you, have you any knowledge of the man who took the orchids from Mrs. Bynoe?”
I looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but I work for him and—”
“Answer the question!”
“And you know how that is. It’s a strain, working for an egomaniac, but it’s good pay, and I simply can’t risk answering questions he wouldn’t answer. What he said about the murder goes for me too, I know absolutely nothing. On other matters, such as my acquaintance with posy snatchers, I have to pass. Look how you offended him.”
His eyes were going right through me. “You refuse to answer.”
“Certainly. I would also refuse to answer if you asked me if I stole this necktie. That would offend Mr. Wolfe. But if—”
“How would you like to come downtown for a session with Lieutenant Rowcliff?”
“I’d love it. I once got him stuttering in eight minutes, the best I ever did, and I’d like—”
I stopped because he was being rude. He arose and, with the camera in his hand and the strap dangling, headed for the door. Thinking he might have an idea of looking for Wolfe, I got up and followed, but in the hall he turned to the front, and, doubting if he would appreciate help with his coat, I merely stood and watched until he had let himself out and banged the door shut. Then I about-faced and went and pushed the swinging door to the kitchen.
It was a pleasant scene, the egomaniac having, as usual, his Sunday-evening snack with the cook. Fritz was on a stool at the long table in the center, steering a dripping endive core to his open mouth. Wolfe, seated at my breakfast table against the wall, was pouring honey on steaming halves of buttermilk biscuits. A glass and a bottle of milk were there, and I went and poured.
I asked where Tabby was and was told that a tray had been taken to his room. Fritz told me there were plenty of biscuits in the warmer, and I thanked him and got a couple.
“You know,” I said offhand as I picked up the jar of molasses, “this is a very interesting situation.” I poured molasses. “So many things could happen. For instance, Lon Cohen isn’t the only one at the Gazette who knows I was after pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Bynoe on Wednesday. For instance, when Cramer learns that the film has been removed from my camera — your camera — he’ll probably send a squad with a search warrant. For in—”
“I’m eating,” Wolfe muttered peevishly.
“But I’m not discussing business. This isn’t business, this is just a cliff you tumbled over while in pursuit of pleasure, and you’re hanging by your fingernails. So am I. For instance, if they find the driver of the taxi, and they will if they decide to, they’ll learn that Tabby had company and that we came here. If I had known then that there had been a murder he wouldn’t have brought us here, but I didn’t. For in—”
“Get rid of the film,” Wolfe ordered.
“Right. First thing in the morning. But that’s a good camera, and if the needle was shot at her the way Cramer thinks it was, and if I happened to press the button while the needle was going by, it might show. I know a place that will develop that kind of film in short order for a price. How about it?”
Wolfe said yes.
“Okay. Again for instance, if Cramer does send a squad with a warrant when he finds the camera empty, and he might, what about the orchids? If you can’t bear to ditch them, I suggest hiding them in the plant rooms among a lot of foliage. Of course that wouldn’t work if Bynoe was along, but that’s not very—”
The phone rang. I got up and went to the kitchen extension on a shelf, and got it.
“Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
An educated male voice, low and even, said that it wished to speak with Mr. Wolfe, please, and I asked for its name, please, and it said it preferred not to give its name on the phone, and that made it a problem. But after I had explained that Mr. Wolfe was at the dinner table and not to be disturbed, and I was his confidential assistant, and I wasn’t permitted to make an appointment without a name, he decided to come clean.
The rest was easy. I hung up and returned to my biscuits and molasses, and told Wolfe, “That makes it even more interesting. Excuse me for not checking with you, but I was sure you would want to see him. Mr. Millard Bynoe will be here in half an hour.”
Chapter 4
Millard Bynoe sat on the red leather chair, but not in it. He had probably never lolled once in all his fifty-five years; and now he sat straight with his fanny only halfway back on the seat, his feet neatly together, and his fists resting on his thighs. “Fists” may give a wrong impression. For a man who has spent his whole life giving away an inherited pile in big chunks, it’s only natural to keep his fingers curled tight.
Like everybody else, I was of course familiar with the wide mouth and big ears of Millard Bynoe, but the man he had brought with him, whom he had introduced as Mr. Henry Frimm, was a comparative stranger. I had seen him once before as he had left the church beside Mrs. Bynoe. He was a lot younger than Bynoe and a lot better looking, and he wasn’t afraid to unbend. On the yellow chair I had placed for him near the corner of Wolfe’s desk, he leaned back and even crossed his legs.
Bynoe had trouble getting started. He told Wolfe twice that he had come to consult him on a delicate matter, and apparently the idea of such a thing was too much for him. He sat through a long moment and then tried again.
“I should explain, Mr. Wolfe, that I have come to you in this emergency because I have full confidence in your ability, your discretion, and your integrity. My friend Lewis Hewitt has often spoken to me of a service you performed for him some years ago, and of your talents and character, and he is a good judge of men. He has also spoken of Mr. Goodwin. So when I learned from the police that Mr. Goodwin was there today, in front of the church, and when I found myself confronted by a delicate problem, I decided to bring it to you.”
He stopped. Delicate again. Wolfe prompted him. “And the problem?”
“It is highly confidential. I must rely on your discretion.”
“Short of complicity in crime, you may.” Wolfe’s eyes, steady at him, were half closed. “And if the problem is connected with the death of your wife, I may save time by saying that I am fairly well informed. I know how she was killed. Inspector Cramer has been here to question Mr. Goodwin, and Mr. Goodwin has told me what happened in front of the church. Accept my condolence.”
“Thank you.” Bynoe tilted his head and straightened it again. “You will understand that I am controlling myself with some difficulty. Then you know about the needle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that the police assume that it was shot at her from a camera?”
“Yes. Do you challenge that?”