Smell.
They are very nice.”
She carried them to Wolfe.
“Aren’t they a beautiful color, Mr. Wolfe?
Smell.”
She looked at Mike Walsh, but he was asleep again, so she put the box back on the desk and sat down.
Wolfe was rubbing his nose which she had tickled with the roses.
“Saul. Take those to the kitchen and have Fritz put them in water.
Remain there. You must see my orchids. Miss Fox, but that can wait.
Mr. Walsh!
Archie, wake him, please.”
I reached out and gave Walsh a dig, and he jerked up and glared at me.
He protested,
“Hey!
It’s too warm in here.
I’m never as warm as this after supper.”
Wolfe wiggled a finger at him.
“If you please, Mr. Walsh.
Miss Fox has been giving us some details, such as your recognition of the Marquis of Clivers.
Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Sure.” Walsh pulled the rips of his fingers across his eyes, and stretched his eyes open. “What about it?”
“Did you recognize the Marquis of Clivers as George Rowley?”
“Sure I did.
Who says I didn’t?”
“As yet, no one.
Are you positive it was the same man?”
“Yes.
I told you at the table, I’m always positive.”
“So you did.
Among other things.
You told me that through ancient habit, and on your post as a night watchman, you carry a gun.
You also told me that you suspected Harlan Scovil of being an Englishman, and that all English blood was bad blood.
Do you happen to have your gun with you?
Could I see it?”
“I’ve got a license.”
“Of course.
Could I see it?
Just as a favor?”
Walsh growled something to himself, but after a moment’s hesitation he leaned forward and reached to his hip and pulled out a gat.
He looked at it, and rubbed his left palm caressingly over the barrel, and then got up and poked the butt at Wolfe.
Wolfe took it, glanced at it, and held it out to me.
I gave it a mild inspection.
It was an old Folwell.44.
It was loaded, the cylinder full, and there was no smell of any recent activity around the muzzle.
I glanced at Wolfe and caught his little nod, and returned the cannon to Mike Walsh, who caressed it again before he put it back in his pocket.
Clara Fox said,
“Who’s wasting time now, Mr. Wolfe?
You haven’t told us yet—”
Wolfe stopped her.
“Don’t begin again. Miss Fox.