Has he an alibi?”
“I don’t know.
I guess the Commissioner forgot to ask him.
You got any evidence?”
“No.
No fragment.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “But I’ll tell you this.
It is important to me, also, that the murder of Harlan Scovil be solved.
In the interest of a client.
In fact, two.”
“Oh.
You’ve got clients.”
“I have.
I have told you that there are various questions I might answer if you cared to ask them.
For instance, do you know who was sitting in your chair three hours ago? Clara Fox.
And in that one?
Hilda Lindquist.
And in that?
Michael Walsh.
That, I believe, covers the list on that famous paper, except for the Marquis of Clivers.
I am sorry to say he was absent.”
Cramer had jerked himself forward.
He leaned back again and observed,
“You wouldn’t kid me.”
“I am perfectly serious.”
Cramer stared at him.
He scraped his teeth around on his upper lip, took a piece of tobacco from his tongue with his fingers, and kept on staring.
Finally he said,
“All right.
What do I ask next?”
“Well … nothing about the subject of our conference, for that was private business.
You might ask where Michael Walsh is now.
I would have to reply, I have no idea. No idea whatever.
Nor do I know where Miss Lindquist is.
She left here about two hours ago. The commission I have undertaken for her is a purely civil affair, with no impingements on the criminal law.
My other client is Clara Fox.
In her case the criminal law is indeed concerned, but not the crime of murder.
As I told you on the telephone, I will not for the present answer any question regarding her wherea bouts.”
“All right.
Next?”
“Next you might perhaps permit me a question.
You say that you want to see these people on account of the murder of Harlan Scovil, and in connection with your desire to protect the Marquis of Clivers.
But the detectives you sent, whom Mr. Goodwin welcomed so oddly, had a warrant for her arrest on a charge of larceny.
Do you wonder that I was, and am, a little skeptical of your good faith?”
“Well.” Cramer looked at his cigar. “If you collected all the good faith in this room right now you might fill a teaspoon.”
“Much more, sir, if you included mine.” Wolfe opened his eyes at him. “Miss Fox is accused of stealing.
How do you know, justly or unjustly?
You thought she was in my house.
Had you any reason to suppose that I would aid a person suspected of theft to escape a trial by law?
No.
If you thought she was here, could you not have telephoned me and arranged to take her into custody tomorrow morning, when I could have got her release on bail?