Wolfe wiggled a finger at him.
“The fact is, you're an ingrate. You wanted the case solved and the criminal punished, didn't you?
It is solved. The law is an envious monster, and you represent it.
You can't tolerate a decent and swift conclusion to a skirmish between an individual and what you call society, as long as you have it in your power to turn it into a ghastly and prolonged struggle; the victim must squirm like a worm in your fingers, not for ten minutes, but for ten months. Pfui!
I don't like the law.
It was not I, but a great philosopher, who said that the law is an ass.”
“Well, don't take it out on me.
I'm not the law, I'm just a cop. Where did you buy the oil of bitter almonds?”
“Indeed.” Wolfe's eyes narrowed.
“Do you mean to ask me that?”
Cramer looked uncomfortable.
But he stuck to it:
“I ask it.”
“You do. Very well, sir. I know, of course, that the sale of that stuff is illegal.
The law again!
A chemist who is a friend of mine accommodated me.
If you are petty enough to attempt to find out who he is, and to take steps to punish him for his infraction of the law, I shall leave this country and go to live in Egypt, where I own a house. If I do that, one out of ten of your murder cases will go unsolved, and I hope to heaven you suffer for it.”
Cramer removed his cigar, looked at Wolfe, and slowly shook his head from side to side.
Finally he said,
“I'm all right, I'm sitting pretty.
I won't snoop on your friend. I'll be ready to retire in another ten years. What worries me is this, what's the police force going to do, say, a hundred years from now, when you're dead? They'll have a hell of a time.” He went on hastily, “Now don't get sore.
I know a jack from a deuce. There's another thing I wanted to ask you.
You know I've got a room down at headquarters where we keep some curiosities-hatchets and guns and so on that have been used at one time or another. How's chances to take that red box and add it to the collection?
I'd really like to have it You won't need it any more.”
“I couldn't say.” Wolfe leaned forward to pour more beer,
“You'll have to ask Mr. Goodwin.
I presented it to him.”
Cramer turned to me.
“How about it, Goodwin?
Okay?”
“Nope.” I shook my head and grinned at him.
“Sorry, Inspector.
I'm going to hang onto it It's just what I needed to keep postage stamps in.”
I'm still using it.
But Cramer got one for his collection too, for about a week later McNair's own box was found on the family property in Scotland, behind a stone in a chimney.
It had enough dope in it for three juries, but by that time Calida Frost was already buried.
Chapter Twenty
Wolfe frowned, looking from Llewellyn Frost to his father and back again.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
It was Monday noon. The frosts had telephoned that morning to ask for an interview. Lew was in the dunce's chair; his father was on one at his left, with a taboret at his elbow and on it a couple of glasses and the bottle of Old Corcoran.
Wolfe had just finished a second bottle of beer and was leaning back comfortably.
I had my notebook out
Llewellyn flushed a little.
“She's out at Glennanne.
She says she phoned you Saturday evening to ask if she could go out there.
She…she doesn't want to see any Frosts.
She wouldn't talk to me.
I know she's had an awful time of it, but my God, she can't go on forever without any human intercourse… we want you to go out there and talk to her.
You can make it in less than two hours.”
“Mr. Frost.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “You will please stop that.