Before Midnight

"He's still dead." Cramer is not a wag; he was just stating a fact. He pushed his chair back an inch, wrinkling the carpet. "It was cyanide. To be verified, but it was. We found a crumpled paper on the floor under the end of the couch. Toilet paper. Not the kind in your bathroom."

"Thank you," Wolfe said drily.

"Yeah, I know. You didn't do it. You were with me. Goodwin wasn't, not all the time, but I'm willing to be realistic. There was white powder left on the paper, and when we put a drop of water on a spot it had the cyanide smell. The glass seemed to have it too, but there was the smell of the drink." He looked up at me. "Sit down, Goodwin. Do you know what the drink was?"

"No," I replied, "but O'Garro said it was Pernod. He said he saw him pour it and put it down on the table when Hansen called to him. And when--"

"Damn you," Cramer exploded, "you had the nerve to start in on them? You know damn well--"

"Nuts," I said distinctly. "I asked no questions. He volunteered it. And when Assa was here this evening just before dinner he drank Pernod--or rather, he gulped it, and said it was his drink."

"He was here? Before dinner?"

"Right. Unless Mr. Wolfe says he wasn't."

"What did he want?"

"Ask Mr. Wolfe."

"No," Wolfe said emphatically. "My brain is fuddled. Tell Mr. Cramer what Mr. Assa said and what I said. All of it"

I got a chair and sat, and shut my eyes for a moment to get my brain arranged. I had had a long and strict training, but the past hour had shoved other details to the rear, and I had to adjust. I did so, opened my eyes, and reported. When I had got to the end, with Assa saying, "Very well," and departing, I added, "That's it. If we had a tape of it I'd welcome a comparison. Any questions?"

No reply. Cramer had stuck a cigar in his mouth and was chewing on it. "Go down to the office," he said, "and get your typewriter and some paper. Tell Stebbins I said so, and take it somewhere and type that. All of it."

"That can wait," Wolfe said gruffly, "until we're through here. I want him here."

Cramer didn't press it. He took the cigar from his mouth and said, "And then you phoned me."

"Yes. As soon as Mr. Assa was out of the house.'

"Too bad you didn't tell me what had happened. Assa would still be alive."

"Perhaps."

Cramer goggled. "By God, you admit it?"