Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

At the dinner table Wolfe didn't repeat his performance of the day before. It was no longer necessary to quiz her, and he put her in her place by discussing the difference between imagination and invention in literature. She did get a word in now and then. Once when his mouth was full of sweetbreads she said, "You're talking over my head on purpose. Show me one thing in one book and ask me if it's imagination or invention and I'll tell you every time, and let's see you prove I'm wrong." That's no way to talk to a man who is doing his best to prepare you for college.

While Fritz was pouring after-dinner coffee in the office, Julie said, "I'd give a brand-new dollar bill to know what she's doing. What's her number? I'll call her."

"Yeah," I said.

She looked at Wolfe. "You get on my nerves because you haven't got any. You wouldn't give a rusty nickel to know what she's doing."

"Why should I?" he growled, and sipped coffee.

It was obvious that they had had enough of each other for a while, and when we had finished with the coffee I took her down to the basement. The basement has Fritz's room and bath, a storeroom, and a large room with a pool table. I had mentioned it to her, and she had said she would like to learn how to use a cue, and it might take her mind off of Stella Fleming, not to mention mine. But she didn't get her pool lesson. I had taken the cover off, and picked a cue for her, and racked the balls, when the doorbell rang. If I hadn't caught her arm she would have beaten me to the stairs, and she was right at my heels when I reached the hall and took a look at the front.

"My God," she said, "she hashed it." I stepped to the office door and told Wolfe, "Cramer." He looked up from his book and tightened his lips. I told Julie, "Go to the kitchen and stay there." The doorbell rang. Julie went, but not to the kitchen, to the alcove, where the hole was. I said, "If you sneeze, I'll boil you in oil," and went to the front and opened the door.

From the look Cramer gave me, he was set to boil me in oil whether I sneezed or not. That was all he had for me, the look. By the time I had his coat hung up he was at the office door, and when I got there he was already in the red leather chair and talking. He was saying, "… and you knew Barry Fleming fired those shots, and I want to know how you knew. You also knew Barry Fleming had killed Isabel Kerr, and I want to know how you knew that."