If Death Ever Slept

So the fact was a fact, and I had it. I hadn’t risked anything. If it had turned out not to be a fact, and his reaction would have shown it, it could have been that someone had been stringing me, and of course I wouldn’t have remembered who. Okay, I had it. If Wolfe had known what I was bringing home with me he would probably have locked himself in his room and not answered the phone, and I would have had to yell through the door.

He had just sat down to lunch-red snapper filets baked in butter and lemon juice and almonds-so I had to hold it. Even without the rule that business was taboo at the table, I wouldn’t have had the heart to rain his meal. But I still might want time to get a haircut and have my pants pressed, so as soon as we had crossed to the office and coffee had been poured I spoke. “I hate to bring it up right after lunch, but I think you ought to know. We’re out of the frying pan. We’re in the fire. At least that is my opinion.”

He usually takes three little sips of coffee at its hottest before putting the cup down, but that time, knowing my tones of voice, he took only two.

“Opinion?”

“Yes, sir. It may be only that because it’s an inference. For more than an hour Mandelbaum asked me what I had seen and heard from, by, to, and about Corey Brigham. I said I’d drop in later to sign the statement, got up to go, and said something. So you can form your own opinion, I’ll give it to you.”

I did so. His frown at the start was a double-breasted scowl at the end. He said nothing, he just scowled. It isn’t often that his feelings are too strong for words.

“If you want to,” I said, “you can be sore at me for fishing it up. If I hadn’t worked that on him it would have been another day, possibly two, before you had to face it. But you can be sore and use your mind at the same time, I’ve seen you, and it looks to me as if a mind is needed. I’m assuming that your opinion is the same as mine.”

He snorted. “Opinion? Bah. He might as well have certified it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s a simpleton. He should have known you were gulling him.”

“Yes, sir. You can be sore at him.”

“Soreness won’t help. Nor will it help to use my mind-supposing that I have one. This is disaster. There is only one forlorn issue to raise: whether we should verify it before we act, and if so how.”

“If you had been there I doubt if you would think it was necessary. If you could have seen his face when he said ‘I thought that was-’ and chopped it off.”

“No doubt. He’s a simpleton.”