If Death Ever Slept

“That may do,” Wolfe said. “You may remember our conversation Saturday. Day before yesterday.”

“Yeah, I remember it. What about it?”

“I said then that if I have reason to think I have information relevant to the crime you’re investigating I am bound to give it to you. I now suspect that I have such information but I want to make sure. To do so I must proceed on the basis of knowledge that has come to me in a peculiar manner and I don’t know if I can rely on it. Mr. Goodwin has learned, or thinks he has, that the markings on the bullet which killed Corey Brigham have been compared with those on the bullet which killed James L. Eber, and that they are identical. I can proceed to verify my suspicion only if I accept that as established, and I decided to consult you. Do you advise me to proceed?”

“By God,” Cramer said.

“I’m afraid,” Wolfe objected, “that I need something more explicit.”

“Go to hell and get it there,” Cramer advised. “I know where Goodwin got it, from that damn fool at Leonard Street. He wanted us to find out who had leaked it to Goodwin, and we wanted to know exactly what Goodwin had said, and he told us, and we told him if he wanted to know who leaked it to Goodwin just look in a mirror. And now you’ve got the gall to ask me to verify it. By God. If you’ve got relevant information about a murder you know where it belongs.”

“I do indeed. And I’ll soon know whether I have it or not if I proceed on the basis of Mr. Goodwin’s news. If and when I have it you’ll get it without undue delay. Do you advise me to proceed?”

“Look, Wolfe. Are you listening?”

“Yes, I’m listening.”

“Okay, you want my advice. Here it is. Get the written permission of the police commissioner and the mayor too, and then proceed all you want to.”

He hung up.

I did too, and swiveled, and spoke. “So that’s settled. It was the same gun. And in spite of it, Jarrell’s private affairs are still private, or we’d be downtown right now, both of us, and wouldn’t get home for dinner. By the way, I apologize. I thought you were going to cough it up.”

“I am, confound it. I’ll have to. But not until I get the satisfaction of a gesture. Get Mr. Jarrell.”

“Where he can talk?”

“Yes.”