The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

I got out. He asked if there was anything more, and I said no and I would thank him later, and he rolled.

The Westside Hotel, in the middle of the block, was not exactly a dump, though many people would call it that. Evidently it was still in the black, since it had put on a new front and redone the lobby a couple of years back. Entering and ignoring everybody and everything, including a bald bellhop, I went to the do-it-yourself elevator, pushed the button, and was lifted. As I emerged and went to the nearest door to look at the number I noticed that my hand had slipped inside my coat to touch the Marley, and grinned at myself. If it was J. Edgar Hoover waiting for me, apparently he had better behave or he might get plugged. At Room 214, halfway down the hall on the left, the door was closed. My watch said 11:33. I knocked, and heard footsteps, and the door opened; and I stood and gawked. I was looking at the round red face and burly figure of Inspector Cramer of Homicide South.

"Right on time," he growled. "Come in." He sidestepped, and I crossed the sill.

My eyes have been trained so long to notice things that they took in the room automatically-the double bed, dresser with a mirror, two chairs, table with a desk pad that needed changing, open door to a bathroom-while my mind adjusted to the shock. Then, as I put my coat and hat on the bed, I got another shock: one of the chairs, the one without arms, was near the table, and on the table was a carton of milk and a glass. By God, he had bought it and brought it for his guest. I don't blame you if you don't believe it. I didn't, but there it was.

He went to the other chair, the one with arms, sat, and asked, "Are you loose?"

"Sure. I always obey instructions."

"Sit down."

I went to the other chair. He leveled his gray eyes at me. "Is Wolfe's phone tapped?"

My eyes were meeting his. "Look," I said, "you know damn well how it is. If I had listed a hundred names of people who might be here, yours wouldn't have been on it. Is this carton of milk for me?"

"Yes."

"Then you're off your hinges. You are not the Inspector Cramer I know so well, and I don't know what I'm up against. Why do you want to know if our phone is tapped?"

"Because I don't like to make things more complicated than they are already. I like things simple. I'd like to know if I could just have called you and asked you to come here."

"Oh. Sure you could, but if you had I would have suggested that it might be better if we went for a ride."