The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

Cramer came at a quarter past eleven in the morning, Tuesday, July 3. When the doorbell rang I was on the phone, a purely personal matter. Back in May I had accepted an invitation to spend a five-day weekend, ending on the Fourth of July, at a friend's place up in Westchester. The marathon mother hunt had forced me to cancel, and the phone call was from the friend, to say that if I would drive up for the Fourth I would find a box of firecrackers and a toy cannon waiting for me. When the doorbell rang I said, You know I would love to, but a police inspector is on the stoop right now, or maybe a sergeant, wanting in. I may spend the night in the jug. See you in court.

As I hung up the doorbell rang again. I went to the hall for a look through the one-way glass, and when I told Wolfe it was Cramer he merely tightened his lips. I went to the front, opened the door wide, and said, Greetings. Mr. Wolfe is a little grumpy. He was expecting you yesterday. Most of that was wasted, at his back as he marched down the hall and into the office. I followed. Cramer removed the old felt hat he wears winter and summer, rain or shine, sat in the red leather chair, no hurry, put the hat on the stand, and focused on Wolfe. Wolfe focused back. They held it for a good five seconds, just focusing. It wasn't a staring match; neither one had any idea he could out-eye the other one; they were just getting their dukes up.

Cramer spoke. It's been twenty-three days. He was hoarse. That was unusual. Usually it took ten minutes or so with Wolfe to get him hoarse. Also his big round face was a little redder than normal, but that could have been the July heat.

Twenty-five, Wolfe said. Ellen Tenzer died the night of June eighth.

Twenty-three since I was here. Cramer settled back. What's the matter? Are you blocked?

Yes, sir.

The hell you are. By what or whom?

A corner of Wolfe's mouth went up an eighth of an inch. I couldn't answer that without telling you what I'm after.

I know you couldn't. I'm listening.

Wolfe shook his head. Mr. Cramer. I am precisely where I was twenty-three days ago. I have no information for you.

That's hard to believe. I've never known you to mark time for over three weeks. Do you know who killed Ellen Tenzer?

I can answer that. No.

I think you do. Have you any other client at present than Mrs. Richard Valdon?

I can answer that too. No.