Read Curtains For Three for Free Online Page B

on the door with the heel. Then I went down to the twelfth floor by the public stairs and rang the bell at the apartment door. That was really stupid, because I know how Mrs. Mion hates me, but anyway I did. She came to the door and said she thought Alberto was up in the studio, and I said he wasn’t, and she shut the door in my face. I went home and mixed myself a drink - which reminds me, I must admit this is good scotch, though I never heard of it before.”
    She lifted her glass and jiggled it to swirl the ice.
    “Any questions?”
    “No,” Wolfe growled. He glanced at the clock on the wall and then along the line of faces. “I shall certainly report to Mrs. Mion,” he told them, “that you were not grudging with the facts.”
    “And what else?” Arnold inquired.
    “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
    That they didn’t like. I wouldn’t have supposed anyone could name a subject on which those six characters would have been in unanimous accord, but Wolfe turned the trick in five words. They wanted a verdict; failing that, an opinion;
    failing that, at least a hint. Adele Bosley was stubborn, Rupert the Fat was so indignant he squeaked, and Judge Arnold was next door to nasty. Wolfe was patient up to a point, but finally stood up and told them good night as if he meant it. The note it ended on was such that before going not one of them shelled out a word of appreciation for all the refreshment, not even Adele, the expert on public relations, or Doc Lloyd, who had practically emptied the bourbon bottle.
    With the front door locked and bolted for the night, I returned to the office.
    To my astonishment Wolfe was still on his feet, standing over by the bookshelves, glaring at the backbones.
    “Restless?” I asked courteously.
    He turned and said aggressively, “I want another bottle of beer.”
    “Nuts. You’ve had five since dinner.” I didn’t bother to put much feeling into it, as the routine was familiar. He had himself set the quota of five bottles between dinner and bedtime, and usually stuck to it, but when anything sent his humor far enough down he liked to shift the responsibility so he could be sore at me too. It was just part of my job. “Nothing doing,” I said firmly. “I counted ‘em. Five. What’s the trouble, a whole evening gone and still no murderer?”
    “Bah.” He compressed his lips. “That’s not it. If that were all we could close it up before going to bed. It’s that confounded gun with wings.” He gazed at me with his eyes narrowed, as if suspecting that I had wings too. “I could, of course, just ignore it - No. No, in view of the state our clients are in, it would be foolhardy. We’ll have to clear it up. There’s no alternative.”
    “That’s a nuisance. Can I help any?”
    “Yes. Phone Mr. Cramer first thing in the morning. Ask him to be here at eleven o’clock.”
    My brows went up. “But he’s interested only in homicides. Do I tell him we’ve got one to show him?”
    “No. Tell him I guarantee that it’s worth the trouble.” Wolfe took a step toward me. “Archie.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “I’ve had a bad evening and I’ll have another bottle.”
    “You will not. Not a chance.” Fritz had come in and we were starting to clear up. “It’s after midnight and you’re in the way. Go to bed.”
    “One wouldn’t hurt him,” Fritz muttered.
    “You’re a help,” I said bitterly. “I warn both of you, I’ve got a gun in my pocket. What a household!”
    V For nine months of the year Inspector Cramer of Homicide, big and broad and turning gray, looked the part well enough, but in the summertime the heat kept his face so red that he was a little gaudy. He knew it and didn’t like it, and as a result he was some harder to deal with in August than in January. If an occasion arises for me to commit a murder in Manhattan I hope it will be winter.
    Tuesday at noon he sat in the red leather chair and looked at Wolfe with no geniality. Detained by another