“It’ll do me. Will you answer it?” Cramer stuck his cigar in his mouth and tilted it up.

Wolfe shook his head again. “Certainly not. Permit me, please. Let us frame the question differently, like this: What have I been told regarding the relations between those four people which would either solve the problem of the murder of Harlan Scovil, or would threaten the personal safety of the Marquis of Clivers or subject him to undeserved or illegal annoyance? Will you accept that as your question?”

Cramer scowled at him. “Say it again.’

Wolte repeated it.

Cramer said, “Well … answer it.”

“The answer is, nothing.”

“Huh? Bellywash. I’m asking you, Wolfe—” Wolfe’s palm stopped him, and Wolfe’s tone was snappy. “No more. I’ve finished with that. I admit your right to call on me, as a citizen enjoying the opportunities and privileges of the City of New York, not to hinder—even to some extent assist—your efforts to defend a distinguished foreign guest against jeopardy and improper molestation. Also your efforts to solve a murder. But here are two facts for you. First, it is possible that your two worthy enterprises will prove to be incompatible. Second, as far as I am concerned, for the present at least, that question and answer are final. You may have other questions that I may be disposed to reply to. Shall we try?”

Cramer, chewing his cigar, looked at him. “You know something, Wolfe? Someday you’re going to fall off and get hurt.”

“You said those very words to me, in this room, eight years ago.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I did.” Cramer put his dead half-chewed cigar in the ash tray, took out a fresh one, and sat back. “Here’s a question. What do you mean about incompatible? I suppose it was the Marquis of Clivers that pumped the lead in Harlan Scovil. There’s a thought.”

“I’ve already had it. It might very well have been. Has he an alibi?”

“I don’t know. I guess the Commissioner forgot to ask him. You got any evidence?”

“No. No fragment.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “But I’ll tell you this. It is important to me, also, that the murder of Harlan Scovil be solved. In the interest of a client. In fact, two.”

“Oh. You’ve got clients.”

“I have. I have told you that there are various questions I might answer if you cared to ask them. For instance, do you know who was sitting in your chair three hours ago? Clara Fox. And in that one? Hilda Lindquist. And in that? Michael Walsh. That, I believe, covers the list on that famous paper, except for the Marquis of Clivers. I am sorry to say he was absent.”

Cramer had jerked himself forward. He leaned back again and observed, “You wouldn’t kid me.”

“I am perfectly serious.”

Cramer stared at him. He scraped his teeth around on his upper lip, took a piece of tobacco from his tongue with his fingers, and kept on staring. Finally he said, “All right. What do I ask next?”

“Well … nothing about the subject of our conference, for that was private business. You might ask where Michael Walsh is now. I would have to reply, I have no idea. No idea whatever. Nor do I know where Miss Lindquist is. She left here about two hours ago. The commission I have undertaken for her is a purely civil affair, with no impingements on the criminal law. My other client is Clara Fox. In her case the criminal law is indeed concerned, but not the crime of murder. As I told you on the telephone, I will not for the present answer any question regarding her wherea bouts.”

“All right. Next?”

“Next you might perhaps permit me a question. You say that you want to see these people on account of the murder of Harlan Scovil, and in connection with your desire to protect the Marquis of Clivers. But the detectives you sent, whom Mr. Goodwin welcomed so oddly, had a warrant for her arrest on a charge of larceny. Do you wonder that I was, and am, a little skeptical of your good faith?”

“Well.” Cramer looked at his cigar. “If you collected all the good faith in this room right now you might fill a teaspoon.”

“Much more, sir, if you included mine.” Wolfe opened his eyes at him.

“Miss Fox is accused of stealing. How do you know, justly or unjustly? You thought she was in my house. Had you any reason to suppose that I would aid a person suspected of theft to escape a trial by law? No. If you thought she was here, could you not have telephoned me and arranged to take her into custody tomorrow morning, when I could have got her release on bail? Did you need to assault my privacy and insult my dignity by having your bullies burst in my door in order to carry off a sensitive and lovely young woman to a night in jail? For shame, sir! Pfui!”

Wolfe poured himself a glass of beer.

Cramer shook his head slowly back and forth. “By God, you’re a worldbeater. I hand it to you. You know very well, Wolfe, I wasn’t interested in any larceny. I wanted to talk with her about murder and about this damned marquis.”

“Bah. After your talk, would she or would she not have been incar cerated?”

“I suppose she would. Hell, millions of innocent people have spent a night in jail, and sometimes much longer.”

“The people I engage to keep out of it don’t. If what you wanted was a talk, why the warrant? Why the violent and hostile onslaught?”

Cramer nodded. “That was a mistake. I admit it. I’ll tell you the truth, the Commissioner was there demanding action. And the phone call came. I don’t know who it was. He not only told me that Clara Fox was in your house, he also told me that the same Clara Fox was wanted for stealing money from the Seaboard Products Corporation. I got in touch with another department and learned that a warrant for her arrest had been executed late this afternoon. It was the Commissioner’s idea to get the warrant and use it to send here and get her in a hurry.”

I went on and got the signs for that down in my notebook, but my mind wasn’t on that, it was on Mike Walsh. It was fairly plain that Wolfe had let one get by when he had permitted Walsh to walk out with no supervision, considering that New York is full not only of telephones, but also of subways and railroad trains and places to hide. And for the first time I put it down as a serious speculation whether Walsh could have had a reason to croak his dear old friend Harlan Scovil. Seeing Wolfe’s lips moving slowly out and in, I suspected that the taste in his mouth was about the same as mine.

Cramer was saying, “Come on, Wolfe, forget it. You know what most Police Commissioners are like. They’re not cops. They think all you have to do is flash a badge and strong men burst into tears. Be a sport and help me out once. I want to see this Fox woman. I’ll take your word for Walsh and Lindquist and keep after them, but help me out on Clara Fox. If you’ve got her here, trot her out. If you haven’t, tell me where to find her. If you’ve turned her loose too, which isn’t a bad trick, show me her trail. She may be your client, but I’m not kidding when I say that the best thing you can do for her right now, and damn quick, is to let me see her. I don’t care anything about any larceny—”

Wolfe interrupted. “She does. I do.” He shook his head. “The larceny charge is of course in charge of the District Attorney’s office; you haven’t the power to affect it one way or another. I know that. As for the Marquis of Clivers, he is in no danger from Clara Fox that you need to protect him from. And as regards the murder of Harlan Scovil, she knows as little about that as I do. In fact, even less, since it is barely possible that I know who killed him.”

Cramer looked at him. He puffed his cigar and kept on looking. At length he said, ‘Well. It’s a case of murder. I’m in charge of the Homicide Squad. I’m listening.”

“That’s all. I volunteered that.”

Cramer looked disgusted. “It can’t be all. It’s either too much or not enough. You’ve said enough to make you a material witness. You know what we can do with material witnesses if we want to.”