said Bottweill had torn it up and put the pieces in the wastebasket by the desk in his office. The night before. Thursday evening.'
'And what did you do when you went to the office after Bottweill had died?'
'I dumped the wastebasket and put the stuff back in it, piece by piece. No part of the license was there.'
'You made sure of that?'
'Yes.'
Wolfe left me and asked Cramer, 'Any questions?'
'No. He lied in his statement. I'll attend to that later. What I want-'
Margot Dickey blurted, 'Then Cherry took it!' She craned her neck to see across the others. 'You took it, you slut!'
'I did not.' The steel was in Cherry's chirp again. Her eyes didn't leave Wolfe, and she told him, 'I'm not going to wait any longer-'
'Miss Quon!' he snapped. 'I'm doing this.' He returned to Cramer. 'Now another fact. Yesterday I had a luncheon appointment with Mr. Bottweill at Rusterman's restaurant. He had once dined at my table and wished to reciprocate. Shortly before I left to keep the appointment he phoned to ask me to do him a favor. He said he was extremely busy and might be a few minutes late, and he needed a pair of white cotton gloves, medium size, for a man, and would I stop at some shop on the way and get them. It struck me as a peculiar request, but he was a peculiar man. Since Mr. Goodwin had chores to do, and I will not ride in taxicabs if there is any alternative, I had engaged a car at Baxter's, and the chauffeur recommended a shop on Eighth Avenue between Thirty-ninth and Fortieth Streets. We stopped there and I bought the gloves.'
Cramer's eyes were such narrow slits that none of the blue-gray showed. He wasn't buying any part of it, which was unjustified, since some of it was true.
Wolfe went on. 'At the lunch table I gave the gloves to Mr. Bottweill, and he explained, somewhat vaguely, what he wanted them for. I gathered that he had taken pity on some vagabond he had seen on a park bench, and had hired him to serve refreshments at his office party, costumed as Santa Claus, and had decided that the only way to make his hands presentable was to have him wear gloves. You shake your head, Mr. Cramer?'
'You're damn right I do. You would have reported that. No reason on earth not to. Go ahead and finish.'
'I'll finish this first. I didn't report it because I thought you would find the murderer without it. It was practically certain that the vagabond had merely skedaddled out of fright, since he couldn't possibly have known of the jar of poison in the workshop, not to mention other considerations. And as you know, I have a strong aversion to involvement in matters where I have no concern or interest. You can of course check this-with the staff at Rusterman's, my presence there with Mr. Bottweill, and with the chauffeur, my conferring with him about the gloves and our stopping at the shop to buy them.'
'You're reporting it now.'
'I am indeed.' Wolfe was unruffled. 'Because I understood from Mr. Goodwin that you were extending and intensifying your search for the man who was there as Santa Claus, and with your army and your resources it probably wouldn't take you long when the holiday had ended to learn where the gloves were bought and get a description of the man who bought them. My physique is not unique, but it is-uncommon, and the only question was how long it would take you to get to me, and then I would be under inquisition. Obviously I had to report the episode to you and suffer your rebuke for not reporting it earlier, but I wanted to make it as tolerable as possible. I had one big advantage: I knew that the man who acted Santa Claus was almost certainly not the murderer, and I decided to use it. I needed first to have a talk with one of those people, and I did so, with Miss Quon, who came here last evening.'
'Why Miss Quon?'
Wolfe turned a hand over. 'When I have finished you can decide whether such details are important. With her I discussed her associates at that place and their relationships, and I became
'And what did you do when you went to the office after Bottweill had died?'
'I dumped the wastebasket and put the stuff back in it, piece by piece. No part of the license was there.'
'You made sure of that?'
'Yes.'
Wolfe left me and asked Cramer, 'Any questions?'
'No. He lied in his statement. I'll attend to that later. What I want-'
Margot Dickey blurted, 'Then Cherry took it!' She craned her neck to see across the others. 'You took it, you slut!'
'I did not.' The steel was in Cherry's chirp again. Her eyes didn't leave Wolfe, and she told him, 'I'm not going to wait any longer-'
'Miss Quon!' he snapped. 'I'm doing this.' He returned to Cramer. 'Now another fact. Yesterday I had a luncheon appointment with Mr. Bottweill at Rusterman's restaurant. He had once dined at my table and wished to reciprocate. Shortly before I left to keep the appointment he phoned to ask me to do him a favor. He said he was extremely busy and might be a few minutes late, and he needed a pair of white cotton gloves, medium size, for a man, and would I stop at some shop on the way and get them. It struck me as a peculiar request, but he was a peculiar man. Since Mr. Goodwin had chores to do, and I will not ride in taxicabs if there is any alternative, I had engaged a car at Baxter's, and the chauffeur recommended a shop on Eighth Avenue between Thirty-ninth and Fortieth Streets. We stopped there and I bought the gloves.'
Cramer's eyes were such narrow slits that none of the blue-gray showed. He wasn't buying any part of it, which was unjustified, since some of it was true.
Wolfe went on. 'At the lunch table I gave the gloves to Mr. Bottweill, and he explained, somewhat vaguely, what he wanted them for. I gathered that he had taken pity on some vagabond he had seen on a park bench, and had hired him to serve refreshments at his office party, costumed as Santa Claus, and had decided that the only way to make his hands presentable was to have him wear gloves. You shake your head, Mr. Cramer?'
'You're damn right I do. You would have reported that. No reason on earth not to. Go ahead and finish.'
'I'll finish this first. I didn't report it because I thought you would find the murderer without it. It was practically certain that the vagabond had merely skedaddled out of fright, since he couldn't possibly have known of the jar of poison in the workshop, not to mention other considerations. And as you know, I have a strong aversion to involvement in matters where I have no concern or interest. You can of course check this-with the staff at Rusterman's, my presence there with Mr. Bottweill, and with the chauffeur, my conferring with him about the gloves and our stopping at the shop to buy them.'
'You're reporting it now.'
'I am indeed.' Wolfe was unruffled. 'Because I understood from Mr. Goodwin that you were extending and intensifying your search for the man who was there as Santa Claus, and with your army and your resources it probably wouldn't take you long when the holiday had ended to learn where the gloves were bought and get a description of the man who bought them. My physique is not unique, but it is-uncommon, and the only question was how long it would take you to get to me, and then I would be under inquisition. Obviously I had to report the episode to you and suffer your rebuke for not reporting it earlier, but I wanted to make it as tolerable as possible. I had one big advantage: I knew that the man who acted Santa Claus was almost certainly not the murderer, and I decided to use it. I needed first to have a talk with one of those people, and I did so, with Miss Quon, who came here last evening.'
'Why Miss Quon?'
Wolfe turned a hand over. 'When I have finished you can decide whether such details are important. With her I discussed her associates at that place and their relationships, and I became
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