Murder by the Book

Wolfe waved it away. "From you, 'nothing against suicide' is enough. On that sort of thing you are not to be impugned. But it is still open?"

"It's not closed. That's why I'm here. I just said you tricked him into killing himself, and you may or may not hear more about that, but right now I want a lot more than you've given

me. If it was suicide, why? Because he thought you knew what was in that damn manuscript? Because he thought you had him? For what? Murder? I want a lot more, a hell of a lot, and I'm here to get it."

Wolfe pursed his lips. "Well." He opened a desk drawer. "This came in my morning mail." He took a fat envelope from the drawer. "See if that answers your questions." He held it out.

Cramer got up to take the envelope and sat down again. He inspected the outside of the envelope before he removed the contents. He unfolded the sheets, read a little, looked at Wolfe, made a growling noise, and read some more. As he finished the first page and transferred it to the back, he inquired, "You say this came this morning?"

"Yes, sir."

He had no more to say or to ask until he got to the end. Wolfe leaned back, shut his eyes, and relaxed. I kept my eyes open. I kept them on Cramer's face, but all I saw was a man so intent and absorbed that he had no expression at all. When he finished he went back to a place on the third or fourth page and read it over. Then he looked at Wolfe, with his h'ps tightened to a thin line.

"You got this three hours ago," he muttered.

Wolfe opened his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"You got this three hours ago. You know how to phone my office. Sergeant Stebbins talked to Goodwin at nine o'clock. Goodwin didn't mention it."

"I hadn't read it yet," I stated. "It had just come."

"You know my number."

"Bosh," Wolfe said testily. "This is ridiculous. Have I concealed it or destroyed it?"

"No, you haven't." Cramer wiggled the sheets. "What evidence is there that Corrigan wrote this?"

"None."

"What evidence is there that you didn't dictate it to Goodwin and he wrote it?"

"None." Wolfe straightened up. "Mr. Cramer. You might as well leave. If you are in a frame of mind to think me capable of so extravagant an imbecility, all communication is blocked." He wiggled a finger. "You have that thing. Take it and go."

Cramer ignored it. "You maintain that Corrigan wrote this."

"I do not. I maintain only that I received it in today's mail, and that I have no knowledge of who wrote it beyond the