The Bottle of Bier

10. august 2011 at 17:38 | Thalia Contostavlos
"Restless?" I asked Wolfe 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!"
 

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