PHARMACY. That was as good a place as any for a phone, so I parked down the block and walked back to it. Inside, it was quite an establishment ' up-to-date, well-furnished, well-stocked, and busy, with half a dozen customers on stools at the fountain and three or four others scattered around. One of them, at a counter in the rear, was being waited on by the proprietor himself, Vincent Tuttle. I crossed to a phone booth, dialed the operator, asked for the number I knew best, and in a moment had Wolfe's voice in my ear.
'From a booth,' I told him, 'in Tuttle's pharmacy in Mount Kisco. Quoting Doctor Buhl, the idea of a switch on the morphine is absurd and fantastic. As for its source, he gave two quarter-grain tablets to the nurse from his private stock. Do I proceed?'
'No.' It was a growl, as always when he was interrupted in the plant rooms. 'Or rather, yes, but first some further inquiry in Mount Kisco. After you left I considered the question of the hot-water bags, and I may have hit on the answer ' or I may not. At any rate, it's worth trying. See Mr. Paul Fyfe and ask him what happened to the ice cream. You will remember -'
'Yeah, he bought it at Schramm's, to take back to Mount Kisco for a Sunday party, and took it to Bert's apartment and put it in the refrigerator. You say you want to know what happened to it?'
'I do. See him and ask him. If he accounts for it, check him thoroughly. If he doesn't, see if Mr. or Mrs. Tuttle can, and check them. If they can't, ask Miss Goren when you see her about the morphine. If she can't, find Mr. Arrow and ask him. I want to know what happened to that ice cream.'
'You certainly do. Tell me why so I'll have some idea what I'm after.'
'No. You are not without discretion, but there's no point in subjecting it to an unnecessary strain.'
'You're absolutely right, and I appreciate it deeply. Tuttle's right here, so shall I see him first?'
He said no, to see Paul first, and hung up. As I left the booth and the store and headed for the address of Paul's real-estate office, down the street a block, I was looking around inside my skull for a connection between Schramm's famous mango ice cream and the hot-water bags in Bert Fyfe's bed, but if it was there I couldn't find it. Which was just as well, if there really was one, because I hate to overwork my discretion.
I found Paul on the second floor of an old wooden building, above a grocery store. His office was one small room, with two desks and some scarred old chairs which had probably been allotted to him when the family split up the paternal estate. Seated at the smaller desk was a woman with a long thin neck and big ears, about twice Paul's age, who was perfectly safe even with him. Paul, at the other desk, didn't get up as I entered.
'You?' he said. 'You got something?'
I looked at the woman, who was fiddling with some papers. He told her she could go, and she merely plunked a weight down on the papers, got up, and left. No amenities at all.
When the door had closed behind her I answered him. 'I haven't got something, I'm just after something. Mr. Wolfe sent me up here to ask Doctor Buhl about the morphine and to ask you about the ice cream. The last we heard it was still in the refrigerator in your brother's apartment. What happened to it?'
'Well, for God's sake.' He was staring at me, at least with his good eye. It was hard to tell what the one with the shiner was doing. 'What the hell has that got to do with anything?'
'I don't know. With Mr. Wolfe, I often don't know, but it's his car and tires and gas, and he pays my salary, so I just humor him. It's the simplest and quickest way for you too, unless there's something about the ice cream you'd rather keep to yourself.'
'There's not a damn thing about the ice cream.'
'Then I won't have to bother to sit down. Did you bring it to Mount Kisco for the Sunday party you mentioned?'
'No. I didn't come back to Mount Kisco until Sunday night.'
'But you were in New York again the
'From a booth,' I told him, 'in Tuttle's pharmacy in Mount Kisco. Quoting Doctor Buhl, the idea of a switch on the morphine is absurd and fantastic. As for its source, he gave two quarter-grain tablets to the nurse from his private stock. Do I proceed?'
'No.' It was a growl, as always when he was interrupted in the plant rooms. 'Or rather, yes, but first some further inquiry in Mount Kisco. After you left I considered the question of the hot-water bags, and I may have hit on the answer ' or I may not. At any rate, it's worth trying. See Mr. Paul Fyfe and ask him what happened to the ice cream. You will remember -'
'Yeah, he bought it at Schramm's, to take back to Mount Kisco for a Sunday party, and took it to Bert's apartment and put it in the refrigerator. You say you want to know what happened to it?'
'I do. See him and ask him. If he accounts for it, check him thoroughly. If he doesn't, see if Mr. or Mrs. Tuttle can, and check them. If they can't, ask Miss Goren when you see her about the morphine. If she can't, find Mr. Arrow and ask him. I want to know what happened to that ice cream.'
'You certainly do. Tell me why so I'll have some idea what I'm after.'
'No. You are not without discretion, but there's no point in subjecting it to an unnecessary strain.'
'You're absolutely right, and I appreciate it deeply. Tuttle's right here, so shall I see him first?'
He said no, to see Paul first, and hung up. As I left the booth and the store and headed for the address of Paul's real-estate office, down the street a block, I was looking around inside my skull for a connection between Schramm's famous mango ice cream and the hot-water bags in Bert Fyfe's bed, but if it was there I couldn't find it. Which was just as well, if there really was one, because I hate to overwork my discretion.
I found Paul on the second floor of an old wooden building, above a grocery store. His office was one small room, with two desks and some scarred old chairs which had probably been allotted to him when the family split up the paternal estate. Seated at the smaller desk was a woman with a long thin neck and big ears, about twice Paul's age, who was perfectly safe even with him. Paul, at the other desk, didn't get up as I entered.
'You?' he said. 'You got something?'
I looked at the woman, who was fiddling with some papers. He told her she could go, and she merely plunked a weight down on the papers, got up, and left. No amenities at all.
When the door had closed behind her I answered him. 'I haven't got something, I'm just after something. Mr. Wolfe sent me up here to ask Doctor Buhl about the morphine and to ask you about the ice cream. The last we heard it was still in the refrigerator in your brother's apartment. What happened to it?'
'Well, for God's sake.' He was staring at me, at least with his good eye. It was hard to tell what the one with the shiner was doing. 'What the hell has that got to do with anything?'
'I don't know. With Mr. Wolfe, I often don't know, but it's his car and tires and gas, and he pays my salary, so I just humor him. It's the simplest and quickest way for you too, unless there's something about the ice cream you'd rather keep to yourself.'
'There's not a damn thing about the ice cream.'
'Then I won't have to bother to sit down. Did you bring it to Mount Kisco for the Sunday party you mentioned?'
'No. I didn't come back to Mount Kisco until Sunday night.'
'But you were in New York again the
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