"Don't interrupt. A couple of inches over five feet, hundred and ten pounds, well-designed oval face, blue eyes, lots of clover-blossom-honey hair, small ears close -"

"By God. By God."

"Her?"

"Yes."

"Stop interrupting. Mr. Wolfe never does. I didn't have to touch her to check. I mean it. There was a bruise on the forehead and a big dent in the skull, two inches above and back of the left ear. On the floor, three feet from her right shoulder, was a marble ashtray which looked heavy enough to dent a thicker skull than hers probably was. There were purple spots on an arm and a leg. Cadaveric lividities to you. Her forehead was good and cold, and -"

"You said you didn't touch her."

"I touch with my fingers. I don't call applying a wrist to a forehead or a leg touching. The leg was cold too. It had been a corpse for at least five hours and probably more. The ashtray had been wiped. There were butts and ashes on the carpet but no particles on the tray. I was in there a total of about six minutes. The idea of staying to look for things didn't appeal to me." I put a hand in a pocket and got something. "Here are your keys."

He didn't see them. His jaw was clamped. He unclamped it to say, "Playing you. For God's sake. Playing you."

"Naturally I'm curious."

He got up and went through a doorway. I tossed the keys onto a table by a window and looked around. It was a good-sized room with three windows, with furniture that would do all right for a bachelor who wasn't fussy. The only light was from a pair of bulbs in a wall bracket, but there was a lamp by an easy chair that wasn't turned on. Orrie came back with a bottle and two glasses and offered me one, but I said no thanks, I had just dined. He put one glass down and poured in the other, took a healthy gulp, made a face, and sat down.