Wolfe pushed his chair back. “I offer my profound sympathy, Miss Vassos.” Even gruffer. He arose. “I’ll leave you with Mr. Goodwin. You will give him the details.” He moved, the book in his hand.

That was him. He thought she was going to flop, and a woman off the rail is not only unwelcome, she is not to be borne. Not by him. But she caught his sleeve and stopped him. “You,” she said. “I must tell you. To my father you are a great man, the greatest man in the world. I must tell you.”

“She’ll do,” I said. “She’ll make it.”

There are few men who would not like to be told they are the greatest in the world, and Wolfe isn’t one of them. He stared down at her for five seconds, returned to his chair, sat, inserted the marker in the book and put it down, scowled at her, and demanded, “When did you eat?”

“I haven’t-I can’t swallow.”

“Pfui. When did you eat?”

“A little this morning. My father hadn’t come home and I didn’t know…”

He swiveled to push a button, leaned back, closed his eyes, and opened them when he heard a step at the door. “Tea with honey, Fritz. Toast, pot cheese, and Bar-le-Duc. For Miss Vassos.”

Fritz went.

“I really can’t,” she said.

“You will if you want me to listen. Where is the cliff?”

It took her a second to go back. “It’s in the country somewhere. I guess they told me, but I don’t-”

“When was he found?”

“Sometime this afternoon, late this afternoon.”

“You saw him at the morgue. Where, in the country?”

“No, they brought him; it’s not far from here. When I had-when I could-I came here from there.”