Part Five: Wolfe's Home for New Jersey Waifs and Strays

We didn't see House the rest of the evening. Wilson came down a short while later and said that House was resting and didn't want any dinner. Wolfe was offended at this idea, of course, and insisted that a tray of the devilled grilled lamb kidneys was sent up. Wilson ate with us, ate well and made polite conversation, congratulating Fritz on the sauce and commenting favorably on the Tabasco, which pleased Fritz no end. But Wilson was also clearly distracted, and he excused himself straight afterwards to go check on House.

After dinner I reported on my trip to Princeton Plainsboro. I related my interviews with Cuddy, Brenda and House's staff, and we had a look at the CCTV videos. "Satisfactory," was Wolfe's verdict.

Wolfe told me about the visits from the jealous conference planner, Sandra Jenner, and the woman who had her wedding spoiled, Tammy Marchant. Both in his view were promising suspects. As Cath's emails had shown, they certainly had motives. Sandra Jenner ran a small business organizing corporate events such as conferences, and her opinion, vociferously expressed to Wolfe, had been that Cath Wilson had no business trying to move into her area and should stick to weddings and birthday parties. Tammy Marchant had spent her entire life planning her own perfect wedding, and spouted a long list of what had gone wrong and ruined it: she had been eager to go into detail and tell Wolfe exactly what Cath had done wrong. Most of it sounded pretty minor to me, but hey, what did I know?

They also had opportunity. Both admitted having been up to Cath's apartment that evening. They'd arrived at the same time and been shown up together by the waitress. Tammy had gone in to see Cath in the kitchen first. Sandra had seen Tammy leave the kitchen before going in herself, but there was nothing to have stopped Tammy having hidden elsewhere in the apartment (the bathroom was nearby) and going in to stab Cath after Sandra had left. Equally, if Tammy had simply left the apartment right away, there was nothing to have stopped Sandra from going in the kitchen and stabbing Cath during their conversation. Sandra's opportunity was better, but Tammy was left-handed.

"The killer was left-handed?" I hadn't heard this before.

"It is not clear cut, but the police pathologist is 75 sure that the fatal blow was struck with the left hand." Wolfe sounded disgusted. "Fred saw the report this morning."

I thought back to the dinner we'd just had. Wilson had eaten enough meals with us now that Fritz had started to put the knife on the other side of his place setting. "Wilson's left-handed." I stated the obvious.

"Indeed." Wolfe was brusque.

At that moment the doorbell rang. I went to look through the one-way glass, and there was the familiar figure of Inspector Cramer, cigar clamped in his jaw as usual. I opened the door and greeted him, but he wasn't in the mood to respond; he walked right past me into the office to confront Wolfe across his desk.

Wolfe looked at Cramer without enthusiasm. "Good evening, Inspector."

"Nuts." Cramer waved an arm. "Your man Goodwin here led Rowcliff on a snipe hunt earlier. Rowcliff's mad as hell. He doesn't believe James Wilson is staying here any more. He wants to revoke Wilson's bail, and he also wants a warrant to search this house. You got me instead, one chance to make good. Make the most of it."

"Archie." Wolfe turned his eyes on me. "Please would you be so kind as to fetch Dr. Wilson."

I found Wilson in the South Room, sitting on his bed and reading a medical journal. "Come on sunshine, the fuzz are here to see you."

He looked alarmed. "Do I have to see them?"

"They have to see you. Or they won't believe you're here, and House will lose his bail money. Don't worry, it's not Rowcliff," I assured him. "It's Inspector Cramer, who is at least half-human."

We went downstairs. Wilson sidled into the office and Cramer stared at him.

"Okay, you're still here," he said ungraciously. "But you weren't earlier. What the hell happened?"

"Dr. Wilson, as my client, I would advise that you are under no obligation to talk to the police at the moment," Wolfe put in. Wilson nodded and didn't say anything.

Cramer snorted and threw up his hands. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll tell you for free though, that if Rowcliff ever gets his hands on your friend Dr. House, I won't be responsible for the consequences."

"I'm sure that Dr. House is more than a match for Lieutenant Rowcliff," Wolfe said disdainfully. "Have you quite finished, Inspector?"

"One question." Cramer took the cigar out of his mouth and studied it. "Has Dr. House gone back to Princeton? I dropped by his hotel to see if Wilson was there before I came here, but he'd checked out."

"I don't see that the whereabouts of Dr. House is any of your business, Inspector," Wolfe said politely. "But I will tell you. Dr. House is staying here in this house, and will do so for the duration of this case."

Cramer stared at Wolfe and laughed incredulously. "I don't believe it. What is this, Wolfe's home for New Jersey waifs and strays? I know you've had a few clients as houseguests over the years--a few murderers, too--but since when do you start taking in their friends? All that disruption to your precious routines!"

"Mr. Cramer." Wolfe stood up regally. "Dr. Wilson and Dr. House are guests under my roof until I solve the murder of Catherine Wilson. Which I intend to do as soon as possible. Good evening."

Cramer stared at Wolfe for another moment, then shrugged, and walked out. I followed him out to the hallway but he didn't stop to talk to me, just left, banging the door behind him. I slid the chain bolt shut and went into the office. Wolfe was still on his feet, hands on hips.

"Archie. Have Saul and Fred here first thing tomorrow."

Of course after what Wolfe had just said to Cramer, we were stuck with our two houseguests until he solved the case. That made it urgent. Wolfe really had an incentive to solve this case now; I wasn't sorry.

--

The following morning, the kitchen was positively crowded with both Wilson and House eating with Fritz and me. House was clearly much better, being loud and demanding, feasting on the poached eggs Burgundian, and occasionally swiping griddle cakes off Wilson's plate.

Wilson went up to his room after breakfast, having lined up some work that he could do from the brownstone. He had borrowed an old laptop of mine which didn't have internet access, but which he could do paperwork on using his memory stick. He'd scheduled a telephone consultation on a patient for mid-morning, and also had a large number of medical journal articles to read, which he had downloaded using my computer and printed out the previous day.

House, in contrast, showed no signs of wanting to work at all, and every sign of interfering with my work instead. He was hanging around the office when Saul and Fred arrived for instructions.

"House, you do know you're not confined to here, like Wilson," I said, pointedly. "You can go out and sightsee. Go walk round Central Park or take in a show or something."

"I'll just sit in a corner and listen," House said innocently.

I thought Wolfe might eject House when he came in, but although Wolfe raised an eyebrow he didn't say anything. He said good morning to Saul and Fred, and we updated each other on events. It was obvious that there was one person we hadn't seen yet that we should; the fiancé, Scott Darby. Saul and Fred had tried to find him without success yesterday. He hadn't been in his apartment. They'd tried his workplace--he worked for a wine merchant--and learned he'd been given compassionate leave for a few days. A co-worker of his had seen him briefly, and told Saul that there was no way Scott would talk to detectives.

"Bring him," Wolfe proclaimed, glancing up at the clock; it was time for the morning session in the plant rooms. "I would like to see him today, at eleven if possible."

Wolfe went off to the plant rooms. I started to plan how to approach Scott with Saul and Fred, and wouldn't you know it, House piped up. "Scott might not see you, but he'll see me."

I looked at him. "What makes you think you'd have better luck than us? Scott hated your guts, didn't you say? And he thinks Wilson killed Cath."

"Yeah. He'd still see me." House was confident. "He'd want to gloat about Wilson. He's also the type who wouldn't think he had anything to fear from a cripple."

I could believe people might fall into that trap. Saul had no objection, so we ended up taking House with us after all. It didn't seem to need all of us (I figured I could handle House and Saul could handle Scott) so Fred went off to gather more information on the party attendees instead. Wolfe had decided that we needed a complete list of guests, and also a steer on which ones we might want to focus on, as there would be far too many for us to see in all.

We arrived at Scott's apartment, which had an intercom at the front door. House stabbed the buzzer without hesitation.

"Hello?" a suspicious voice came crackling through.

"Scott? It's Greg House."

"House? Wilson's friend?" Scott sounded incredulous. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I need to see you. Wilson's been arrested. The cops are all bastards who won't tell me anything." House's tone was bitter. "I want to know what the hell happened."

"I bet you do." There was a click as the door unlocked. House favored Saul and myself with a revoltingly smug smile, and pushed it open.

As we waited for the elevator, House said, "As I'm doing your job for you, I expect to see a reduction on Wilson's bill from Wolfe. No, actually, I'll take a cut."

Scott Darby lived on the fifth floor. House knocked on the door, and when it opened he placed the tip of his cane inside immediately and stepped in rapidly, before Scott could see he wasn't alone.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shock of corn-colored hair stood gaping in surprise. "What the hell?" he demanded, as Saul and myself shouldered our way in behind.

"They're detectives," House said, with a wave. "They work for Nero Wolfe. Wolfe is working for Wilson. They want you to come and talk to Wolfe."

"Like hell I will." Scott was outraged. "Wilson killed Cath, the fucker. I'm not doing anything to help him."

House said deliberately, "If you don't come with us, Scott, then our next stop will be that wine company you work for, where I'll be telling your boss about the fourteen crates of champagne that ended up in your garage instead of at the bottom of the drink, like you told him. Damn shame, Scott, I'd hoped you'd be a bit more co-operative."

"You bastard blackmailer." Scott stared at House in disbelief. "You remember me talking about that? From that lunch in Princeton?"

"Oh, you were only too happy to brag about it then, weren't you?" House mocked. "Anyway, why do you care about seeing Wolfe? What've you got to be afraid of, if you're so sure that Wilson did it?"

"Fine." Scott went to a hat stand and snatched a jacket. "Let's get this over with."

Saul grinned at me. Neither of us had said a word. House was doing our job for us.

--

We arrived at the brownstone at eleven, just after Wolfe was down from the plant rooms. I seated Scott in the red leather chair and House sat unobtrusively in a corner at the back of the office.

"I'm here under duress," Scott immediately informed Wolfe. "James Wilson killed Cath and I hope he hangs for it."

"Noted," Wolfe said dryly. "As you're here, perhaps you could expand on how you came to be convinced of this. But first, please could you tell us about your relationship with Catherine Wilson, starting with when you met."

Once he got started, Scott actually seemed eager to talk. "We met two years ago. You know I'm a wine merchant--Cath was a customer of ours. We like event planners, they order a lot of wine. Anyway I got her account, and I fell for her right when I met her. I asked her out, we got along really well, we started dating seriously. Couldn't believe she hadn't been snapped up long ago--she was so pretty, smart too. She used to say she had a knack for dating men who turned out to be cheaters, starting with her goddamn ex-husband, of course--but I'd never have done that. Once I had her, I knew I'd never want anyone else." Scott's voice cracked a little. "I'd have done anything for her."

"And you got engaged," Wolfe prompted him.

"I proposed on the second anniversary of our first date. We went back to the same restaurant, I did the bended knee thing, she was happy. I was too." Scott stared at the floor.

Wolfe moved the conversation on to the engagement party. He asked Scott some questions about the layout of Cath's apartment, both the downstairs entertainment area and the upstairs private area. Scott confirmed there were only two ways upstairs, via the front stairs which the waitress had been guarding, and the back stairs which would have been locked.

"Do you know for a fact that the back door was locked?" Wolfe asked.

Scott considered for a moment. "The cops asked the same and I'll tell you what I told them. It should have been locked, and I don't know any reason why it wouldn't have been locked. Cath usually checked the door before an event downstairs, to make sure nobody could go wandering up, and I guess she'd have done the same then. But I didn't use the back door myself that evening, so I didn't actually see if it was locked myself."

"How many keys are there to that door and who keeps them?"

"Again, like I told the cops. Three. Cath had one, I had one, and the building super had one." Scott shrugged. "I know Cath's key was on her key ring in her purse, and I've still got mine. Building super came up once in a blue moon, hadn't seen him in months. I'd be amazed if his key wasn't just sitting with all the rest in his room."

Wolfe moved the subject on. "Perhaps you could tell us about your contact with James Wilson."

Scott took a deep breath and scowled. "I guess it all started to go to shit when we took that trip to Princeton. I didn't want to go, Christ, meet her ex-husband from twenty years ago, what was the fucking point? But she was eager, and I went along with it. Goddamn nightmare it was too, hours of polite and not-so-polite conversation with fucking James Wilson and that bastard House." Scott was deliberately ignoring House's presence in the room. Scott looked at Wolfe and waved a finger in the air. "I'll tell you, when I walked in that restaurant and saw them waiting for us, I thought great, that's all we need, a pair of fucking faggots."

I couldn't help but look at House to see his reaction to this. He looked completely impassive apart from a slightly raised eyebrow.

"But then I realized I was wrong," Scott continued. "Because I found out why James had brought House along. It was so House could talk to me, keep me occupied, while James talked to Cath. Him and Cath, chatting merrily away while House needled the hell out of me all through lunch... Afterwards I said to Cath, 'James was hitting on you.' And she said, 'no he's not, he's just nice, he's being friendly.' 'Friendly my ass,' I said. When I saw his name on the guest list I went ballistic." He threw up his hands. "I should've put my foot down. Should've said he's coming over my dead body." Scott realized what he'd said and colored slightly. "Anyway, she said she wanted him to come, felt it would be nice, give her closure... 'how much closure d'ya need after twenty years?' I said. Then I thought he probably wouldn't dare to come anyway, so I said fine, invite him. But I was wrong. The fucker showed." Scott shook his head.

House no longer looked impassive, he was now biting his lip as if he was itching to say something but was prevented from doing so by Wolfe's steely glare from across the room.

"'Course he says now it was advice on getting pregnant she was after," Scott carried on. "It's true Cath wanted kids, and it was taking a while, but I kept saying, give it time. It had fuck all to do with James Wilson. Like he's an expert. He's a cancer doctor, for Christ's sake. Doesn't even have kids himself--married three times and closest he's got is a dog. And he came all the way from Jersey to our engagement party--he was trying to get into her pants. No other reason."

House was apparently trying to burn holes in Scott's back with his eyes.

Wolfe asked some questions about Scott's own movements at the party. Scott had been circulating, talked to a lot of people, he'd related all this to the cops in detail. He hadn't seen either Sandra Jenner or Tammy Marchant, although he was aware of them and their disputes with Cath. He'd been mid-conversation with someone when the shout had gone up through the room. Was there a doctor in the house? It took Scott a moment to realize the problem was upstairs, and as soon as he realized, he bounded up the stairs and through to the kitchen.

"My Cath on the floor, all limp and still, and this... knife sticking right out of her... This other man, the doctor, pressing her chest... And there he was too, James fucking Wilson, all covered in blood. I knew he'd done it. Maybe he tried to jump her in the kitchen, she resisted, he wouldn't take no for an answer. Wouldn't surprise me at all."

This was too much for House, now on his feet and next to Scott's chair. House shook a menacing cane in Scott's face. "Wilson gave her CPR, he was trying to save her for Christ's sake!"

"Your friend," Scott said, with conviction, "is a goddamn cheating lying murdering bastard who deserves everything he's got coming to him--"

And House lunged at Scott, who ducked and avoided him. Scott straightened up, jumped to his feet, and threw his own punch--a good one, though off-centre, catching House on the ear and making House stumble. Then Saul had Scott by the arms, pinning them to his sides, and I had House by one arm. Before I could grab the other, House turned with rage flashing in his eyes, leaned hard on his cane with one hand and threw a punch at me with the other. I dodged, delighted that someone had answered my prayers; I finally had an excuse to hit him. I made it soft, clipping him lightly on the jaw, just enough to topple him, not enough to actually hurt him. House sat on the floor and stared up at me, his bright blue eyes nearly popping out of his head with indignation.

Wolfe was actually on his feet. "Confound it, I will not have this ruckus in my office! Archie, get Dr. House out of here. Mr. Darby, kindly sit down and be quiet."

I grabbed House's cane, and hauled him unceremoniously to his feet and out to the front room. He dropped into an armchair and glared at me.

"Hit a cripple, why don't you," he said eventually.

"Half a chance and I'll do it again," I said brightly. "Now are you going to stay here and be quiet or do I have to knock you out?"

But then there came the sound of footsteps in the hall; Scott leaving in a huff. House and myself rejoined Wolfe, Saul and Fred in the office. House sat in a corner, actually seemingly subdued, although I wasn't taking that for granted.

"You noticed?" Wolfe asked as I sat at my desk.

I leaned back in my chair. "Scott threw the punch with his left hand. He might not be left-handed, but he's ambidextrous enough to have stabbed someone with his left hand."

House actually looked impressed. I suspected that didn't happen often.

"Guess we should be grateful to Dr. House for throwing the first punch," Saul said, straight-faced. I glared at him.

"Happy to help," House growled.

We moved to discuss the big picture. Wolfe was decisive about our strategy.

"We will proceed on the assumption that apart from Dr. Wilson, only Ms. Jenner and Mrs. Marchant had access to Catherine Wilson's flat through the front staircase, and only Mr. Darby could have had access via the back staircase. All else is futile. If the back staircase was in fact unlocked, then the police have a much better chance of uncovering this than we do. They doubtless have a dozen men interviewing all the party attendees right now, reconstructing who was where and when. We will focus on the three who we know had access. We need to know more, much more about all of them."

The rest of the day was grunt work, and the only good thing about it was that once House figured out it was grunt work, he showed no more interest in tagging along. He went off to interfere with the work that Wilson was trying to do.

We found out a lot. For example, Sandra Jenner's conference planning business was going through a rough patch, she was living off a large loan and depending on a few big jobs to come through to stay afloat. Tammy Marchant had screamed, 'Die Bitch,' at Cath over the phone (as overheard by a secretary) a couple of days before the engagement party. And Scott Darby hadn't remembered to declare all his income to the IRS a couple of years ago, and had gotten into trouble over it. But we didn't learn anything that advanced our knowledge of what had happened the night Cath Wilson was murdered.

Saul, Fred and I reconvened with Wolfe in the evening before dinner, and decided we needed to know more about Cath Wilson. Wolfe asked if there was anyone else at the party who was a genuine friend of Cath's, as opposed to an acquaintance from the event planning business. Fred had a new list of party attendees which he had obtained from the catering company. This one was a complete list not only of who was coming, but also those who had been invited and not able to come; their names were on the list, crossed out.

At Wolfe's suggestion I went to find Wilson to get him to come look at the list, on the off chance he might be able to tell us anything about anyone on it. I found him in the South Room, sitting in an armchair, reading a medical journal, brows furrowed in concentration. House was there too, sprawled across the bed, reading one of Wolfe's books. I had a look at the title; it was about Egypt.

"I didn't know any of Cath's friends," Wilson protested, when I asked him to come see the list, but he followed me downstairs, and House was sufficiently interested, or perhaps sufficiently bored, to haul himself up and come along too. I followed the two of them as they walked into the office together, and noticed they walked in perfect unison, Wilson's stride somehow matching House's lolloping gait.

Wilson sat in the red leather chair, House on the yellow one next to him. Wilson ran a finger down the list of names. Suddenly he stopped and smiled. "Actually I do know one person on this list, but her name's crossed out, she wasn't actually at the party. Are you still interested?"

"Yes," Wolfe said emphatically.

"Eloise Pickering. House knows her too," Wilson said, and there was a mischievous edge to his voice.

House looked surprised. "I didn't know any of Cath's friends."

"Oh, you knew this one," Wilson said, with certainty, and grinned. "In the biblical sense."

Now House looked startled. Wilson looked at Wolfe, dropped his eyes and then looked at me. "Eloise is—was--Cath's oldest bestest friend, they knew each other since they were knee-high. When Cath and I got married, Ellie was the maid of honor."

I saw a look of slowly dawning comprehension on House's face. "Her?"

Wilson settled back in the red chair and continued with obvious relish, "House was my best man, and he faithfully fulfilled all the duties of a best man, and he did it all really well. He made a speech, which wasn't quite as risqué as he hinted it would be. He organized the bachelor party, and didn't get me tarred and feathered like he threatened to. He kept the ring and didn't lose it, although he tried to convince me that he had. And to cap it all, he also screwed the chief bridesmaid at the reception." Wilson blushed faintly as he spoke. "Pardon my French."

"She had great breasts and she made sure I noticed," House said, apparently feeling the need to justify himself. "Followed me round all day, ambushing me with breasts whenever I turned around."

"Have either of you seen her since?" Wolfe enquired.

"Never saw her before the wedding and haven't seen her since." House was firm.

"Not since Cath and I got divorced, no. I've no idea where she lives now." Wilson raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "She could be near her family still, they lived out west."

"Saul, you will find Eloise Pickering." Wolfe looked at the clock. It was time for dinner. "Tomorrow."

I knew Wolfe had asked Saul to do this because this one might involve travel, and Wolfe hates me going too far away from home. Heck, he might actually need me for something and I wouldn't be there. I was sorry that I probably wouldn't get to see Eloise.

We had sausage with ten herbs for dinner, and Wilson amused Fritz by trying to guess all the herbs. House and Wolfe conversed animatedly about Egypt; Wolfe had a house there, of course, and it turned out to be another country that House had lived in as a child.

I had a date with Lily Rowan that evening at the Flamingo; I'd warned her we were on a case and I might not be able to make it, but in fact we'd reached a convenient stopping point and there didn't seem to be much more to be done tonight. So I called her and said we were on.

"Archie, your case, it's the woman killed at her engagement party, isn't it?" Lily asked. "Is your client the ex-husband?"

I confirmed this was so, and she then insisted on coming by the brownstone in a cab, as she had seen a photograph of Dr. Wilson in the Gazette and been intrigued enough to want to meet him. She thought he looked terribly cute, but sad. Or something. I told House and Wilson about my dancing partner, and they were sufficiently interested to want to meet her too. "Nice to have some female company in this house of men," House said darkly. We all had a drink in the front room, so as not to disturb Wolfe in the office.

Lily sashayed into the room in a red dress, that was possibly cut a little lower and fitted a little tighter than might have been necessary, and I was amused to see House's eyes and Wilson's eyes move in perfect harmony as they followed her ass across the room. I did the introductions, then House stuck his oar in.

"The Flamingo must be a sleazier joint than I realized," he said, eyeing Lily in the dress.

I was ready to be outraged but Lily took House in her stride. She looked right back at him and said, "Absolutely. You should come along, Dr. House, I'm sure you'd fit right in."

That made the corner of House's mouth twitch, and Wilson let out a small snort of laughter.

"My dancing days ended some time ago," House said, gesturing towards the cane which was propped up against his armchair.

"Damn shame." Lily wasn't about to be embarrassed. "What about you, Dr. Wilson? Do you dance?"

"I haven't for a while," he said, smiling. "And I'm not really in a position to now."

"Wilson's confined to barracks," House put in. "What with being accused of murder 'n'all."

Lily let out a mock sigh and said to me, "A cripple and a murder suspect. Archie, next time you go looking for dance partners for me you have to do better than this."

Lily stayed about half an hour, charming the pants off both House and Wilson, and by the time we left I could see they were both smitten with her.

As we were leaving, House remarked to me casually, "Shame you're going out, Goodwin, you'll miss the poker game."

"What poker game?" I asked suspiciously.

It transpired that Saul and Fred had arranged to play House and Wilson later on, and as Wilson couldn't leave the brownstone, they were coming to have a game down in Fritz's den. I was mildly pissed that nobody had told me, but told House that the Flamingo was calling, and left.

It was a good evening but I came home a bit earlier than I might have done otherwise, as I wanted to see House play poker if I could. I got back just in time to see the end of the game. Saul told me later how it had all panned out. Saul had never heard so much off-putting crap coming out of anyone's mouth as came from House at the poker table. Fred couldn't cope with it, bled chips rapidly and left the game. Wilson could cope with House, and Saul reckoned that Wilson could call House's bluff better than Saul thought possible for anyone to do. But Wilson went all in against Saul, who bluffed him big-time.

That left House and Saul, and they were facing off when I arrived, with Wilson and Fred watching, riveted. House had a cigar in his mouth and was puffing vigorously; Saul looked as cool as a cucumber. It was Saul who came out on top in the end, though it was close. They both finished up with a full house; Saul just edging House out.

"Good game," Saul said handsomely to House, as myself, Fred and Wilson applauded Saul.

House sat back and breathed out a smoke ring. "Durkin, if you're ever in Princeton on a Thursday evening, come and join my poker night."

Fred looked startled; Saul surprised, but amused.

"Don't take it personally," Wilson said to Saul, smiling. "I'm not in that sacred circle."

House rolled his eyes with a not this again expression, then glanced at Wilson. Wilson caught his eye, and then I saw House smile too. I hadn't seen much of that before. A scowl was pretty much House's default expression. But this was a large, genuine smile, the sun shining out from behind his blue eyes. The two of them locked eyeballs for no more than a few seconds, though the intensity of the exchange blindsided me for a few more.

Fred left, saying he had to get back or Mrs. Durkin would lock him out for the night. Wilson excused himself gracefully to go up to bed. I lingered a few minutes watching Saul and House smoke and discuss cards, then headed upstairs myself.

END OF PART FIVE