Horan turned. “You’ve got me, Wolfe, damn you. I know when I’m through. My wife knew nothing about this, absolutely nothing, and I knew nothing about the murders. I may have suspected, but I didn’t know. Now you can have all I do know.”

“I don’t want it,” Wolfe said grimly. “I’m through too. Mr. Cramer? Will you get these vermin out of my house?” He turned to the assemblage and changed his tone. “That applies, ladies and gentlemen, only to those who have earned it.”

I was opening the bottom drawer of my desk to get out a camera; Lon Cohen of the Gazette had earned, I thought, a good shot of Bernard Levine sitting in Nero Wolfe’s office.

Chapter 17

At eleven in the morning three days later, a Friday, I was at my desk typing a letter to an orchid collector when Wolfe came down from the plant rooms and entered. But instead of proceeding to his desk he went to the safe, opened it, and took something out. I swiveled to look because I don’t like to have him monkeying with things. What he took was Lips Egan’s notebook. He closed the safe door and started out.

I got up to follow, but he turned on me. “No, Archie. I don’t want to make you accessory to a felony-or is it a misdemeanor?”

“Nuts. I’d love to share a cell with you.”

He went to the kitchen, got the big roasting pan from the cupboard, put it on the table, and lined it neatly with aluminum foil. I sat on a stool and watched. He opened the looseleaf notebook, removed a sheet, crumpled it, and dropped it into the pan. When a dozen or more sheets were in the pile he applied a match, and then went on adding fuel to the flame, sheet after sheet, until the book was empty.

“There,” he said in a satisfied tone, and went to the sink to wash his hands. I tossed the book cover in the trash basket.

I thought at the time he was rushing things a little, since it was still possible they would need some extra evidence. But that was many weeks ago, and now that Horan and Egan had been duly tried, convicted, and sentenced, and it took a jury of seven men and five women only four hours to hang the big one on Jean Estey- what the hell.

This file was created with BookDesigner program

bookdesigner@the-ebook.org

21/08/2007

LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh- tools.com/ebook/

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