Blanche raised a hand, high. 'I am. And I get the idea, I'm quick. You're going to ask me if I put the stuff in another envelope, and I'm going to say I didn't. And I don't know who did. But Mr. O'Malley came and said something about something left out and took the envelope away with him.'
'Mr. O'Malley?'
'Yes.'
'Did he bring it back?'
'Yes.'
'How soon? How long was he gone with it?'
'I don't know, I guess three or four minutes. Anyway he brought it back, and when the messenger came I gave it to him.'
'Did you notice whether it was the same envelope?'
'My God, no!'
'This is important, Miss Duke. Will you testify that Mr. O'Malley took the envelope from your desk, left the room with it, and shortly returned with it or with a similar one?'
'What do you mean, will I? I am!'
Wolfe's eyes left her to move right and back again, still above the heads of the lawyers. 'We seem to be solving our problem,' he remarked. 'One more detail would help. Clearly we must assume that Mr. O'Malley addressed another envelope and transferred the material to it. If so, it seems likely that one of you ladies saw him do it, though I don't know how the typewriters are placed in that office. What about it? That Saturday morning, nine days ago, did any of you see Mr. O'Malley address an envelope on a typewriter?'
No reply. He had their eyes all right, but not their tongues.
He nodded understanding^. 'It may be, of course, that he used a machine that wasn't under observation. Or he may have been seen by one of the staff who is not present, and that will bear inquiry. But I should make sure that all of you understand the situation. This envelope is vital evidence. If Mr. O'Malley handled it and typed an address on it, it will probably show his prints, for I don't suppose he wore gloves in the office that
morning. Not only that, it will be a simple matter to learn which machine it was written on. If it was a machine that is on the desk of one of you ladies, and you were there that morning, and Mr. O'Malley denies that he used it, you may find yourself in an uncomfortable spot. The police may properly ask-•'
'It was my machine.' It was a sullen mutter, so low that it barely got through, and it came from the beautiful Eleanor, of all people.
'Ah. May I have your name?'
'Eleanor Gruber.' She muttered it,
'You will please tell us about it, Miss Gruber.'
'I was at the filing cabinet and he asked if-'
'Mr. O'Malley?'
'Yes. He asked if he could use my machine, and I said yes. That was all.'
'Did he address an envelope on it?'
'I don't know. I was at the cabinet with my back turned. I said it was my machine, but I should have said it may have been.'
'There was a supply of the firm's envelopes in your desk?'
'Certainly. In the top drawer.'
'How long was he at it?'
'I don't-very briefly.'
'Not more than a minute or so?'
'I said very briefly. I didn't time it.'
'But long enough to address an envelope?'
'Of course, that only takes seconds.'
'Did you see an envelope in his hand?'
'No. I wasn't looking. I was busy.'
'Thank you, Miss Gruber. I'm sorry your memory needed jogging, and I'm glad it's refreshed.' Wolfe focused on Con-roy O'Malley. 'Mr. O'Malley, you ought to have a word. I won't frame a tedious detailed question, but merely ask, did you do the things these people say you did that Saturday morning?'
O'Malley was a different man. The bitter twist to his mouth was gone, and so was the sag of his cheeks. He was ten years younger, and his eyes gleamed almost like eyes in the dark with a light on them. His voice had a sharp edge.
'I'd rather listen to you. Until you're through.'
'Very well. I'm not through. Is it plain that I'm accusing you of murder?'
'Yes. Go on.'
