is a large jar of it on a cupboard shelf in the workshop one floor below, and there is a stair from Bottweill’s office to the workroom. Anyone who knew that, and who also knew that Bottweill kept a case of Pernod in a cabinet in his office, and an open bottle of it in a drawer of his desk, couldn’t have asked for a better setup. Four of you have admitted knowing both of those things. Three of you-Mrs. Jerome, Leo Jerome, and Archie Goodwin-admit they knew about the Pernod but deny they knew about the potassium cyanide. That will-”
“That’s not true! She did know about it!”
Mrs. Perry Porter Jerome’s hand shot out across her son’s knees and slapped Cherry Quon’s cheek or mouth or both. Her son grabbed her arm. Alfred Kiernan sprang to his feet, and for a second I thought he was going to sock Mrs. Jerome, and he did too, and possibly he would have if Margot Dickey hadn’t jerked at his coattail. Cherry put her hand to her face but, except for that, didn’t move.
“Sit down,” Stebbins told Kiernan. “Take it easy. Miss Quon, you say Mrs. Jerome knew about the potassium cyanide?”
“Of course she did.” Cherry’s chirp was pitched lower than normal, but it was still a chirp. “In the workshop one day I heard Mr. Hatch telling her how he used it and how careful he had to be.”
“Mr. Hatch? Do you verify-”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Jerome snapped. “What if he did? Perhaps he did. I had forgotten all about it. I told you I won’t tolerate this abuse!”
Purley eyed her. “Look here, Mrs. Jerome. When we find that Santa Claus, if it was someone who knew Bottweill and had a motive, that may settle it. If not, it won’t help anyone to talk about abuse, and that includes you. So far as I know now, only one of you has told us a lie. You. That’s on the record. I’m telling you, and all of you, lies only make it harder for you, but sometimes they make it easier for us. I’ll leave it at that for now. Mr. Kiernan and Mr. Hatch, these men”-he aimed a thumb over his shoulder at two dicks standing back of him-”will take you downtown. The rest of you can go, but remember what I said. Goodwin, I want to see you.”
He had already seen me, but I wouldn’t make a point of it. Kiernan, however, had a point to make, and made it: he had to leave last so he could lock up. It was so arranged. The three women, Leo Jerome, and Stebbins and I took the elevator down, leaving the two dicks with Kiernan and Hatch. Down on the sidewalk, as they headed in different directions, I could see no sign of tails taking after them. It was still snowing, a fine prospect for Christmas and the street cleaners. There were two police cars at the curb, and Purley went to one and opened the door and motioned to me to get in.
I objected. “If I’m invited downtown too I’m willing to oblige, but I’m going to eat first. I damn near starved to death there once.”
“You’re not wanted downtown, not right now. Get in out of the snow.”
I did so, and slid across under the wheel to make room for him. He needs room. He joined me and pulled the door shut.
“If we’re going to sit here,” I suggested, “we might as well be rolling. Don’t bother to cross town, just drop me at Thirty-fifth.”
He objected. “I don’t like to drive and talk. Or listen. What were you doing there today?”
“I’ve told you. Having fun. Three kinds of champagne. Miss Dickey invited me.”
“I’m giving you another chance. You were the only outsider there. Why? You’re nothing special to Miss Dickey. She was going to marry Bottweill. Why?”
“Ask her.”
“We have asked her. She says there was no particular reason, she knew Bottweill liked you, and they’ve regarded you as one of them since you found some tapestries for them. She stuttered around about it. What I say, any time I find you anywhere near a murder, I want to know. I’m giving you another chance.”
So she hadn’t mentioned the marriage license. Good for her. I would rather have eaten all the snow that had fallen since noon than explain that damn license to Sergeant Stebbins or Inspector Cramer. That was why I had gone through the wastebasket. “Thanks for the chance,” I told him, “but I can’t use it. I’ve told you everything I saw and heard there today.” That put me in a class with Mrs. Jerome, since I had left out my little talk with Margot. “I’ve told you all I know about those people. Lay off and go find your murderer.”
“I know you, Goodwin.”
“Yeah, you’ve even called me Archie. I treasure that memory.”
“I know you.” His head was turned on his bull neck, and our eyes were meeting. “Do you expect me to believe that guy got out of that room and away without you knowing it?”
“Nuts. I was kneeling on the floor, watching a man die, and they were around us. Anyway, you’re just talking to hear yourself. You don’t think I was accessory to the murder or to the murderer’s escape.”
“I didn’t say I did. Even if he was wearing gloves-and what for if not to leave no prints?-I don’t say he was the murderer. But if you knew who he was and didn’t want him involved in it, and let him get away, and if you let us wear out our ankles looking for him, what about that?”
“That would be bad. If I asked my advice I would be against it.”
“Goddam it,” he barked, “do you know who he is?”
“No.”
“Did you or Wolfe have anything to do with getting him there?”
“No.”
“All right, pile out. They’ll be wanting you downtown.”
“I hope not tonight. I’m tired.” I opened the door. “You have my address.” I stepped out into the
