“Yes, sir.”
“My name is Nero Wolfe. Have you ever seen me before this moment?”
“No, sir. Of course I’ve heard of you-”
“What is your business, Mr. Levine?”
“I’m a partner in B. and S. Levine. My brother and I have a men’s clothing store at Five-fourteen Fillmore Street in Newark.”
“Why are you here? How did it happen? Just tell us.”
“Why, there was a phone call at the store, and a man said-”
“Please. When?”
“This afternoon about four o’clock. He said his wife had bought a felt hat and a brown suit at our store last week, last Wednesday, and did we remember about it. I said sure I remembered, I waited on her. Then he said so there wouldn’t be any mistake would I describe her, and I did. Then he-”
“Please. Did he describe his wife or ask you to describe the customer?”
“Like I said. He didn’t do any describing. He asked me to, and I did.”
“Go ahead.”
“Then he said he wanted to come and maybe exchange the hat and would I be there and I said yes. In about half an hour, maybe a little more, in he came. He showed me a New York detective license with his picture on it and his name, Orvald Cather, and he said it wasn’t his wife that bought the suit, he was investigating something. He said he was working for Nero Wolfe, the great detective, and something had come up about the suit and hat, and he wanted me to come to New York with him. Well, that was a problem. My brother and I don’t like any trouble. We’re no Brooks Brothers, but we try to run a nice honest little business-”
“Yes. But you decided to come?”
“My brother and I decided. We decide everything together.”
“Did Mr. Cather give you any inducement? Did he offer to pay you?”
“No, he just talked us into it. He’s a good talker, that man. He’d make a good salesman. So we came together on the tube, and he brought me here.”
“Do you know what for?”
“No, he didn’t say exactly. He just said it was something very important about the suit and hat.”
“He didn’t give you any hint that you were going to be asked to identify the woman who bought the suit and hat?”
“No, sir.”
“He hasn’t shown you any photographs, any kind of pictures, of anyone?”
“No, sir.”
“Or described anyone?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you should have an open mind, Mr. Levine. I’m asking you about the woman who bought a brown suit and a felt hat at your store last Wednesday. Is there anyone in this room who resembles her?”
“Sure, I saw her as soon as I sat down. The woman there on the end.” He pointed at Jean Estey. “That’s her.”
“Are you positive?”
“One hundred percent.”
Wolfe’s head swiveled. “Will that do for a fact, Mr. Cramer?”
Of course Jean Estey, sitting there between the sergeant and the policewoman, had had four or five minutes to chew on it. The instant she saw Levine she knew she was cooked on buying the outfit, since S. Levine would certainly corroborate B. Levine. So she was ready, and she didn’t wait for Cramer to answer Wolfe’s question, but answered it herself.
“All right,” she said, “it’s a fact. I was an utter fool. I bought the suit and hat for Claire Horan. She asked me to, and I did it. I took the package-”
The seating arrangement worked out fine, with the policewomen sandwiched among the civilian females. When Mrs. Horan shot out of her chair to go for Jean Estey, she got stopped so promptly and rudely that she was tossed clear to the lap of the policewoman on the other side, who made an expert catch. In the row behind them some of the males were on their feet, and several voices were raised, among them Inspector Cramer’s. Purley Stebbins, now naturally a little confused, left Jean Estey to his female colleague and concentrated on Dennis Horan, who was out of his chair to rescue his wife from the clutches of the lady official who had caught her on the fly. Horan, feeling Purley’s heavy hand on his shoulder, jerked away, drew himself up, and spoke to whom it might concern.
“That’s a lie,” he squeaked. He pointed a shaking finger at Jean Estey. “She’s a liar and a murderer.” He turned to direct the finger at Lips Egan. “You know it, Egan. You know Birch found out she was hogging it, she was giving him the short end, and you know what Birch meant when he said he would handle her. He was a damn fool to think he could. Now she’s trying to hang a murder on me, and she’ll suck you in too. Are you going to take it?”
“I am not,” Egan croaked. “I’ve been sucked in enough. She can fry, the crazy bitch.”
