and I took her arm and eased her into the chair. Wolfe, who had stopped in the center of the room, snapped at me, 'Get something. Brandy.'
I moved, but she said, 'Not for me. He said that?'
'Yes.'
'He's dead. He's dead?'
'Yes.'
She rammed her fists against her temples and pounded them. Wolfe said, 'I'll be in the kitchen,' and turned to go. To him a woman overwhelmed, no matter by what, is merely a woman having a fit, and it's too much for him. But I said, 'Hold it, she'll be all right in a minute,' and he came and looked down at her, let out a growl, went to his chair, and sat.
'I want to phone somebody,' she said. 'I have to know. Who can I phone?' Her fists were in her lap.
'A shot of brandy or whisky wouldn't hurt,' I told her.
'I don't want anything. Who can I phone?'
'Nobody.' Wolfe was curt. 'Not just now.'
Her head jerked to him. 'Why not?'
'Because he must first consider whether / should phone-phone the police to report what you have told me. I promised to. Archie. Where's the gun?'
'In my desk drawer.'
'Has it been fired recently?'
'No telling. If so it's been cleaned. It's fully loaded and the cartridges all look alike.'
'Did she shoot him?'
That was routine; he merely wanted my opinion as a qualified expert on women. His over-all estimate of me and my relations with females is full of contradictions, but that doesn't bother him. 'For a quick guess,' I said, 'no. To make it final I would need facts.'
'So would I. Did you shoot your husband, Mrs. Hazen?'
She shook her head.
'I prefer to hear it if you can speak. Did you shoot him?'
'No.' She had to push it out.
'Since my promise was to you, you may of course release me from it. Do you wish me to phone the po- lice?'
'Not now.' The blood was beginning to creep back into her skin. 'You don't have to now. You won't ever have to. He's dead, and I didn't kill him.' She rose to her feet, not very steady, but not staggering. 'That's all over now.'
'Sit down.' It was a command. 'It's not so simple. When the police ask you where you were this morning from eleven o'clock on what will you say? Confound it, quit propping yourself on my desk and sit down! That's better. What will you say?'
'Why…' She was on the edge of the chair. 'Will they ask me that?'
'Certainly. Unless they already have the murderer and the evidence beyond all question, and that's too much to hope for. You will have to account for every minute since you last saw your husband. Did you come here in a cab?'
'Yes.'
'Then you'll say so. You'll have to. And when they ask why you came to see me what will you say?'
She shook her head. She looked at me and back at him. 'Oh,' she said. 'You'll have to tell me what to say.'
He nodded. 'I expected that.' His head turned. 'Archie. What grounds have you for your guess?'
I was back in my chair. 'Partly personal,' I told him, 'and partly professional. Personal, my general impres- sion of her, and specifically her smile when I let her in. Professional, two points. First, if she shot him last night after making an appointment with you and then came here with that jabber, she is either completely loony or the trickiest specimen I have ever laid eyes on, and I'll buy neither one. Second, and this is really it, her face when she realized he was dead. She might fake a faint or the staggers or even some fancy hysterics, but no woman alive could make her blood go like that. I said I would need facts to make it final, but I should have said I would need facts, and good ones, to make me guess again.'
Wolfe grunted and turned to her with a scowl. 'Granting that Mr. Goodwin's grounds are valid, what then? When the police leam that the widow of a man murdered last night came to see me this morning they will harass me beyond tolerance. I owe you nothing. You are not my client. You have paid me a hundred dollars for half an hour of my time, now stretched to more than an hour, and released me from my promise, so that incident is closed. You asked me to tell you what to say when they ask you what you came here for, but they will also ask me. What if you fail to follow my advice and my account differs from yours? Why should I take that risk? I can see no alternative- What are you doing now?'
She had opened her bag and was taking out the check-fold and pen. 'I'm going to write a check,' she said. 'Then I'll be your client. What shall I… how much?'
He nodded. 'I expected that too. It won't do. I am not a blackmailer. I take pay for services, not for forbear- ance, and you may not need my services. If you do, we'll see. Will you answer some
