Wolfe was back at the papers he had taken from the file. She was obviously through with the book, so I got up and took it and returned it to the shelf.
Wolfe was saying, 'Miss Hibbard. I know that what you want is action, and doubtless I have tried your patience. I am sorry. If I might ask you a few questions?'
'Certainly. It seems to me -'
'Of course. Pardon me. Only two questions, I think. First, do you know whether your uncle recently took out any life insurance?'
She nodded impatiently. 'But, Mr.
Wolfe, that has nothing to do with -'
He broke in to finish for her, 'With the totalitarian evil of Paul Chapin. I know.
Possibly not. Was it a large amount of insurance?'
'I think so. Yes. Very large.'
'Were you the beneficiary?'
'I don't know. I suppose so. He told me you spoke to him of insurance. Then, about a week ago, he told me he had rushed it through and they had distributed it among four companies. I didn't pay much attention because my mind was on something else. I was angry with him and was trying to persuade him… I suppose my sister Ruth and I were the beneficiaries.' m 'Not Paul Chapin?'
She looked at him, and opened her mouth and closed it again. She said,
'That hadn't occurred to me. Perhaps he would. I don't know.'
Wolfe nodded. 'Yes, a sentimental romantic might do that. Now, the second question. Why did you come to see me?
What do you want me to do?'
She gave him her eyes straight. ‹I want you to find proof of Paul Chapin's guilt, and see that he pays the penalty. I can pay you for it. You told my uncle ten thousand dollars. I can pay that.' 1 'Do you have a personal hostility for Mr. Chapin?' . 'Personal?' She frowned. 'Is there any other kind of hostility except personal? I don't know. I hate Paul i Chapin, and have hated him for years, | because I loved my uncle and my sister Ruth loved him and he was a fine sensitive generous man, and Paul Chapin was ruining his life. Ruined his life… oh… now…'» I a^There, Miss Hibbard. Please. You did not intend to engage me to find your uncle? You had no hope of that?'
'I think not. Oh, if you do! If you do that… I think I have no hope, I think I dare not. But then – even if you find him, there will still be Paul Chapin.'
'Just so.' Wolfe sighed, and turned his eyes to me. 'Archie. Please wrap up Miss Hibbard's file for her. If I have not placed the contents in their proper compartments, she will forgive me. The paper and string are intact? Good.'
She was protesting. 'But you will need that – I'll leave it -'
'No, Miss Hibbard. I'm sorry. I can't undertake your commission.'
She stared at him. He said, 'The affair is in the hands of the police and the District Attorney. I would be hopelessly handicapped. I shall have to bid you good day.' -?
She found her tongue. 'Nonsense. You don't mean it.' She exploded, forward in her chair. 'Mr. Wolfe, it's outrageous!
I've told you all about it… you've asked me and I've told you… the reason you give is no reason at all… why -'
He stopped her, with his finger wiggling and the quality in his voice, without raising it, that always got me a little sore because I never understood how he did it.
'Please, Miss Hibbard. I have said no, and I have given you my reason. That is sufficient. If you will just take the package from Mr. Goodwin. Of course I am being rude to you, and on such occasions I always regret that I do not know the art of being rude elegantly. I have all the simplicities, including that of brusqueness.'
But he got up from his chair, which, though she didn't know it, was an extraordinary concession. She, on her feet too, had taken the package from me and was mad as hell. Before turning to go, though, she realized that she was more helpless than she was mad. She appealed to him:
'But don't you see, this leaves me… what can I do?'
'I can make only one suggestion. If you have made no other arrangements and still wish my services, and the police have made no progress, come to see me next Wednesday.'
'But that's four whole days -'
'I'm sorry. Good day, Miss Hibbard.'
I went to open the door for her, and she certainly had completely forgotten about her eyelashes.
When I got back to the office Wolfe was seated again, with what I suppose Andrew Hibbard would have called the stigmata of pleasure. His chin was up, and he was making little circles with the tip of his finger on the arm of his chair. I came to a stop by his desk, across from him, and said:
'That girl's mad. I would say, on a guess, she's about one-fifth as mad as I am.'
He murmured, 'Archie. For a moment, don't disturb me.' u 'No, sir. I wouldn't for anything. A trick is okay, and a deep trick is the staff of life for some people, but where you've got us to at present is wallowing in the unplumbed depths of – wait a minute, I'll look it up, I think it's in Spenser.'
