Plot It Yourself

“That makes it even better. Brilliant. So you telephoned Mr Imhof and told him Miss Porter was there with an offer to settle her claim, and asked his advice. You don’t call that brilliant?”

“Of course not.” She meant it. “It was just common sense.”

Wolfe shook his head again. “You are beyond me. Added to your other achievements, you committed three murders in an emergency with such resourcefulness and dexterity that a highly skilled police force is completely at sea. I offer a suggestion. I suggest that you request the District Attorney to arrange for your brain to be turned over to competent scientists. I shall myself suggest it to Mr Cramer of the police. Will you do that?”

A sound came from Cora Ballard, half gasp and half moan. It was the first sound from any of them except Imhof since Dol Bonner had reported. No one looked at her. No one was looking at anyone but Amy Wynn.

“You’re just being polite,” Amy Wynn said. “If I had any brains this wouldn’t be happening. It’s crazy to say I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“You made one,” Wolfe said. “Only one of any consequence. You shouldn’t have allowed the committee to hire me. I don’t know how you could have managed it, but I don’t know how you have managed any of your miracles, and you don’t either. If it had occurred to you, you would have done it somehow. I am not crowing; I merely say that it is unlikely that anyone else would have hit upon the combination of maneuvers by which you have been exposed. You wanted to talk. Have you anything else to say?”

Her nose twitched. “You have never shaken hands with me.”

“I rarely shake hands with anyone. I beg you not to offer yours.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to now.” She stood up. “No, there’s nothing else. I had some things to do before I-I have some things to do.” She was moving.

She was incredible. I was absolutely glued to my chair. I don’t say that if there had been only the three of us, Wolfe and her and me, I would have sat there and let her walk out, but the fact remains that I didn’t stir. She passed, in no hurry, in front of Philip Harvey and between Cora Ballard and Mortimer Oshin; and when, four paces from the door, she found her way blocked by Saul and Fred and Orrie, she turned square around and looked at Wolfe. Just looked. No more talk. Her nose twitched.

Wolfe turned his head to me. “Get Mr Cramer, Archie.”

Another sound came from Cora Ballard, louder than before, as I swiveled to get the phone.

This file was created with BookDesigner program

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21/08/2007

LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; Mikhail Sharonov, 2006; msh- tools.com/ebook/

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19