“Mr. Cramer? How do you do. I was wondering if you have arrived at any conclusions from this morning… Indeed…I wouldn't say that…No, I haven't, but I've started a line of inquiry which may develop into something later… No, nothing for you now; as you know, I fancy my own discretion in these matters…You must leave that to me, sir…”
When he hung up, Helen Frost was sitting down again, looking at him with her chin up and her lips pushed together. Wolfe picked up the paper and glanced at it, handed it across to me, and settled back in his chair. He reached forward to ring for beer, and settled back again.
“So. Miss Frost, you have acknowledged that you possess information regarding an implement of murder which you refuse to disclose. I wish to remind you that I have not engaged to keep that acknowledgment confidential. For the present I shall do so; I am not committing myself beyond that. Do you know the police mind? One of its first and most constant assumptions is that any withheld knowledge regarding a crime is guilty knowledge. It is a preposterous assumption, but they hug it to their bosoms. For instance, if they knew what you have just signed, they would proceed on the theory that you either put the poison in the candy or know who did. I shall not do that. But as a matter of form I shall ask the question: did you poison that candy?”
She was pretty good, at that. She answered in a calm voice that was only pinched a little, “No. I didn't.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Are you engaged to be married?”
She compressed her lips. “That is none of your business.”
Wolfe said patiently, “I shall have to ask you about many things which you will regard as none of my business. Really, Miss Frost, it is foolish of you to irritate me unnecessarily. The question I just asked is completely innocuous; any of your friends could probably answer it; why shouldn't you? Do you imagine this is a friendly chat we are having? By no means. It is a very one-sided affair. I am forcing you to reply to questions by threatening to turn you over to the police if you don't. Are you engaged to be married?”
She was cracking a little. Her fists were clenched in her lap, and she looked smaller, as if she had shrunk, and her eyes got so damp that finally a tear formed in the corner of each one and dripped out. Without paying any attention to them, she said to Wolfe, looking at him, “You're a dirty fat beast.
You…you…”
He nodded. “I know. I ask questions of women only when it is unavoidable, because I abominate hysterics. Wipe your eyes.”
She didn't move. He sighed. “Are you engaged to be married?”
Tears of rage were also in her voice. “I am not.”
“Did you buy that diamond on your finger?”
She glanced at it involuntarily. “No.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Mr. McNair.”
“And the one set in your vanity case-who gave you that one?”
“Mr. McNair.”
“Astonishing. I wouldn't have supposed you cared for diamonds.” Wolfe opened a bottle of beer and filled his glass. “You mustn't mind me, Miss Frost. I mean, my seeming inconsequence. A servant girl named Anna Fiore sat in that chair once and conversed with me for five hours. The Duchess of Rathkyn did so for most of a night. I am apt to poke into almost any comer, and I beg you to bear with me.”
He lifted the glass and emptied it in par. “For instance, this diamond business is curious. Do you like them?”
“I don't…not ordinarily.”
“Is Mr. McNair fond of them? Does he make gifts of them more or less at random?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And although you don't Wee them, you wear these out of…respect for Mr.
McNair? Affection for an old friend?”
“I wear them because I happen to feel like it.”
“Just so. You see, I know very little about Mr. McNair. Is he married?”
“As I told you, he is an old friend of my mother's. A lifelong friend. He had a daughter about my age, a month or so older, but she died when she was two years old. His wife had died before, when the baby was born. Mr. McNair is the finest man I have ever known. He is…he is my best friend.”
“And yet he puts diamonds on you. You must forgive my harping on the diamonds; I happen to dislike them. – Oh, yes, I meant to ask, do you know anyone else who is fond of Jordan almonds?”
“Anybody else?”
“Besides Mr. McNair.”
“No, I don't.”
Wolfe poured more beer and, leaving the foam to settle, leaned back and frowned at his victim. “You know, Miss Frost, it is time something was said to you. In your conceit, you are assuming, for your youth and inexperience, a terrific responsibility. Molly Lauck died nine days ago, probably through bungling of someone's effort to kill another person. During all that time you have possessed knowledge which, handled with competence and dispatch, might do something much more important than wreak vengeance; it might save a life, and it is even
