to have a breakdown. Sit down. I worked fourteen hours a day getting the spring line ready, enough to kill a man, and then this comes on top of it. You've been dragged into this by Lew Frost. What the devil does he know about it?” He glared at Frost. “I've told it over and over to the police until
I'm sick of it. Sit down, won't you? Ten minutes is all you'll need for what I know, anyhow. That's what makes it worse, as I've told Cramer, nobody knows anything. And Lew Frost knows less than that.” He glared at the young man. “You know damn well you're just trying to use it as a lever to pry Helen out of here.” He transferred the glare to Wolfe. “Do you expect me to have anything better than the barest courtesy for you? Why should I?”
Wolfe had returned to his chair and got himself lowered into it, without taking his eyes off McNair's face. Frost started to speak, but I silenced him with a shake of the head. McNair picked up the handkerchief and passed it across his forehead and threw it down again. He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk and looked in it, muttered, “Where the devil's that aspirin?” tried the drawer on the left, reached in and brought out a small bottle, shook a couple of tablets onto his palm, poured half a glass of water from a thermos carafe, tossed the tablets into his mouth, and washed them down.
He looked at Wolfe and complained resentfully, “I've had a hell of a headache for two weeks. I've taken a ton of aspirin and it doesn't help any. I'm going to have a breakdown. That's the truth-”
There was a knock, and the door opened. The intruder was a tall handsome woman in a black dress with rows of white buttons. She came on in, glanced politely around, and said in a voice full of culture:
“Excuse me, please.” She looked at McNair: “That 1241 resort, the cashmere plain tabby with the medium oxford twill stripe-can that be done in two shades of natural Shetland with basket instead of tabby?”
McNair frowned at her and demanded, “What?”
She took a breath. “That 1241 resort-”
“Oh. I heard you. It cannot. The line stands, Mrs. Lament. You know that.”
“I know. Mrs. Frost wants it.”
McNair straightened up. “Mrs. Frost? Is she here?”
The woman nodded. “She's ordering. I told her you were engaged. She's taking two of the Portsmouth ensembles.”
“Oh. She is.” McNair had suddenly stopped fidgeting, and his voice, though still thin, sounded more under command. “I want to see her. Ask if it will suit her convenience to wait till I'm through here.”
“And the 1241 in two shades of Shetland-”
“Yes. Of course. Add fifty dollars.”
The woman nodded, excused herself again, and departed.
McNair glanced at his wrist watch, shot a sharp one at young Frost, and looked at Wolfe. “You can still have ten minutes.”
Wolfe shook his head. “I won't need them. You're nervous, Mr. McNair. You're upset.”
“What? You won't need them?”
“No. You probably lead too active a life, running around getting women dressed.”
Wolfe shuddered. “Horrible. I would like to ask you two questions. First, regarding the death of Molly Lauck, have you anything to add to what you have told Mr. Cramer and Mr. Frost? I know pretty well what that is. Anything new?”
“No.” McNair was frowning. He picked up his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“No. Nothing whatever.”
“Very well. Then it would be futile to take up more of your time. The other question: may I be shown a room where some of your employees may be sent to me for conversation? I shall make it as brief as possible. Particularly Miss Helen
Frost, Miss Thelma Mitchell, and Mrs. Lament. I don't suppose Mr. Perren Gebert happens to be here?”
McNair snapped, “Gebert? Why the devil should he be?”
“I don't know.” Wolfe lifted his shoulders half an inch, and dropped them. “I ask. I understand he was here one week ago yesterday, the day Miss Lauck died, when you were having your show. I believe you call it a show?”
“I had a show, yes. Gebert dropped in. Scores of people were here. About talking with the girls and Mrs. Lament- if you make it short you can do it here. I have to go down to the floor.”
“I would prefer something less-more humble. If you please.”
“Suit yourself.” McNair got up. “Take them to one of the booths, Lew. I'll tell
Mrs. Lamont. Do you want her first?”
“I'd like to start with Miss Frost and Miss Mitchell. Together.”
“You may be interrupted, if they're needed.”
“I shall be patient.”
“All right. You tell them, Lew?”
He looked around, grabbed his handkerchief from the desk and stuffed it in his pocket, and bustled out.
