belonged to Helen, and Cramer brought the two men in his own bus. Lunch was over and I was looking out of the front window when they drove up, and I stood and watched them alight, and then went to the hall to let them in. My instructions were to take them directly to the office.
I was as nervous as a congressman on election day. I had been made acquainted with the high spots on Wolfe's program. It was all well and good for him to get up these tricky charades as far as he himself was concerned, because he didn't have any nerves, and he was too conceited to suffer any painful apprehension of failure, but I was made of different stuff and I didn't like the feeling it gave me. True, he had stated just before we went into lunch that we had a hazardous and disagreeable task before us, but he didn't seriously mean it; he was merely calling my attention to the fact that he was preparing to put over a whizz.
I admitted the visitors, helped get hats and topcoats disposed of in the hall, and led them to the office. Wolfe, seated behind his desk, nodded around at them. I had already arranged chairs, and now allotted them: Helen the closest to
Wolfe, with Cramer at her left and Llewellyn next to Cramer; Uncle Dudley not far from me, so I could reach him and gag him if necessary, and Mrs. Frost the other side of Dudley, in the big leather chair which was usually beside the big globe. None of them looked very festive. Lew looked as if he had the pop-eye and his face had a grey tinge, I suppose from the nitrobenzene he had got too close to. Mrs. Frost wasn't doing any sagging, but looked pale in black clothes.
Helen, in a dark brown suit with a hat to match, twisted her fingers together as soon as she sat down and put her eyes on Wolfe, and stayed that way. Dudley looked at everybody and squirmed. Wolfe had murmured to the inspector:
“Your man, Mr. Cramer. If he would wait in the kitchen?”
Cramer grunted. “He's all right. He won't bite anybody.”
Wolfe shook his head. “We won't need him. The kitchen would be better for him.”
Cramer looked as if he'd like to argue, but called it off with a shrug. He turned: “Go on out to the kitchen, Stebbins. I'll yell if I want you.”
Purley, with a sour glance at me, turned and went. Wolfe waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke, looking around at them:
“And here we are. Though I am aware that you came at Mr. Cramer's invitation, nevertheless I thank you for coming. It was desirable to have you all here, though nothing will be expected of you-”
Dudley Frost blurted, “We came because we had to!. You know that! What else could we do, with the attitude the police are taking?”
“Mr. Frost. Please-”
“There's no please to it! I just want to say, it's a good thing nothing will be expected of us, because you won't get it! In view of the ridiculous attitude of the police, we refuse to submit to any further questioning unless we have a lawyer present. I've told Inspector Cramer that! I, personally, decline to say a word! Not a word!”
Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “On the chance that you mean that, Mr. Frost, I promise not to press you; and we now have another good reason for admitting no lawyers. I was saying: nothing will be expected of you save to listen to an explanation. There will be no questioning. I prefer to do the talking myself, and I have plenty to say. – By the way, Archie, I may as well have that thing handy.”
That was the cue for the first high spot. For me it wasn't a speaking part, but
I had the business. I arose and went to the safe and got out Saul's package and put it on the desk in front of Wolfe; but the wrapping paper had been removed before lunch. What I put there was an old red leather box, faded and scuffed and scarred, about ten inches long and four wide and two deep. On one side were the backbones of two gilt hinges for the lid, and on the other a small gilt escutcheon with a keyhole. Wolfe barely glanced at it, and pushed it to one side. I sat down again and picked up my notebook.
There was some stirring, but no comments. They all stared at the box, except
Helen Frost; she stuck to Wolfe. Cramer was looking wary and thoughtful, with his eyes glued on the box.
Wolfe spoke with sudden sharpness: “Archie. We can dispense with notes. Most of the words will be mine, and I shall not forget them. Please take your gun and keep it in your hand. If it appears to be needed, use it. We don't want anyone squirting nitrobenzene around here-that will do, Mr. Frost! I say stop it! I remind you that a woman and two men have been murdered! Stay in your chair!”
Dudley Frost actually subsided. It may have been partly on account of my automatic which I had got from the drawer and now held in my hand resting on my knee. The sight of a loaded gun out in the open always has an effect on a guy, no matter who he is. I observed that Cramer had shoved his chair back a few inches and was looking even warier than before, with a scowl on his brow.
Wolfe said, “This, of course, is melodrama. All murder is melodrama, because the real tragedy is not death but the condition which induces it. However.” He leaned back in his chair and aimed his half-closed eyes at our client. “I wish to address myself, Miss Frost, primarily to you. Partly through professional vanity. I wish to demonstrate to you that engaging the services of a good detective means much more than hiring someone to pry up floorboards and dig up flower beds trying to find a red box. I wish to show you that before I ever saw this box or its contents, I knew the central facts of this case; I knew who had killed Mr. McNair, and why. I am going to shock you, but I can't help that.”
He sighed. “I shall be brief. First of all, I shall no longer call you Miss
Frost, but Miss McNair. Your name is Glenna McNair, and you were born on April
2nd, 1915.”
I got a glimpse of the others from the corner of my eye, enough to see Helen sitting rigid and Lew starting from his chair and Dudley staring with his mouth open, but my chief interest was Mrs. Frost. She looked paler than she had when she came in, but she didn't bat an eye. Of course the display of the red box had prepared her for it. She spoke, cutting through a couple of male ejaculations, cool and curt:
“Mr. Wolfe. I think my brother-in-law is right. This sort of nonsense makes it a case for lawyers.”
