'Nuts,' I said in disgust. 'He knows damn well she lied. If he liked to bet he would give you odds that it was one of the family that cut her up, either in the house or out, and she knows who it was and so do the rest of them. I know him better than you do, Marko. If he did leave his damn house and ride at night through the dangerous streets, when he got there he would have to work like a dog, put all he's got into it, to nail the one that has it coming. If instead of that he goes to bed and sleeps well, something may happen to simplify matters. That's all there is to it.'
'Is that true, Nero?' Marko demanded.
'It contains truth,' Wolfe conceded big-heartedly. 'So does this. Patently Mrs. Whitten is in danger. Anyone who cuts a five-inch gash in the territory of the eighth rib may be presumed to have maleficent intentions, and probably pertinacity to boot. But though Archie is normally humane, his exasperation does not come from a benevolent passion to prevent further injury to Mrs. Whitten. She is much too old for him to feel that way. It comes from his childish resentment that his coup, which was unquestionably brilliant, will not be immediately followed up as he would like it to be. That is understandable, but I see no reason -'
The doorbell rang. I got up and went for it. I might have left it to Fritz, but I was glad of an excuse to walk out on Wolfe's objectionable remarks. The panel in our entrance door is one-way glass, permitting us to see out but not the outsider to see in, and on my way down the hall I flipped the switch for the stoop light to get a look.
One glance was enough, but I took a step for another one before turning, marching back to the office, and telling Wolfe, 'You may remember that you instructed me to get six people down here – as many of them as possible, you said. They're here. Out on the stoop. Shall I tell them you're sleepy?'
'All of them?'
'Yes, sir.'
Wolfe threw his head back and laughed. He did that about once a year. When it had tapered off to a chuckle he spoke.
'Marko, will you leave by way of the front room? Through that door. Your presence might embarrass them. Bring them in, Archie.'
I went back out, pulled the door wide open, and greeted them.
'Hello there! Come on in.'
'You goddam rat,' Mortimer snarled at me through his teeth.
VI
The two sons were supporting their mother, one on either side, and continued to do so along the hall and on into the office. She was wearing a tan summer outfit, dotted with brown, which I would have assumed to be silk if I had not heard tell that in certain shops you can part with three centuries for a little number in rayon. Eve was in white, with yellow buttons, and Phoebe was in what I would call calico, two shades of blue. My impulse to smile at her of course had to be choked.
Thinking it might prevent an outburst, or at least postpone it, I formally pronounced their names for Wolfe and then saw that their chairs were arranged the way he liked it when we had a crowd, so that he wouldn't have to work his neck too much to take them all in. Jerome and Mortimer, declining my offer of the big couch for Mom, got her comfortable in the red leather chair, but it was Phoebe who took the chair next to her. Mortimer stayed on his feet. The others sat.
Wolfe's eyes swept the arc. 'You all look mad,' he said inoffensively.
'If you think that's witty,' Eve snapped.
'Not at all,' he assured her. 'I was merely acknowledging an atmosphere.' His eyes moved to Mrs. Whitten. 'Do you want me to talk, madam? You came here, and you might like to tell me why.'
'Your lousy punk,' Mortimer blurted, 'might like to step outside and ask me why!'
'Mortimer!' Mrs. Whitten turned to him. 'Sit down.'
He hesitated, opened his trap and shut it again, moved, and sat, next to Phoebe. A fine brother she picked.
'You will please remember,' Mrs. Whitten told the flock, 'that I am to do the talking. I wanted to come alone, but you talked me out of it, and now you will please keep silent. Including you, Dan,' she added to the son-in-law. She returned to Wolfe. 'I was getting my breath. The exertion was – not too much, but enough.' She was still using sighs to get oxygen, and she was even paler than when I had seen her in bed.
'I can wait,' Wolfe said placidly. 'Would you like some brandy?'
'No, thank you.' She breathed long and deep. 'I don't take alcohol, even as medicine, though all my children do. Their father permitted it. I apologized for my son calling your associate, Mr. Goodwin, a lousy punk. Do you wish an apology from him?'
'Certainly not. He wouldn't mean it.'
'I suppose not. Do you share Mr. Goodwin's opinions?'
'Often. Not always, heaven knows.'
'He told Dr. Cutler that Virgil Pompa did not kill my husband, that he is innocent. Do you believe that too?'
'Yes.'
