me.
'Archie. Bring that witness down here. Only the one. If the other one is importunate, remind her that I said our talk about Miss Alving must be tete-a-tete.'
X
Phoebe wasn't importunate. When I entered the South Room on the third floor she was talking on the phone, that extension having been plugged in for an outside line, and her mother was sitting in a chair by the window with a newspaper on her lap. She arose at once, with no need for assistance, when I said Wolfe was ready for their private talk, and Phoebe, having finished on the phone, had no comment on that, but she wanted to know what I had for her. I told her she would be hearing from me shortly, or more probably from Wolfe, and escorted Mrs. Whitten to the elevator, which I never used except when I was convoying casualties, and out at the lower hall and into the office.
I kept right at her elbow because I didn't want to miss the expression on Julie Alving's face when she saw her. It was first just plain surprise and then a mixture in which the only ingredient I could positively label was just plain hate. As for Mrs. Whitten, I had only her profile from a corner of my eye, but she stopped dead and went as stiff as a steel beam.
Wolfe spoke. 'This is my witness, Miss Alving. I believe you ladies haven't met. Mrs. Whitten, Miss Alving.'
Mrs. Whitten moved, and for a second I thought she was turning to march out, but she was merely reaching for a hold on my sleeve. I took her arm and herded her left oblique. Being wounded, she rated the red leather chair, but it seemed inadvisable to ask Julie to move, so I took the witness to a yellow one with arms, not as roomy but just as comfortable. When she was in it I resumed my post at my desk with notebook and pen.
'I'm sorry,' Wolfe said, 'if it makes a queasy atmosphere, you two here together, but Miss Alving left me no alternative.' He focused on Mrs. Whitten. 'I was having a little trouble with Miss Alving. I wanted her to talk about certain aspects of the assault she made on you last evening, but she wouldn't have it – and I don't blame her – because she didn't know how badly you were hurt. There was only one way to handle it – let her see for herself.'
I had to hand it to him. He not only wasn't taking too big a risk, he was taking none at all, since they weren't on speaking terms.
'How did you find out it was her?' Mrs. Whitten demanded. Her voice was harsh and high- pitched.
'Oh, that was simple. I'll tell you presently. But first we should understand one another. I appreciate your reason for not wanting it bruited, and sympathize with it, but here in private there should be candor. You positively recognized her?'
'Certainly I did.'
'Beyond possibility of doubt?'
'Certainly. I saw her face when I got turned and that was when she tore loose and ran. And she spoke to me.'
'What did she say?'
'I'm not sure of the words, but it was something like 'I'll kill you too.' That's what I thought it was, but later I thought it must be wrong because I thought Pompa had killed my husband and I didn't realize she could have done it. But now that my daughter remembers about the open door, and I remember it too, I see that must have been it – what she said.'
'That's a lie!' Julie blurted, not at Mrs. Whitten, since she wasn't speaking to her, but at Wolfe. She was fully as pale as Mrs. Whitten had been the evening before, but not like a corpse, anything but. She was blurting on. 'I didn't say that! I said 'You killed him and I'll kill you!' And I wish I had – oh, I wish I had!'
'You came close to it,' Wolfe growled. He let his eyes come halfway open, now that he had them. 'I should explain to both of you that I've merely been trying to get started. Please forget each other, as far as possible, and listen to me. If we're going to work this out together you need to know how I got where I am now.'
The doorbell rang. Under the circumstances it was up to Fritz, but on the other hand we didn't want any trivial interruptions just then, so I scooted for the hall, closing the office doors as I went. One glance through the glass panel showed that my point was well taken. Inspector Cramer was there. He was alone, so I didn't bother with the chain bolt but put my foot where it would keep the door to a six-inch crack. I spoke through the crack to his big broad shoulders and his round, red, but by no means flabby face.
'Good morning. What have I done now?'
'We sent a man,' he snapped, 'to see Mrs. Whit-ten about something, and he was told she's here. What's Wolfe up to? I want to see her.'
'I never know what he's up to, but I'll go ask him. He'll want to know how it stands. Is there a warrant for her?'
'Hell no. A warrant for what?'
'I merely asked. Kindly withdraw your toe.'
I banged the door shut, went to the office, and told Wolfe, 'The man about the chair. The one with a gash in it. He learned more or less accidentally that it's here, and that made him curious, and he wants to talk.
