WOLFE: Yes.
NORA: You were already working for him. You sent Archie Goodwin up there.
WOLFE: You have a right, madam, to your beliefs, but I beg you not to be tiresome with them. If you join us at six o’clock, and I advise you to, you should know that the Mr. Goodwin who scurried from this room at your behest will be here, at his desk, and Alan Green, Mr. Jarrell’s secretary, will also be present. The others, the members of Mr. Jarrell’s family, unlike you, will probably be satisfied that those two men know who they are. Will you gain anything by raising the question?
NORA: No. I see. No. But I don’t-then Mr. Jarrell doesn’t know either?
WOLFE: Don’t get tangled in your own assumption. If you wish to revise it after the conference by all means do so. And now I ask you to reciprocate. I have an assumption too. We have accepted yours as a basis for discussion; now let us accept mine. Mine is that none of the people who will be present at the conference fired the shot that killed Mr. Eber. What do you think of it?
(The gray eyes narrowed.)
NORA: You can’t expect me to discuss that. I am employed by Mr. Jarrell.
WOLFE: Then we’ll turn it around. We’ll assume the contrary and take them in turn. Start with Mr. Jarrell himself. He took his own gun, with that hocus-pocus, and shot Eber with it. What do you say to that?
NORA: I don’t say anything.
(She stood up.)
NORA: I know you’re a clever man, Mr. Wolfe. That’s why your picture is in my scrapbook. I may not be as clever as you are, but I’m not an utter fool.
(She started off, and, halfway to the door, turned.)
NORA: I’ll be here at six o’clock if Mr. Jarrell tells me to.
She went. I whispered to Orrie, “Go let her out, Archie.” He whispered back, “Let her out yourself, Alan.” The result was that she let herself out. When I heard the front door close I left the wing and made it to the front in time to see her, through the one-way glass panel, going down the stoop. When she had reached the sidewalk safely I went to the office.
Wolfe was forward in his chair, his palms on his desk. Orrie was at my desk, in my chair, at ease. I stood and looked down at Wolfe.
“First,” I said, “Who is whom?”
He grunted. “Confound that woman. When you were introduced to her Monday afternoon I suppose you were looking at her. And you saw no sign that she had recognized you?”
“No, sir. A woman who has it in her to collar a million bucks knows how to hide her feelings. Besides, I thought it was only women under thirty who put my picture in scrapbooks. Then the program will be as scheduled?”
“Yes. Have you a reason for changing it?”
“No, sir. You’re in for it. Please excuse me a minute.” I pivoted to Orrie. “You’ll be me at six o’clock, I can’t help that, but you’re not me now.”
Down went my hands, like twin snakes striking, and I had his ankles. With a healthy jerk he was out of my chair, and I kept him coming, and going, until he was flat on his back on the rug, six feet away. By the time he had bounced up I was sitting. I may or may not know how to deal with a murderer, but I know how to handle an imposter.
Chapter 8
I MADE A CRACK, I remember, about Susan’s entrance in the lounge Monday evening, after everyone else was there, as to whether or not she had planned it that way. My own entrance in Wolfe’s office that Friday afternoon, after everyone else was there, was planned that way all right. There were two reasons: first, I didn’t want to have to chat with the first arrivals, whoever they would be, while waiting for the others; and second, I didn’t want to see Orrie being Archie Goodwin as he let them in and escorted them to the office. So at five-forty, leaving the furnishing of the refreshment table to Fritz and Orrie, I left the house and went across the street to the tailor shop, from where there was a good view of our stoop.
The first to show were Lois and Nora Kent and Roger Foote, in a taxi. Nora paid the hackie, which was only fair since she could afford it, and anyway, she probably put it on the expense account. Transportation to and from a conference to discuss whether anyone present is a murderer is probably tax deductible. The next customer was also in a taxi-Corey Brigham, alone. Then came Wyman and Susan in a yellow Jaguar, with him driving. He had to go nearly to Tenth Avenue to find a place to park, and they walked back. Then came a wait. It was 6:10 when a black Rolls-Royce town car rolled to the curb and Jarrell and Trella got out. I hadn’t grown impatient, having myself waited for Trella twenty-five minutes on Tuesday, bound for lunch at Rusterman’s. As soon as they were inside I crossed the street and pushed the button. Archie Goodwin let me in and steered me to the office. He was passable.
He had followed instructions on seating. The bad thing about it was that I had four of them in profile and couldn’t see the others’ faces at all, but we couldn’t very well give the secretary a seat of honor confronting the audience. Of course Jarrell had the red leather chair, and in the front row of yellow chairs were Lois, Trella, Wyman, and Susan. The family. Behind them were Alan Green, Roger Foote, Nora Kent, and Corey Brigham. At least I had Lois right in front of me. She wasn’t as eye-catching from the back as from the front, but it was pleasant.
