them, and counted. Three twenties, three tens, and a five. Returning two twenties and a ten to my pocket, I offered her the rest. 'Your change. I'm keeping fifty.'
She hesitated, then took it. 'I'll pay you more. Of course. What are you going to do?'
'I'll know better after you answer some questions. One that shouldn't wait: what did you do with the cap?'
'I have it.' She patted her front.
'Good.' I returned to Wolfe. 'So we'll be going. Thank you again for your offer of hospitality, but Cramer may be ringing the bell any minute. We'll go out the rear, Miss Holt. This way.'
'No.' Wolfe snapped it. 'This is preposterous. Give me half of that fifty dollars.'
I raised a brow. 'For what?'
'To pay me. You have helped me with many problems; surely I can help you with one. I am not being quixotic. I do not accept your headstrong decision that our long association has ended, but even if it has, your repute is inextricably involved with mine. Your client is in a pickle. I have never tried to do a job without your help; why should you try to do one without mine?'
I wanted to grin at him, but he might have misunderstood. 'Okay,' I said, and got a twenty from the pocket where I had put the fee, and a five from my wallet, and handed them to him. He took them, turned, and headed for the office, and Mira and I followed.
Method Three for Murder
77
IV
Where to sit was a delicate question--not for Wolfe, who of course went to his oversized custom-built chair behind his desk, nor for the client, since Wolfe wiggled a finger to indicate the red leather chair that would put her facing him, but for me. The desk at right angles to Wolfe's was no longer mine. I had a hand on one of the yellow chairs, to move it up, when Wolfe growled, 'Confound it, don't be frivolous. We have a job to do.'
I went and sat where I had belonged, and asked him, 'Do I proceed?'
'Certainly.'
I looked at her. In good light, with the cap off, she was very lookable, even in a pickle. 'I would like,' I said, 'to be corroborated. Did you kill that woman?'
'No. NoT
'Okay. Out with it. This time, method two, the truth. Judith Bram is a friend of yours?'
'Yes.'
'Did she let you take her cab?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'I asked her to.'
'Why did you ask her to?'
'Because . . . it's a long story.'
'Make it as short as you can. We may not have much time.'
She was on the edge of the chair, which would have held two of her. 'I have known Judy three years. She was a model too, but she didn't like it. She's very unconventional. She had money she had inherited, and she bought a cab and a license about a year ago. She cruises when she feels like it, but she has some regular customers who think it's chic to ride in a cab with a girl driver, and my husband is one of them. He often--'
'Your husband?' Wolfe demanded. 'Miss Holt?'
78
3 at Wolfe's Door
'They don't live together,' I told him. 'Not divorced, but she uses her own name. Fashion model. Go ahead but keep it short.'
She obeyed. 'My husband's name is Waldo Keams. He paints pictures but doesn't sell any. He has money. He often calls Judy to take him somewhere, and he called last night when I was with her and told her to come for him at eight o'clock this evening, and I asked Judy to let me go instead of her. I have been trying to see him for months, to have a talk with him, and he refuses to see me. He doesn't answer my letters. I want a divorce and he doesn't. I think the reason he doesn't is that--'
'Skip it. Get on.'
'Well . . . Judy said I could take the cab, and today at seven o'clock I went to her place and she brought it from the garage, and she gave me her cap and jacket, and I drove it to--'
'Where is her place?'
'Bowdoin Street. Number seventeen. In the Village.'
'I know. You got in the cab there?'
'Yes. I drove it to Ferrell Street. It's west of Varick, below--'
'I know where it is.'
