'None whatever. I can't guess.'
'Have you any ideas about who might have killed her?'
'No. I can't guess that either.'
'Do you think Mira Holt killed her?'
'Good heavens, no. Not Mira. Even if she had--'
'Even if she had what?'
'Nothing. Mira wouldn't kill anybody. They don't think that, do they?'
Over the years at least a thousand people have asked me what the police think, and I appreciate the compliment though I rarely deserve it. Life would be much simpler if I always knew what the police think at any given moment. It's hard enough to know what I think. After another ten minutes with her I decided that I thought that Mrs. Irving had nothing more to contribute, so I thanked her and departed. She came with me to the hall, and even picked up my hat from the chair where I had dropped it. I had yet to get a glimpse of her legs.
It was ten minutes to ten when I emerged to the sidewalk and turned left for Lexington Avenue and the subway, and a quarter
96
3 at Wolfe's Door
past when I entered the marble lobby of a towering beehive on Wall Street and consulted the building directory. Gilbert Irving's firm had the whole thirtieth floor, and I found the proper bank of elevators, entered one, and was hoisted straight up three hundred feet for nothing. In a paneled chamber with a thick conservative carpet a handsome conservative creature at a desk bigger than Wolfe's told me in a voice like silk that Mr. Irving was not in and that she knew not when he would arrive or where he was. If I cared to wait?
I didn't. I left, got myself dropped back down the three hundred feet, and went to another subway, this time the west side; and, leaving at Christopher, walked to Ferrell Street and on to its dead end and through the alley. Morton, still at work in the garden, greeted me with reserve but not coldly, said Kearns had not returned and there had been no word from him, and, as I was turning to go, suddenly stood up and asked, 'Did you say you wanted to lyuy a picture?'
I said that was my idea but naturally I wanted to see it first, left him wagging his head, walked the length of Ferrell Street the fourth time that day, found a taxi, and gave the driver the address which might or might not still be mine. As we turned into 3jth Street from Eighth Avenue, at five minutes past eleven, there was another taxi just ahead of us, and it stopped at the curb in front of the brownstone. I handed my driver a bill, hopped out, and had mounted the stoop by the time the man from the other cab had crossed the sidewalk. I had never seen him or a picture of him, or heard him described, but I knew him. I don't know whether it was his floppy black hat or shoestring tie, or neat little ears or face like a squirrel, but I knew him. I had the door open when he reached the stoop.
'I would like to see Mr. Nero Wolfe,' he said. 'I'm Waldo Kearns.'
Method Three for Murder
97
VII
Since Wolfe had suggested that I should bring Kearns there so we could look at him together, I would just as soon have let him think that I had filled the order, but of course that wouldn't do. So when, having taken the floppy black hat and put it on the shelf in the hall, I escorted him to the office and pronounced his name, I added, 'I met Mr. Keams out front. He arrived just as I did.'
Wolfe, behind his desk, had been pouring beer when we entered. He put the bottle down. 'Then you haven't talked with him?' .
'No, sir.'
He turned to Keams, in the red leather chair. 'Will you have beer, sir?'
'Heavens, no.' Kearns was emphatic. 'I didn't come for amenities. My business is urgent. I am extremely displeased with the counsel you have given my wife. You must have hypnotized her. She refuses to see me. She refuses to accept the services of my lawyer, even to arrange bail for her. I demand an explanation. I intend to hold you to account for alienating the affection of my wife.'
'Affections,' Wolfe said.
'What?'
'Affections. In that context the plural is used.' He lifted the glass and drank, and licked his lips.
Kearns stared at him. 'I didn't come here,' he said, 'to have my grammar corrected.'
'Not grammar. Diction.'
Kearns pounded the chair arm. 'What have you to say?'
'It would be futile for me to say anything whatever until you have regained your senses, if you have any. If you think your wife had affection for you until she met me twelve hours ago, you're an
98 3 at Wolfe's Door
ass. If you know she hadn't your threat is fatuous. In either case what can you expect but contempt?'
'I expect an explanation! I expect the truth! I expect you to tell me why my wife refuses to see me!'
'I can't tell you what I don't know. I don't even know that she has, since in your present state I question the accuracy of your reporting. When and where did she refuse?'
'This morning. Just now, in the District Attorney's office. She won't even talk to my lawyer. She told him she was waiting to hear from you and Goodwin.' His head jerked to me. 'You're Goodwin?'
