hanging on a briar. They were very casual about it, but they knew better. Their tone and the way they looked--they knew. And so did T. I knew then, as I went back up the dark stairs, Sat April had killed Noel.' Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. 'You knew nothing of the sort, madam.' 'But I tell you--it's no wonder you--you're on their side--' 'Rubbish. I'm not on anybody's side; I'm hunting a murderer. I admit the cornflower is evidence, probably extremely important evidence, but of what? Of April's guilt? Perhaps. Or of an attempt by the murderer to incriminate April by getting a cornflower from the garden and leaving it near the body? Perhaps. Rather inconclusive, but fairly ingenious at Aat. Do you by any chance know what happened to^che cornflower?' 'No. I suppose John destroyed it. I said I couldn't prove it. But you must believe--you must--you FR1;WHERE THERE^S A WILL 163 signed that paper promising to safeguard my interests--'
'Oh, I believe you all right. But my commitment in that paper was limited to the negotiations regarding the will. Please understand that. There is, after all, a remote possibility that you killed your husband yourself. I should think you might measure up to that cornflower trick.' 'Now you're talking rubbish.' 'Perhaps. You ought to know. How long were the stems of the bouquet Stauffer presented to April?' He got patient and methodical again. As I lis tened to them chewing away, putting down their syllables automatically on the unruled paper which had been the best I could find, I reflected that this appeared to be shaping up for a honey. The only nugget in the pouch so far was this cornflower on a briar, and that was certainly nothing to write home about, with a garden right there full of cornflower bushes, provided they grew on bushes. Not to mention the chance that Daisy had made it all up just to keep her brain occupied. I was idly considering alternatives when the phone buzzed, and I went and got it. It was Saul Panzer. By the time I got through taking his concise but ^I^Hed report, Wolfe had finished with Daisy and she was arising to leave. 164 WHERE THERE'S A WILL I opened the door to let her out, and returned to the desk. 'If you ask me,' I remarked, 'we would have been a hell of a sight better off if we had stuck to the last will and testament and let the murder go. Of all the--' 'That was Saul?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Well?' 'He has been conferring with elevator operators and bootblacks et al. Johnny got orders for five beauty outfits before he was tossed out on his ear, and he has a date to buy a lady a dinner at the Polish Pavilion this evening. That will cost you dear. Davis is married and lives with his wife, at least nominally. He and Naomi had a romance when she was his secretary. The sort of thing May Hawthorne comprehends intellectually. L'amour. He has gone moody and taken to drink. So far information very sketchy; nothing particular on Prescott yet except that he gives people expensive cigars, pays good salaries, and is not a knee-toucher. Saul has lines out that are promising. No start on Prescott's confidential stenographer in March, 1938.' Wolfe had his lips compressed. 'I hate to waste Saul--' Heifcrugged. 'It can't be helped. What ^?* time is it? FR1;WHERE THERE^S A WILL 165 'Five after five. Would you care to go into the matter of the duplicate Daisy?' 'Not now. Mr. Prescott wants to see me. First some beer. Then see if Miss Karn is still down there, and who is with her. Then Mr. Prescott.*' I trotted out and descended to the main floor. There was no one around the entrance hall, so I opened a door leading to the rear of the house and yelled, 'Turner!' In a moment a maid appeared and said he was upstairs, and I said all I wanted was to order three bottles of beer for Mr. Wolfe in the library. Then I proceeded to the living room for a glimpse of Naomi Karn. But I didn't get it. She was absent. The only person in the room was a man of about my build, pacing up and down with his fists making his pockets bulge. I stopped short and regarded him with surprise. He had put his pants on, but I recognized him anyway. I said, 'Hello.' He quit pacing and scowled at me. Before he said a word I knew exactly the condition he was in, more from observation than from personal experience. You drink all night, and pass out, and someone takes you home and drops you on a bed. When you come to, there is no telling what day it is or when they started running the subway inside your FR1;166 WHERE THERE S A WILL head or how many people came to your funeral. But something drastic must be done immediately. You get your pants and shoes on and fight your way to the street and along to and into a place, order a double Scotch and gulp it down, spilling maybe a quarter of it. You spill much less of the second one, and by the time the third one comes along you have nearly stopped trembling and you don't waste a drop. Then, while you still are not quite ready to tell the date on a calendar, you have a strong impression that you are prepared to cope with whatever it is that requires coping, and off you go. 'Who are you?' he demanded, in a voice that made me afraid he would strip his gears. 'I want Glenn Prescott.' 'Yes, sir,' I said ingratiatingly. 'I know you do. If you will come this way, please.' 'I'm not coming that way or any other way.' He planted himself. His fists were still bulging in his pockets. 'He can come here. You can go and tell him--' 'Yes, sir, I will. But this is a sort of a public room. People come in here all the time. These chairs are no good to sit on, either. I'll be glad to bring Mr. Prescott wherever you say, but I do honestly think the library would be much better.' I backed FR1;WHERE THERE'S A WILL 167 toward the doorway. 'Come and see for yourself. If you don't like it you can return here.' 'I'll like it all right, but he won't.' He stayed planted. Then abruptly he rumbled, 'You don't need to show me the library, I know where it is,'* and moved so fast he nearly toppled me over as he went by. I was at his heels going up the stairs, and stayed there, thinking to steer him in case he was too optimistic about knowing where the library was, but he went straight to the door and flung it open. I followed him in, closed the door, and announced to Wolfe: 'Mr. Eugene Davis.' Davis glared around. 'Where's Prescott?' He glared at Wolfe. 'Who are you?' He glared at me. 'What kind of a run-around is this? You're not Turner! I sent Turner to get Prescott!' 'That's all right,' I said soothingly, 'we'll get him. I'm not a butler, I'm a detective. Detectives are better than butlers for getting people. This is Mr. Nero Wolfe.' 'Who the hell--' He stopped abruptly. You might have thought I had reached inside his skull and flipped a switch. A sort of spasm went over his face, and his shoulders stiffened and then relaxed again, and when he focused his eyes on Wolfe they were no longer merely FR1;168 WHERE THERE'S A WILL bleary and foolishly truculent. They were alert and intelligent and on guard. 'Oh,' he said. His tone had changed even more than his eyes. 'You're Nero Wolfe.' Wolfe nodded. 'Yes, sir.' 'You're here helping to prove Hawthorne was murdered. Or that he wasn't. I see.' He turned to survey me. 'So Turner announced me to you instead of to Prescott. And told you I was drunk, I suppose. It's Prescott I came here to see. I'll find him.' He started off, but Wolfe snapped, 'One minute, Mr. Dawson!' Halfway to the door, he halted, stood there for four seconds with his back to us, and then slowly turned around. 'My name's Davis,' he said with careful precision. 'Eugene Davis.' 'Not on llth Street. There it's Earl Dawson. And how did you know Hawthorne was murdered? Did Mr. Prescott tell you? Or did you learn it from Miss Karn when you were dining with her last evening?' He had things under control all right. Knowing the feeling he must have been experiencing in his stomach under the circumstances, I admired him. All he did was stand and gaze at Wolfe and chew his lower lip. Finally he crossed to a chair, steadily and without haste, sat down, and asked: FR1;WHERE THERE'S A WILL 169 'What do you want?' 'I want to talk with you, Mr. Davis.' 'What about?' 'This mess. This murder. This will business.' 'I know nothing about either one. How did you know I am Earl Dawson on llth Street?' 'You drank to excess last night. A man who works for me took you home and removed your trousers. Another man who works for me--Mr. Goodwin here, Mr. Archie Goodwin--went there this morning and identified you from articles in your pockets. As for your dining with Miss Karn, she was being followed.' 'Of course. I should have thought of that. I was stupid. It still surprises me to realize I was stupid, because originally I wasn't meant to be. About my being Dawson, I would like to know who has been informed. The police?' 'No. No one. Mr. and Mrs. Dunn know that you were found somewhere in a drunken stupor, but not where, and not that you were incognito.' 'Is that straight?' 'Yes, sir. I would have no compunction about lying to you, but that's straight.' 'I'll take it that way.' I could see that the fingernails of his right hand were digging into his palm. He saw that I saw it, and stuck the hand into his coat pocket. He went on, 'In view of the way FR1;170 WHERE THERE'S A WILL things are, I suppose it's an affectation for me to try to keep the Dawson thing--that place--secret, but as I say, I can't be counted on any more not to act stupidly. I don't want that known, Mr. Wolfe. I'll talk about anything you want me to, within reason.' Wolfe was frowning. 'Not with any pledge of secrecy from me, sir. Neither tacit nor explicit. But I expose no man's privy affairs unnecessarily.' 'If that's all I can get, I'll take that. What do you want to ask me?' 'Several things. First, where were you Tuesday afternoon from 4 to 6?' There was no immediate reply. I could see there was movement inside the pocket where his fist was. To make things easier I horned in: 'Which do you want, Scotch or rye?' He looked at me and said sarcastically, 'All the comforts of hell. If you mean it, Scotch. Don't spoon it out, you know.' I told him I wouldn't and trotted out and downstairs. In the ambush behind the draperies in the living room, on the shelves back of the bar, there were four brands to choose from. I long-armed across the bar and got one, with a glass, poured out a generous triple, and returned to the library with it. It simply wasn't possible for Davis to keep his fingers from shaking as he took it. He only had to WHERE THERE^S A WILL 171 swallow twice. After a moment he put the glass down on the desk, and his fingers were steady. He met Wolfe's eyes. 'Tuesday afternoon,' he said, 'I was with Miss Karn from 3 o'clock until around 7.' 'Where?' 'Driving. We went up to Connecticut and back. If the police have questioned her, that isn't what she told them, but I'm not telling the police, I'm telling you. If they question me, I'll
