Come on, buck up!
Wolfe wants you down in the office.
There are some men down there that want to ask you some questions.”
Clara Fox straightened up.
“Ask us … now?”
Hilda Lindquist tightened her lips and began to nod her head for I told you so.
“Certainly.” I made it matter of fact. “They were bound to, sooner or later.
Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, and tell them anything they want to know.
There’s three of them.
The dressed-up one with the big mouth is Police Commissioner Hombert, the one with the thin nose and ratty eyes is District Attorney Skinner, and the big guy who looks at you frank and friendly but may or may not mean it is Inspector Cramer.”
“My God.” Clara Fox brushed back her hair and stood up.
“All right,” I grinned. “Let’s go.”
I opened the door, and followed them out and down.
The three visitors turned their heads to look at us as we entered the office.
Skinner, seeing Clara Fox, got up first, then Hombert also made it to his feet and began shoving chairs around.
I moved some up, while Wolfe pronounced names.
He had rung for beer while I was gone, and got it poured.
I saw there was no handkerchief in his pocket and went and got him one out of the drawer.
Cramer said,
“So you’re Clara Fox.
Where were you this morning?”
She glanced at Wolfe.
He nodded.
She said,
“I was here.”
“Here in this house?
All morning?”
“Yes, last night and all day.”
Cramer handed Wolfe a glassy stare.
“What did you do to Rowcliff, grease him?”
“No, sir.” Wolfe shook his head. “Mr. Rowcliff did his best, but Miss Fox was not easily discoverable.
I beg you to attach no blame to your men.
It is necessary for you to know that three of us are prepared to state on oath that Miss Fox has been here constantly, to make it at once obvious that she is in no way involved in Mr. Walshs death.”
“I’ll be damned.
What about the other one?”
“Miss Lindquist came here at ten o’clock this evening.
But she has been secluded in another part of the city.
You may as well confine yourself to events previous to half past six yesterday.
May I make a suggestion?
Begin by asking Miss Fox to tell you the story which she recited to me at that hour yesterday, in the presence of Miss Lindquist and Mr. Walsh.”
“Why … all right.” Cramer looked at Clara Fox. “Go ahead.”
She told the story.
At first she was nervous and jerky, and I noticed that when she was inclined to stumble she glanced across at Wolfe as he leaned back, massive and motionless, with his fingers twined on his belly and his eyes nearly shut.
She glanced at him and went ahead.
They didn’t interrupt her much with questions.
She read the letter from her father, and when she finished and Cramer held out his hand for it, she glanced at Wolfe.
Wolfe nodded, and she passed it over.
Then she went on, with more detail even than she had told us.
She spoke of her first letters with Harlan Scovil and Hilda Lindquist and her first meeting with Mike Walsh.
She got to the Marquis of Clivers and Walsh’s recognition of him as he emerged from his hotel fifteen days back.