I don’t know anything about that money either, but if you want to ask me questions to see if I do, go ahead.” I said,
“School’s out. Go on home.
I may want you again in the morning, but I doubt it.”
She turned pale as fast as she had turned red.
She certainly was a creature of moods.
I got up from Perry’s chair and walked all the way across the room to open the door and stand and hold it.
She went past, still squeezing the handkerchief and mumbling good night to me, and I shut the door.
Feeling for a cigarette and finding I didn’t have any, I went back to the windows and stood surveying the view.
As I had suspected, the thing wasn’t a good clean theft at all, it was some kind of a mess.
From the business standpoint, it was obvious that the thing to do was go back and tell Nero Wolfe it was a case of refusing to let the administrative heads of the Seaboard Products Corporation use our office for a washtub to dump their dirty linen in.
But what reined me up on that was my professional curiosity about Clara Fox.
If sneak thieves came as cool and sweet as that, it was about time I found it out.
And if she wasn’t one, my instinctive dislike of a frame-up made me hesitate about leaving her parked against a fireplug.
I was fairly well disgusted, and got more disgusted, after gazing out of the window for a while, when I felt in my pockets again for a cigarette with no results.
I wandered around The Office Beautiful a little, sightseeing and cogitating, and then went out to the corridor.
It was empty.
Of course, it was after office hours.
All its spacious width and length, there was no traffic, and it was dimmer than it had been when I entered, for no more lights were turned on and it was getting dark outdoors.
There were doors along one side, and at the farther end the double doors, closed, of the director’s room.
I heard a cough, and turned, and saw Miss Vawter, the executive reception clerk, sitting in the comer under a light with a magazine.
She said in a vinegar voice,
“I’m remaining after hours because Mr. Perry said you might want to speak to me.” She was a pain all around.
I said,
“Please continue remaining.
Which is Muir’s room?”
She pointed to one of the doors, and I headed for it I was reaching out for the knob when she screeched at me,
“You can’t go in there like that!
Mr. Muir is out.”
I called to her,
“Do tell.
If you want to interrupt Mr. Perry in his conference, go to the directors’ room and give the alarm.
I’m investigating.”
I went on in, shut the door, found the wall switch, and turned on the lights.
As I did so, a door in another wall opened, and Miss Barish appeared.
She stood and looked without saying anything.
I observed,
“I thought I told you to go home.”
“I can’t.” Her color wasn’t working either way. “When Mr. Muir is here I’m not supposed to go until he dismisses me.
He is in conference.”
“I see.
That your room?
May I come in?”
She stepped back and I entered– It was a small neat room with one window and the usual stenographic and filing equipment.
I let the eyes rove, and then asked her,
“Would you mind leaving me here for a minute with the door shut, while you go to Muir’s desk and open and dose a couple of drawers?
I’d like to see how much din it makes.”
She said,
“I was typing.”
“So you were.
All right, forget it.