Send it.”
“Mr. Walsh?”
“Deal me out.
You said you wanted to explain something.”
“So I did.” Wolfe emptied his glass. “We’ll send the letter, then.
The third problem remains.
I must call your attention to these facts: First, the police are at this moment searching for all three of you—in your case, Miss Fox, two separate assignments of police.
Second, the police are capable of concluding that the murderer of Harlan Scovil is someone who knew him or knew of him, and was in this neighborhood this evening.
Third, it is probable that there is no one in New York who ever heard of Harlan Scovil except you three and Clivers; or, if there is such a one, it is not likely that the police will discover him—in fact, the idea will not occur to them until they have exhausted all possibilities in connection with you three.
Fourth, when they find you and question you, they will suspect you not only of knowledge of Scovil’s murder, but also of some preposterous plot against Lord Clivers, since his name was on that paper.
“Fifth.
When they question you, there will be three courses open to you.
You may tell the truth, in which case your wild and extravagant tale will reinforce their suspicions and will be enough to convict you of almost anything, even murder.
Or you may try to tone your tale down, tell only a little and improvise to fill in the gaps, whereupon they will catch you in lies and go after you harder than ever.
Or you may assert your constitutional rights and refuse to talk at all; if you do that they will incarcerate you as material witnesses and hold you without bail.
As you see, it is a dilemma with three horns and none of them attractive.
As Miss Fox put it, you’re in a fix.
And any of the three courses will render you hors de combat for any further molestation of the Marquis of Clivers.”
Hilda Lindquist’s chin was way up in the air.
Mike Walsh was leaning forward with his eyes on Wolfe narrower than ever.
Clara Fox had stopped squeezing her hand and had her lips pressed tight She opened them to say,
“All right.
We’re game.
Which do we do?”
“None.” Wolfe sighed. “None of those.
Confound it, I was bom romantic and 1 shall never recover from it.
But, as I have said, I expect to be paid.
I hope I have made it clear that it will not do for the police to find you until we are ready for them to.
Have I demonstrated that?”
The two women asked simultaneously,
“Well?”
“Well … Archie, bring Saul.”
I jumped from habit and not from enthusiasm.
I was half sore.
I didn’t like it.
I found Saul in the kitchen drinking port wine and telling Fred and Fritz stories, and led him to the office.
He stood in front of Wolfe’s desk.
“Yes, sir.”
Wolfe spoke, not to him.
“Miss Lindquist, this is Mr. Saul Panzer.
I would trust him further than might be thought credible.
He is himself a bachelor, but has acquaintances who are married and possibly even friends, with the usual living quarters—an apartment or a house.
Have you anything to say to him?”
But the Lindquist mind was slow.
She didn’t get it.
Clara Fox asked Wolfe,
“May I?”
“Please do.”
She turned to Saul.
“Miss Lindquist would like to be in seclusion for a while—a few days—she doesn’t know how long.