It'll just be a big stew-if it's Gebert you want, why can't we send him down here?
He'll do anything Helen tells him to.”
“Because for two hours I shall be engaged with my plants.
Wolfe looked at the clock again, and got up from his chair.
Our client was biting her lip. She quit that, and looked at me.
“Will you have tea with us, Mr. Goodwin?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Much obliged.”
Wolfe, moving toward the door, said to her,
“It is a pleasure to earn a fee from a client like you.
You can come to a yes or no without first encircling the globe.
I hope and believe that when we are finished you will have nothing to regret.”
He moved on, and turned at the threshold.
“By the way, Archie, if you will just get that package from your room before you leave.
Put it on my bed.”
He went on to the elevator.
I arose and told my prospective hostess I would be back in a minute, left the office and hopped up the stairs.
I didn't stop at the second floor, where my room was, but kept going to the top, and got there almost as soon as the elevator did with the load it had.
At the door to the plant rooms Wolfe stood, awaiting me.
“One idea,” he murmured, “is to observe the reactions of the others upon the cousins' return from our office before there has been an opportunity for the exchange of information.
Another is to get an accurate opinion as to whether any of them has ever seen the red box or has possession of it now.
The third is a general assault on reticence.”
“Okay.
How candid are we?”
“Reasonably so.
Bear in mind that with all three there, the chances are many to one that you will be talking to the murderer, so the candor will be one-sided.
You, of course, will be expecting cooperation.”
“Sure, I always do, because I'm wholesome.”
I ran back downstairs and found that our client had on her hat and coat and gloves and her cousin was standing beside her, looking grave but a little doubtful.
I grinned at them.
“Come on, children.”
Chapter Twelve
Strictly speaking, that wasn't my job.
I know pretty well what my field is.
Aside from my primary function as the thorn in the seat of Wolfe's chair to keep him from going to sleep and waking up only for meals, I'm chiefly cut out for two things: to jump and grab something before the other guy can get his paws on it, and to collect pieces of the puzzle for Wolfe to work on.
This expedition to 65th Street was neither of those.
I don't pretend to be strong on nuances.
Fundamentally I'm the direct type, and that's why I can never be a really fine detective.
Although I keep it down as much as I can, so it won't interfere with my work, I always have an inclination in a case of murder to march up to all the possible suspects, one after the other, and look them in the eye and ask them,
“Did you put that poison in the aspirin bottle?” and just keep that up until one of them says,
“Yes.”
As I say, I keep it down, but I have to fight it.
The Frost apartment on 65th Street wasn't as gaudy as I had expected, in view of my intimate knowledge of the Frost finances.
It was a bit shiny, with one side of the entrance hall solid with mirrors, even the door to the closet where I hung my hat, and, in the living room, chairs and little tables with chromium chassis, a lot of red stuff around in upholsteries and drapes, a metal grille in front of the fireplace, which apparently wasn't used, and oil paintings in modern silver frames.
Anyway, it certainly was cheerfuller than the people that were in it.
Dudley Frost was in a big chair at one side, with a table at his elbow holding a whiskey bottle, a water carafe, and a couple of glasses.
Perren Gebert stood near a window at the other end, with his back to the room and his hands in his pockets.
As we entered he turned, and Helen's mother walked toward us, with a little lift to her brow as she saw me.
“Oh,” she said. To her daughter: “You've brought…”
Helen nodded firmly.
“Yes, mother.”