“A specific reason?
I don't know.
He was very bad in his nerves.”
“Yeah.
He had a headache.
How about you, Mrs. Frost?
Have you got a reason?”
She looked at me.
You couldn't take that woman's eyes casually; you had to make an effort.
She said,
“You make your question a little provocative.
Don't you?
If you mean, do I know a concrete motive for Boyden to commit suicide, I don't.”
“Do you think he did?”
She frowned.
“I don't know what to think.
If I think of suicide, it is only because I knew him quite intimately, and it is even more difficult to believe that there was anyone who…that someone killed him.”
I started to sigh, then realized that I was imitating Nero Wolfe, and choked it off. I looked around at them.
“Of course, you all know that McNair died in Nero Wolfe's office.
You know that Wolfe and I were there, and naturally we know what he had been telling us about and how he was feeling. I don't know how careful the police are with their conclusions, but Mr. Wolfe is very snooty about his.
He has already made one or two about this case, and the first one is that McNair didn't kill himself.
Suicide is out.
So if you have any idea that that theory will be found acceptable, either now or eventually, obliterate it.
Guess again.”
Perren Gebert extended a long arm to crush his cigarette in a tray.
“For my part,” he said, “I don't feel compelled to guess. I made one to be charitable.
Suppose you tell us why it wasn't suicide.” Mrs. Frost said quietly, “I asked you to sit down in my house, Mr. Goodwin, because my daughter brought you. But I wonder if you know when you are being offensive? We…I have no theory to advance…”
Dudley Frost started to croak:
“Take no notice of him, Calida. Disregard him.
I refuse to speak to him.”
He reached for the whiskey bottle.
I said, “If you ask me, I could be even more offensive and still hope to make the grade to heaven.” I got Mrs. Frost's eyes again.
“For instance, I might remark on your phony la-de-da about asking me to sit down in your house.
It isn't your house, it's your daughter's, unless she gave it to you-” There was a gasp at my right from the client, and Mrs. Frost's mouth opened, but I went on ahead of the rush:
“Just to show you how offensive I can be if I work at it.
What kind of ninnies do you think we are?
Even the cops aren't as thick as you seem to believe.
It's time you folks pinched yourselves and woke up.
Boyden McNair gets bumped off, and Helen Frost here happens to have enough regard for him to want to know who did it, and enough gumption to get the right man for the job, and enough jack to pay him. She's your daughter and niece and cousin and almost fiancee.
She brings me here.
I already know enough to be aware that you've got vital information which you don't intend to cough up, and you know I know it.
And look at the kindergarten stuff you hand me! McNair had a headache, so he went to Nero Wolfe's office to poison himself 1 You might at least have the politeness to tell me straight that you refuse to discuss the matter because you don't intend to get involved if you can help it, then we can proceed with the involving.”
I pointed my pencil at Perren Gebert's long thin nose. “For instance, you!
Did you know that Dudley Frost might tell us where the red box is?”
I concentrated on Gebert, but Mrs. Frost was off line only a little to the left of him, so I was having a glimpse of her too.
Gebert fell for it absolutely.
His head jerked around to look at Dudley Frost and then back at me.
Mrs. Frost jerked too, first at Gebert, then back into steadiness.
Dudley Frost was sputtering at me:
“What's that?