Turning to close the door, she saw me and stopped, right against me. She backed up, then whirled to face the table.
Anita Prince spoke. “You know Mr. Goodwin, don’t you? Your alibi?”
Flora didn’t answer. Gallant had left his chair and was coming around the end of the table to her, and she extended her hands and he took them.
“My dear,” he said. “My dear sister. Was it bad?”
“It’s all right,” she said. “It was so long.”
“Who was it? The one that croaks like a frog?”
“No, not him. There were two of them, one named Brill and one named Bowen. It was so long.”
It would be, I thought, with the district attorney himself taking a hand.
“More than three hours,” she said. “Most of the time it wasn’t about me; it was about you and the others. I suppose because I have an alibi.” Her head turned. “Yes, Anita, I know Mr. Goodwin — as you say, my alibi. Carl told me he was here asking questions.”
Flora turned to me. “Well — hello.”
I returned it. “Hello. If you’ve been answering questions for three hours, I guess you’ve had enough for a while, so I’ll just ask—”
She cut me off. “Not here.” She moved. “I don’t mind you asking me questions.” She was touching my arm. “But tête-à-tête.” She turned to her brother. “It wasn’t too bad, Alec. I’ll tell you later.” She stepped into the hall, and I followed, pulling the door shut.
“My room is so small,” she said, “that you can’t stretch your legs.” She touched my arm again. “I know. You ought to see it, anyway. I’m sure you’re a better detective than any of them. Come along.”
Leading me along the hall toward the front, on past the elevator, nearly to the end, she opened a door, stood aside for me to enter, and followed me in.
“This was her room,” she said. “When you’re through asking me questions, you can go over it and maybe you can detect something. Maybe you’ll find something they missed.”
I glanced around. There were coats, suits, dresses, all kinds. They were on dummies scattered around — on hangers strung on a pole along a wall and piled on a big long table. Half of one wall was a mirror from floor to ceiling. At the far side of the room was a desk, with a pad and pen stand and calendar and other objects on its top, including a telephone — the one, presumably, that Wolfe and I had heard hit the floor.
Flora crossed to the desk and sat down on a chair near an end of it. “You sit in her chair,” she invited me.
“It’s hardly worth taking the trouble to sit,” I told her. “However,” I turned Bianca Voss’ chair around and sat. “Only a question or two — one really. Apparently Carl Drew told you what it is.”
“He said you wanted to know if we have any letters from Sarah Yare, and Nero Wolfe wants to see them. I haven’t any.”
“Then that answers it. It doesn’t make much of a tête-à-tête, does it?”
“No.”
“I get the impression that everybody around here was pretty fond of Sarah Yare. Were you?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose you first met her before she — when she had the world by the tail.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her. Her face had full light on it from a window, and her chin was more pointed than ever, her eye rims were red, and her lips were too tight. That was nothing remarkable; after all, not only had she just returned from three hours of nagging by Brill and Bowen about a murder — murder of a woman as she occupied the chair I was sitting in — but also someone she had been fond of had just died in a very unpleasant manner. But there was something about her — I guess her eyes — that made me feel that if I went after her I would get something. The trouble was, I would be exceeding instructions, and I still didn’t know what Wolfe had been doing with the phone book.
So I merely said, “Well, I guess that covers it.”
“Archie,” she said.
“Yes, Finger?”
“You kissed me good night when you put me in the taxi.”
“So I did. It’s nice of you to remember.”
“Would you kiss me now?”
It was a little complicated. When Wolfe is investigating a murder case for a client, and I am helping, I do not go around kissing the suspects. But we had no client, and I was working on Sarah Yare, not Bianca Voss. Besides, if I declined, she would think I had decided there was something repellent about her, and I hadn’t decided a thing about her or anyone else. So I arose. So did she, which was sensible. One on his feet and one in a chair is no way to kiss.
She drew away. “Then you still like me.”
“I think I do. I could tell better after a few more.”
“Then I can ask you. I couldn’t ask if you were not — if you were my enemy. Now I can. Why are you asking all of us about Sarah Yare?”
“Because Mr. Wolfe told me to.”
“Why did he tell you to?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or course you know. He tells you everything. Why?”
I shook my head. “No good, Finger. Either I don’t know or I do know but am not saying. What’s the difference? It happens that I really don’t know, but it doesn’t matter whether you believe that or not.”
“I don’t. You’re lying to me. You are my enemy. You told Carl Drew that someone engaged Mr. Wolfe to make an inquiry. Who engaged him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you know. Was it Carl Drew?”
“Don’t know.”
“Was it Emmy Thorne?”
“Don’t know.”
“Was it Anita Prince?”
“Don’t know.”
She grabbed my arms. I wouldn’t have thought her little hands had so much muscle. Her face was right under mine, tilted up to me. “I have to know, Archie. There’s a reason why I must know. What can I do? What can I do to make you tell me?”
Instructions or no instructions, that was too much. I would find out what was biting her. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” I said, “but maybe I can help. Sit down and calm down and we’ll see. It’s quite possible—”
The door opened. I was facing it. Flora let go of my arms and turned. A voice which I had myself frequently heard croak more or less like a frog sounded. “Huh? You?”
It was my old friend and foe, Sergeant Purley Stebbins, of Homicide. In two steps he stopped and was glaring. Behind one of his shoulders appeared the saggy cheeks and puffy eyes of Carl Drew. Behind the other appeared an attractive display of hair about the color of white gold, a nice smooth brow, a pair of blue eyes not at all puffed, and a nose that went with them fine. The rest of her was shielded by Purley Stebbins’ broad frame.
Purley took another step, and another. He probably thought a slow and measured advance would be more impressive and menacing, and, as a matter of fact, it was, or would have been if I hadn’t seen it before.
“Greetings,” I said.
“The scene of a murder,” he said, “and you.” He came to a stop an arm’s length from me.
I grinned at him. “This time,” I said, “you’re in for a disappointment. I haven’t got the answer ready for you because I’m not interested. Sorry, but my mind is elsewhere. Actually I’m just on a fishing trip.” My eyes went to Carl Drew, who had approached on the left. “If that’s Miss Thorne, would you mind introducing me, Mr. Drew?”
“That’s me,” she said. “No introduction required. You’re Archie Goodwin.” Now that all of her was in view, I could see that the mouth and chin were no letdown from the other details.
“Fishing,” Purley croaked. “For what?”
“Fish.” I put one brow up. He thinks I do that because I know he can’t, but my motives are my business. “Listen, sergeant. Don’t let’s start ring-around-a-rosy and end in a squat. If you demand to know why I’m poking my nose in a murder, you know darned well what you’ll get, so what’s the use? Even if I told you what I’m here for — and I’m not going to — you wouldn’t have the faintest idea if or how it’s connected with what you’re here for. Neither have I. Anyhow, I’m about finished and I’ve had no lunch. All I want is a few words in private with Miss Thorne... If you will be so good, Miss Thorne?”