“No.”
“But—” He bore down on the “but.”
“But you sent Goodwin there today. And when Stebbins ran into him and asked him what he was there for, he said he was on a fishing trip. And they all refuse to tell what Goodwin said to them or what they said to him. That is a fact. They say it was a private matter and had no connection with the murder of Bianca Voss. And when I come and ask you what you sent Goodwin there for, you say you will probably be ready to tell me within twenty-four hours. And what I said was absolutely justified. I did not accuse you of duplicity. You know what I said.”
“I do indeed, Mr. Cramer.” I couldn’t see Wolfe, but I knew he had upturned a palm. “This is childish and futile. If a connection is established between your murder investigation and the topic of Mr. Goodwin’s talks with those people today it will be only because I formed a conjecture and acted on it. I hope to establish it within twenty-four hours, and meanwhile it will do no harm to give you a hint. Have you any information on the death of a woman named Sarah Yare?
A pause. Cramer was certainly interrupting his glare to blink. “Why?” he demanded.
“I merely put the question.”
“All right, I’ll answer it. I have some — yes. Presumed a suicide, but it’s being checked. I have two men on it. What about it?”
“I suggest that you assign more men to it, good ones, and explore it thoroughly. I think we shall both find it helpful. I may soon have a more concrete suggestion, but for the present that should serve. You know quite well—”
The doorbell rang. I wheeled and looked through the one-way glass pane of the front door. It wasn’t a visitor on the stoop, it was a mob. All of them were there: Gallant, Flora, Anita Prince, Emmy Thorne and Carl Drew. Fritz appeared from the kitchen, saw me and stopped. I got my notebook and pen from pockets and wrote:
That phone works.
The five subjects are at the door.
I told Fritz to stand by, tore out the sheet, entered the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk, and handed it to him.
Wolfe read it, frowned at it for three seconds, turned his head and called “Fritz!”
He appeared at the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Put the chain bolt on and tell those people they will be admitted shortly. Stay there.”
“Yes, sir.” He went.
Wolfe looked at Cramer. “Mr. Gallant, his sister, Miss Prince, Miss Thorne and Mr. Drew have arrived, uninvited and unexpected. You’ll have to leave without being seen. In the front room until they have entered. I’ll communicate with you later.”
“Like hell I’ll leave.” Cramer was on his feet. “Like hell they’re unexpected.” He was moving toward the hall, his intention plain — taking over as receptionist.
“Mr. Cramer!” It snapped at his back, turning him. “Would I lie so clumsily if they had been expected, would I have let you in? Would I have sat here bickering with you? Either you leave or I do. If you admit them, you’ll have them to yourself, and I wish you luck.”
Cramer’s jaw was clamped. “You think I’m going to sneak out and sit on your stoop until you whistle?”
“That would be unseemly,” Wolfe conceded. “Very well.” He pointed at a picture on the wall to his left behind him — a pretty waterfall. “You know about that. You may take that station, but only if you engage not to disclose yourself unless you are invited. Unequivocally.”
The waterfall covered a hole in the wall. On the other side, in a wing of the hall across from the kitchen, the hole was covered by nothing, and you could not only see through but also hear through. Cramer had used it once before, a couple of years ago.
He stood, considering, his jaw clamped again. Wolfe demanded, “Well? They’re waiting. For you or for me?”
Cramer said, “O.K., I’ll try it your way,” turned and marched to the hall, and turned left.
“All right, Archie. Bring them in.”
While I was in the hall, admitting the guests and helping with coats, Fritz was in the office moving chairs, and when we entered, there was a row of them lined up facing Wolfe’s desk. And then, when I had pronounced their names and Wolfe had acknowledged each one by inclining his head an eighth of an inch, Flora wouldn’t accept my idea of the proper seating arrangement. I thought it would be desirable to have her handy, in the chair nearest me — for professional reasons, not personal ones — but she didn’t agree. She took the one at the other end of the row, farthest from me, presumably because it was near her brother in the red leather chair beyond the end of Wolfe’s desk. Next to her was Carl Drew, then Anita Prince, then Emmy Thorne at my end.
When they were all seated, including me, Wolfe turned to Gallant. “I presume, sir, you are the spokesman?”
“I speak for us, yes, but it is enough that I speak for myself. I want to know why you sent a man to ask me questions about Sarah Yare.”
Wolfe nodded. “Of course. Naturally your curiosity was aroused. But evidently you have been provoked to more than curiosity; you have been impelled to call on me in a body; so I want to know something too. Why were Mr. Goodwin’s questions so provocative?”
“Pah!” Gallant hit a chair arm with a fist. “I answered his question; you can answer mine! I have asked it!”
Anita Prince put in, “We came because we think it is important, but we don’t know why. The police insist on knowing why Mr. Goodwin was there, what he wanted.”
“And you refused to say. Only because Mr. Goodwin advised you to?”
“No,” Emmy Thorne declared. “Because it was none of their business. And we have a right to know why you sent him, whether his questions were provocative or not.” That girl was strong on rights.
Wolfe’s eyes went from right to left and back again. “There’s no point in dragging this out. I sent Mr. Goodwin to see you because I suspected I had been gulled and wanted to find out; and further, because I had guessed that there was a connection between Sarah Yare and her death, and the murder of Bianca Voss. By coming here en masse, you have made that guess a conviction, if any doubt had remained.”
“I knew it,” Flora mumbled. She looked at her brother. “I knew it! That was why—”
“Tais toi,” Gallant commanded her. He jerked back to Wolfe: “I’ll tell you why we came here. We came for an explanation. We came—”
Carl Drew put in, “For an understanding,” he declared. “We’re in trouble, all of us, you know that, and we need your help, and we’re ready to pay for it. First we have to know what the connection is between Sarah Yare and what happened to Bianca Voss.”
Wolfe shook his head. “You don’t mean that. You mean you have to know whether I have established the connection, and if so, how. I’m prepared to tell you, but before I do so I must clarify matters. There must be no misunderstanding. For instance, I understand that all of you thought yourselves gravely endangered by Miss Voss’ presence. You, Miss Prince; you, Miss Thorne; and you, Mr. Drew — your dearest ambitions were threatened. Your future was committed to the success and glory of that enterprise, and you were convinced that Miss Voss was going to cheapen it, and perhaps destroy it. Do you challenge that?”
“Of course not.” Emmy Thorne was scornful. “Everybody knew it.”
“Then that’s understood... That applied equally to you, Miss Gallant, but with special emphasis. You also had a more intimate concern, for your brother. You told me so... As for you, Mr. Gallant, you are manifestly not a man to truckle, yet you let that woman meddle in your affairs. Presumably you were under severe constraint. Were you?”