Gallant opened his mouth and closed it. He looked at his sister, returned to Wolfe, and again opened his mouth and closed it. He was under constraint now, no doubt about that.
He forced it out, “Yes. I was under her heel.” He set his jaw. He unset it. “The police know. They found out enough, and I have told them the rest. She was a bad woman, though I didn’t know it until too late. I met her in France during the war. We were in the Résistance together when I married her. Only afterwards I learned that she was perfide. She had been a traitor to France; I couldn’t prove it, but I knew it. I left her and changed my name and came to America — and then last year she found me and made demands. I was under her heel.”
Wolfe grunted. “That won’t do, Mr. Gallant. I doubt if it has satisfied the police, and it certainly doesn’t satisfy me. In this situation you might have killed her, but surely you wouldn’t have let her take charge of your business and your life. What else was there?”
“Nothing. Nothing!”
“Pfui. Of course there was. And if the investigation is prolonged, the police will discover it. I advise you to disclose it and let me get on and settle this affair. Didn’t her death remove her heel?”
“Yes. Thank God, it did. And I am not blind; I can see that that points at me.” Gallant hit the arms of the chair with his palms. “But she is gone and I can tell you. With her gone, there is no evidence to fear. She had two brothers, and they, like her, were traitors, and I killed them. I would have killed her, too, but she escaped me. During the war it would have been merely an episode, but it was later, much later, when I found out about them, and by then it was a crime. With her evidence I was an assassin, and I was doomed. Now she is gone, thank God, but I did not kill her. You know I did not. At half past eleven yesterday morning I was in my workshop with Miss Prince and many others, and you can swear that she was killed at that moment. That is why we came to see you, to arrange to pay—”
“You are in error, Mr. Gallant. I cannot swear that Bianca Voss was killed ‘at that moment.’ On the contrary, I’m sure she wasn’t, for a variety of reasons. There are such minor ones as the extraordinary billingsgate she spat at me on the phone, quite gratuitous; and her calling me a gob of fat. A woman who still spoke the language with so marked an accent would not have the word ‘gob’ so ready, and probably wouldn’t have it at all.”
He waved “gob” away. “But the major reasons are more cogent. In the first place, it was too pat. Since the complexities of nature permit a myriad of coincidences, we cannot reject one offhand, but we can discriminate. That one — that the attack had come just at the moment when Miss Gallant had got Mr. Goodwin and me on the phone with Miss Voss — that was highly suspect. Besides, it was indiscreet of the murderer to strike exactly then. Indeed, foolhardy. Why not wait until she had hung up? Whoever was talking with her would certainly hear the sounds and take alarm. As I told Mr. Cramer, it was open to challenge circumstantially, though not intrinsically. However, there was another challenge, on surer ground. In fact, conclusive. Miss Gallant did not dial Plaza two, nine-oh-two-two, Miss Voss’ number, as she pretended. She dialed Algonquin nine, one-eight-four-seven, Sarah Yare’s number.”
A noise, a sort of low growl, came from the waterfall. I was farthest away, and I heard it distinctly, so it must have reached their ears, too, but Wolfe’s last words had so riveted their attention that it didn’t register.
It did with Wolfe, and he added hastily, “I didn’t know that yesterday. I became certain of it only after you rang my doorbell, when Mr. Goodwin handed me this note.” He tapped it there on his desk. “It’s first words are, ‘That phone works.’ I had sent him to learn if Sarah Yare’s phone was in operation. Obviously, Miss Gallant had arranged with Miss Yare to impersonate Bianca Voss, and it is a reasonable—”
“Wait a minute,” Gallant had come forward in the red leather chair. “You can’t prove that.”
“Directly, no. Inferentially, yes.
“And how do you know she dialed Sarah Yare’s number? You weren’t where you could see the dial, and neither was Goodwin.”
Wolfe nodded. “Evidently you have discussed it with her. You’re quite right, Mr. Gallant; we couldn’t see the dial. Nevertheless, we can supply evidence, and we think it will be persuasive. I am not—”
“What kind of evidence?”
“That’s no good, Alec.” It was Emmy Thorne, the contact girl. “You can’t push Nero Wolfe. He has his teeth in it, you can see that. You know what we decided.”
“I’m not sure,” Anita Prince objected, “that we decided right.”
“I am. Carl?”
“Yes.” Drew was chewing his lip. “I think so. Yes.”
“Flora? It’s up to you.”
“I guess so.” Flora’s voice didn’t want to work, and she tried again. “I guess so.” A little better.
Emmy nodded. “Go ahead, Alec. You can’t push him.”
Gallant looked at his sister and back at Wolfe. “All right. We will pay you to help us. I will pay you. My sister is innocent and she must not suffer. It would be an offense against nature, against God Himself. She has told me all about it, and she was stupid, but she is innocent. She did arrange with Sarah Yare, as you said, but only to move you. She had read much about you and had a great opinion of your abilities. She was desperate about Bianca Voss. She knew you demanded high fees, much beyond her resources, so she conceived a plan. She would persuade you to talk with Bianca Voss on the phone, and she would get Sarah instead, and Sarah would abuse you with such violence that you would be offended and resent it, and you would be moved to move against Bianca Voss. It was stupid — yes, very stupid — but it was not criminal.”
Wolfe’s eyes, on him, were half closed. “And you want to pay me to help her.”
“Yes. When she learned that your man was there asking about Sarah Yare, and after she had talked with him, I saw that she was frightened and asked her why, and she told me what she had done. I consulted the others, and it was apparent that you suspected what had happened, and that was dangerous. We decided to come and ask you to help. My sister must not suffer.”
Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Miss Gallant, you heard your brother. Do you corroborate it?”
“Yes!” That time it was too loud.
“You did those things? As he related them?”
“Yes!”
“When did you arrange with Sarah Yare to impersonate Bianca Voss? Yesterday morning before you came here?”
“No. Monday night. Late. After Mr. Goodwin put me in a taxi. After he left me.”
Wolfe returned to Gallant. “Again, sir, I am being mistaken for a ninny. I agree with you that your sister was stupid, but you are not the one to proclaim it. You say that she arranged with Sarah Yare to abuse me on the phone, but Miss Yare didn’t stop at that. She ended by making noises indicating that she had been violently attacked, and jerked the phone off onto the floor, and made other noises, and then hung up the phone and cut the connection. Was that on her own initiative? Her own idea? Your sister’s stupidity can bow to yours if you expected me to overlook that point — or worse, if you missed it yourself.”
“I am not stupid, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Then you are devious beyond my experience.”
“Devious?”
“Rusé. Subtil.”
“No. I am not.” Gallant took a deep breath, and then another. “Bien. We are at the point. Suppose — only to suppose — she arranged that, too, that comedy. Suppose even that she killed Bianca Voss. Was that a crime? No. It was justice. It was the hand of God. Bianca Voss was an evil woman. She was vilaine. Are you so filled with virtue that you must condemn my sister? Are you a paragon? For she is in your hands, at your mercy. You know about Sarah Yare, but the police do not. You know she dialed that number, but the police do not, and they will not unless you tell them. By your word it can be that my sister was here with you at the time that Bianca Voss was killed. As I have said, I will pay you. Pay you well. It will be a great service from you, and it deserves payment. I will pay you now.”