“Yes, she went to a show with a friend. Guys and Dolls.”
“Fine. It’s a good show. This really is confidential, Miss Devlin. So we’re alone?”
“Certainly we are. What is it, anyhow?”
There were three things wrong. First, I had a hunch, and my batting average on hunches is high. Second, she was talking too loud. Third, her telling me where Carol Berk was, even naming the show, was off key.
“The reason it’s so confidential,” I said, “is simply that you ought to decide for yourself what you want to do. I doubt if you realize what lengths other people may go to help you decide. You say we’re alone, but it wouldn’t surprise me a bit—”
I sprang up, marched across to the door that wasn’t quite closed, thinking it the most likely, and jerked it open. Behind me a little smothered shriek came from Delia Devlin. In front of me, backed up against closet shelves piled with cartons and miscellany, was Carol Berk. One look at her satisfied me on one point — what her eyes were like when something happened that really aroused her.
I stepped back. Delia Devlin was at my elbow, jabbering. I gripped her arm hard enough to hurt a little and addressed Carol Berk as she emerged from the closet. “My God, do I look like that big a sap? Maybe your sidewise glance isn’t as keen as you think—”
Delia was yapping at me. “You get out! Get out!”
Carol stopped her. “Let him stay, Delia.” She was calm and contemptuous. “He’s only a crummy little stooge, trying to slip one over for his boss. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
She moved. Delia, protesting, caught her arm, but she pulled loose and left through one of the open doors. There were sounds in the adjoining room, then she appeared again with a thing on her head and a jacket and handbag, and passed through to the foyer. The outer door opened and then closed. I crossed to a window and stuck my head out and in a minute saw her emerge to the sidewalk and turn west.
I went back to my chair and sat. The open closet door was unsightly, and I got up and closed it and then sat again. “Just forget it,” I said cheerfully. “The closet was a bum idea anyhow; she would have stifled in there. Sit down and relax while I try and slip one over for my boss.”
She stood. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Then you shouldn’t have let me in. Certainly you shouldn’t have stuck Miss Berk in that closet. Let’s get it over with. I merely want to find out whether you have any use for ten thousand dollars.”
She gawked. “Whether I what?”
“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
She went to a chair and sat, and I shifted position to be more comfortable facing her. “First I want to tell you a couple of things about murder investigations. In—”
“I’ve heard all I want to about murder.”
“I know you have, but that’s one of the things. When you get involved in one it’s not a question of what or how much you want to hear. That’s the one question nobody asks you. Until and unless the Rackell case is solved, with the answers all in, you’ll be hearing about it the rest of your life. Face it, Miss Devlin.”
She didn’t say anything. She clasped her hands.
“The other thing about murder investigations. Someone gets murdered, and the cops go to work on it. Everybody that might possibly have a piece of useful information gets questioned. Say they question fifty different people. How many of the fifty answer every question truthfully? Maybe ten, maybe only four or five. Ask any experienced homicide man. They know it and they expect it, and that’s why, when they think it’s worth it, they go over the same questions with the same person again and again, after the truth. They often get it that way and they nearly always do with people who have cooked up a story, something they did or saw, with details. Of course you’re not one of those. You haven’t cooked up a detailed story. You have only answered a simple question ‘No’ instead of ‘Yes.’ They can’t catch you—”
“What question? What do you mean?”
“I’m coming to it. I want—”
“Do you mean I lied? About what?”
I shook my head, not to call her a liar. “Wait till I get to it. You would of course show shocked surprise if I made the flat statement that Fifi Goheen murdered Arthur Rackell by changing his capsules at the restaurant that evening and that you saw her do it. Naturally you would, since the police have asked you if you saw anyone perform that action or any part of it, and you have answered no. Wouldn’t you?”
She was frowning, concentrated. Her hands were still clasped. “But you — you haven’t made any such statement.”
“Right. I’d rather put it another way. Nero Wolfe has his own way of investigating and his own way of reaching conclusions. He has concluded that if he sends me to see you, to ask you to tell the police that you saw Fifi Goheen substituting the capsules, it will serve the interest of truth and justice. So he sent me, and I’m asking you. It will be embarrassing for you, but not so bad. As I explained, it won’t be the first time they’ve had somebody suddenly remembering something. You can say you and Miss Goheen have been friends and you hated to come out with it, but now you see you have to. You can even say I came here and persuaded you to speak, if you want to, but you certainly shouldn’t mention the ten thousand dollars. That—”
“What ten thousand dollars?”
“I’m telling you. Mr. Wolfe has also concluded that it would not be reasonable to expect you to undergo such embarrassment without some consideration. He has made a suggestion to Mr. and Mrs. Rackell, and they have agreed to provide a certain sum of money. Ten thousand of it will come to you, in appreciation of your cooperation in the cause of justice. It will be given you in cash, in currency, within forty-eight hours after you have done your part — and we’ll have to discuss that, exactly what you’ll tell the police. Speaking for Nero Wolfe, I guarantee the payment within forty-eight hours, or, if you want to, come down to his office with me now and he’ll guarantee it himself. Don’t ask me what it was that made him conclude that Fifi Goheen did it and that you saw her, because I don’t know. Anyhow, if he’s right, and he usually is, she’ll only be getting what she deserves. You know that’s true.”
I stopped. She sat motionless, staring at me. There wasn’t much light, and I couldn’t tell anything from her eyes, but they looked absolutely blank. As the seconds grew to a minute and on I began to think I had literally stupefied her, and I gave her a nudge.
“Have I made it plain?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, “you’ve made it plain.”
Suddenly a shudder ran over her whole body, her head dropped forward, and her hands lifted to cover her face, her elbows on her knees. The shudder quit, and she froze like that. She held it so long that I decided another nudge was required, but before I got it out she straightened up and demanded, “What made you think I would do such a thing?”
“I don’t think. Mr. Wolfe does the thinking. I’m just a crummy little stooge.”
“You’d better go. Please go!”
I stood up and I hesitated. My feeling was that I had run through it smooth as silk, as instructed, but at that point I wasn’t sure. Should I make a play of trying to crowd her into a yes or no, or leave it hanging? I couldn’t stand there forever, debating it with her staring at me, so I told her, “I do think it’s a good offer. The number’s in the phone book.”
She had nothing to tell my back as I walked to the foyer. I let myself out, descended the three flights, walked to Lexington, found a phone booth in a drugstore, and dialed the number I knew best. In a moment Wolfe’s voice was in my ear.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m in a booth. I just left her.”
“In what mind?”