He glared. "Confound you." He put his cup down. "What if she killed him? Does that concern us? Very well, you invited her. Five minutes."
I went to the front and opened the door. It wasn't a thirty-year-old female with a good enough face, in a plain gray suit and a plain little hat, who gave me a smile that would warm a glacier as she crossed the sill. The face had been arranged by a professional and was being handled by a professional, and while the dress and jacket were not spectacular they were by no means plain. And the voice was the voice of an angel who might consider taking a week off if she got an invitation that appealed to her. Not only did she use it on me in the hall, but also on Wolfe when I steered her to the office and he stood, inclined his head an eighth of an inch, and indicated the red leather chair.
Her smile was on full. Granting that it was professional, it was a damned good smile. "I know how busy you men are with important things," she said, "so I won't take your time." To me: "Did you find it?"
"He did," Wolfe said. He sat. "Sit down, Miss Duncan. I like eyes at my level. A brief discussion may be necessary. If you answer two or three questions satisfactorily you may have the cigarette case when you have paid me fifty thousand dollars."
The smile went. "Fifty thousand? That's fantastic!"
"Sit down, please."
She looked at me, saw merely a working detective, moved to the red leather chair, sat on the edge, and said, "Of course you don't mean that. You can't."
Wolfe, leaning back, regarded her. "I do and I don't. Our position - I include Mr. Goodwin - is peculiar and a little delicate. The body of a man who had died by violence was found in that hole on that street near that house. He was a man of means and standing. The police don't know of his connection with that house and his quarters there, but we do, and we intend to use that knowledge to our profit. I don't suppose you are familiar with the statutes regarding suppression of evidence of a crime. It may even - "
"My cigarette case isn't evidence of a crime!"
"I haven't said it is. It may even lead to a charge of accessory to murder. Interpretation of that statute is in some respects vague, but not in others. Knowingly concealing or disposing of a tangible object that would help to identify the criminal or convict him would of course be suppression of evidence; but words may be evidence or may not. Usually not. If you were to tell me now that you entered that room Sunday night, found Yeager's body there, and got Mr. Perez to help you take it from the house and put it in that hole, that would not be evidence. I couldn't be successfully prosecuted if I failed to tell the police what you had told me; I would merely swear that I thought you were lying."
She had slid back in the chair a little. "I wasn't in that room Sunday night."
"Not evidence. You may be lying. I'm only explaining the delicacy of our position. You told Mr. Goodwin you would pay him a thousand dollars to find your cigarette case and keep it for you, and give it to you later at his discretion. We can't accept that offer. It would engage us not to turn it over to the police even if it became apparent that it would help to identify or convict a murderer, and that's too great a risk for a thousand dollars. You may have it for fifty thousand, cash or a certified check. Do you want it?"
I think he meant it. I think he would have handed it over for thirty grand, or even twenty, if she had been dumb enough to pay it. He had let me go up to 82nd Street with five Cs in my pocket for one specific reason, to see if I could flush a prospect for a worthy fee, and if she was fool enough, or desperate enough, to pay twenty grand, not to mention fifty, for her cigarette case, he could call it a day and leave the murder investigation to the law. As for the risk, he had taken bigger ones. He was saying only that he would give her the case, not that he would forget about it.
She was staring at him. "I didn't think," she said, "that Nero Wolfe was a blackmailer."
"Neither does the dictionary, madam." He swiveled to the stand that had held the three Websters he had worn out and now held a new one. Opening it and finding the page, he read: " 'Payment of money exacted by means of intimidation; also, extortion of money from a person by threats of public accusation, exposure, or censure.' " He swiveled back. "I don't fit. I haven't threatened or intimidated you."
"But you…" She looked at me and back to him. "Where would I get fifty thousand dollars? You might as well say a million. What are you going to do? Are you going to give it to the police?"
"Not by choice. Only under the compulsion of circumstance. A factor would be your answers to my questions."
"You haven't asked me any questions."
"I do now. Were you in that room Sunday evening or night?"
"No." Her chin was up.
"When were you last there? Before today."
"I haven't said I was ever there."
"That's egregious. Your behavior this morning. Your offer to Mr. Goodwin. You had keys. When?"
She set her teeth on her lip. Five seconds. "More than a week ago. A week ago Saturday. That's when I left the cigarette case. Oh my God." She extended a hand, not a professional gesture. "Mr. Wolfe, this could ruin my career. I haven't seen him since that night. I don't know who killed him, or why, or anything. Why must you drag me into it? What good will it do?"
"I didn't drag you there this morning, madam. I don't ask how often you visited that room because your answer would be worthless, but when you did visit it were others there?"
"No."
"Was anyone ever there when you were besides Mr. Yeager?"
"No. Never."
"But other women went there. That's not surmise, it's established. Of course you knew that; Mr. Yeager was not concerned to conceal it. Who are they?"
"I don't know."
"You don't deny that you knew there were others?"
She thought she was going to, but his eyes had her pinned. She swallowed the yes and said, "No. I knew that."
"Of course. He wanted you to. His arrangement for keeping slippers and garments testifies that he derived pleasure not only from his present companion but also from her awareness that she had - uh - colleagues. Or rivals. So surely he wasn't silent about them? Surely he spoke of them, in comparison, in praise or derogation? And if he didn't name them he must have aroused conjecture. This is my most instant question, Miss Duncan: who are they?"
I had heard Wolfe ask questions of women that made them tremble, or turn pale, or yell at him, or burst into tears, or fly at him, but that was the first time I ever heard one that made a woman blush - and her a sophisticated Broadway star. I suppose it was his matter-of-fact way of putting it. I didn't blush, but I cleared my throat. She not only blushed; she lowered her head and shut her eyes.
"Naturally," Wolfe said, "you would like this episode to pass into history as quickly as possible. It might help if you will tell me something about the others."
"I can't." She raised her head. The blush was gone. "I don't know anything about them. Are you going to keep my cigarette case?"
"For the present, yes."
"You have me at your mercy." She started to rise, found that her knees were shaky, and put a hand on the chair arm to help. She got erect. "I was a fool to go there, an utter fool. I could have said - I could have said anything. "I could have said I lost it. What a fool.'' She looked at me straight, said, "I wish I had clawed your eyes out," turned, and headed for the door. I got up and followed her, passed her in the hall, and had the front door open when she reached it. She wasn't very steady on her feet, so I watched her descend the seven steps to the sidewalk before I shut the door and returned to the office. Wolfe was in his reading position and had opened his book, An Outline of Man's Knowledge of the Modern World, edited by Lyman Bryson. I had spent an hour one afternoon looking it over, and had seen nothing about modern satyrs.