That left two to go. I found them together, in a room at the street end of the corridor. April was stretched out on a chaise longue, with her arms flung above her head, dressed in a green thing of thin silk which smoothed itself out on her high spots like a soft skin, and wearing no veil. Sara was on a chair near her, with a book open. Sara stared at me. April’s head didn’t move, but she got me from the corner of her eyes.
She said, “You might knock, you know. Does that man want me again?”
“No, I’m just looking.”
“Thank heaven.” She sighed with relief. “My niece is reading The Cherry Orchard’ to me. Of course I know it by heart. Would you care to listen?”
I said no, much obliged, and departed. Having observed a writing desk in Daisy Hawthorne’s suit, I returned there, found some paper in a drawer, got out my pen and sat down and wrote:
Downstairs Daisy disappeared. Told Naomi would return shortly but hasn’t. Naomi, waiting for her return, scorns you and says I’m not funny. Stauffer is lurking behind a curtain ten feet from her, God knows why. Made a survey and everyone accounted for. Sara is reading “The Cherry Orchard” (Chekhov) to April. Either one could have done it. I resign.
I blotted it, went out and descended to the library, and handed it to Wolfe, saying:
“I doubt if that’s it. It’s the only one I left in the living room.”
As he read it I got myself into a chair, this time one at the end of the desk, as far as practical from our own Daisy. I glanced at her sitting there behind her screen, and then looked somewhere else.
Wolfe grunted and passed the paper back to me. “It can wait. Mrs. Hawthorne and I have been discussing the matter of the will. It is her opinion that it expresses the wishes of her husband and his deliberate intention to deprive her of her rightful share of his fortune. She is not surprised at her husband’s duplicity, but strongly resents the fact that Mr. Prescott did not inform her of the will’s contents at the time it was drawn, though I have told her that had he done so it would have been a flagrant breach of ethics. Please make a note of these remarks. I asked Mrs. Hawthorne if she has dealt, or attempted to deal, directly with Miss Karn in the matter, and she says she has not and would not. I believe that covers the points we’ve discussed, madam?”
“Yes.” The veil inclined slightly forward and straightened up again.
Wolfe regarded it with half-closed eyes. “Well. Has Mr. Dunn told you that he has asked me to investigate your husband’s death?”
“No, but his wife has. My sister-in-law June.”
“Have you talked with the police?”
The veil was inclined again. “Last night. The district attorney. Mr. Skinner.”
“Are you willing to discuss it with me? I want to say, Mrs. Hawthorne, that I realize I am in your home, this is the library of your home, and I thank you for allowing me to work here. I assure you I shall clear out at the earliest possible moment. The luncheon — I shall not impose upon you for another meal if I can help it. But I do have a few questions to ask.”
“I am perfectly willing to answer them. I don’t believe — I doubt if I can help your investigation any, although I know quite well who killed my husband.”
“Oh. You do?”
“Yes. April.”
She had a special way of saying “April.” Anyone hearing her and not knowing what was meant would have guessed that April was a cross between a cockroach and a rattlesnake.
“I should think,” said Wolfe, “that will help my investigation a good deal. Provided you can give any reasons.”
“I can. April is sunk in debt and expected a legacy. She intends to marry Osric Stauffer. She pretends she’s playing with him, but she isn’t, she intends to marry him. She knows her beauty is going and she’ll need him. She thinks he’ll succeed to my husband’s partnership in Daniel Cullen and Company. She hated Noel’s influence over Andy. She wants Andy to marry that little blond fool Celia and be an actor. She knew Noel was leaving me next to nothing in his will, and she wanted me to have that blow too.”
She stopped. Wolfe asked, “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“But you can’t have both ends, Mrs. Hawthorne. If she knew your husband was leaving you next to nothing, she must also have known what she was to get. A peach.”
“Not at all. Noel fooled them too. He told her what he was doing to me, but not what he was doing to her.”
“Do you have evidence of that?”
“I don’t need any.” The strain in her voice was more intense. “I know what my husband was like.”
“Do you possess any evidence that April Hawthorne did shoot her brother?”
“I don’t possess any, no. But she did.”
“You know, I suppose, that she says she was upstairs sleeping at the time it happened.”
“I know,” said the veil contemptuously. “But she wasn’t.”
“Did you see her leave the house or sneak into the woods?”
“No.”
Wolfe sighed. “I was hoping perhaps you had. I understand you were out in a field picking black-eyed susans.”
“I was picking daisies.”
“All right, daisies. I haven’t seen a map of the grounds, so I wouldn’t know whether you could see the house or the border of the woods from where you were. Could you?”
“Not the house actually, on account of trees around it. Besides the woods skirting the hill, there are clumps of trees all around there. They shielded me — that is, they shielded the house from my view, and the woods too. The reason I made that slip of the tongue — I am accustomed to regard myself as being in need of shielding.” A long thin finger touched the edge of the veil.
“Of course. I wouldn’t call that a slip. From where you were could you hear all three of the gunshots?”
“I don’t know whether I could or not, but I didn’t. The first shot was when we were finishing tea on the lawn; we spoke about it. Soon after that I went to the field for daisies. I heard no more shots. Often when I am alone like that my mind is on — on myself. That may be comprehensible to you. Perhaps I could have heard the shots, but I didn’t.”
“I see.” Wolfe closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again and directed them at the veil. “If I were you,” he suggested, “I’d be a little circumspect about stating what you know, when you possess no evidence. After this thing gets in the papers it will be pretty nasty.”
“Nasty?” That awful little laugh fluttered the veil. “You mean what I said about April.”
“Yes. If she committed murder she’ll probably pay for it. In the meantime—”
“But she did! I know she did! I possess no evidence, but someone else does!”
“Indeed. Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is it?”
“I know that, but it wouldn’t do any good to tell you.”
“I’ll decide that,” Wolfe snapped. “Did you tell Mr. Skinner about it.”