“Is it true that you’re in a plot to have that will declared a forgery? Answer me!”
The lawyer gaped at her. “What’s that?” he sputtered. “A plot to — a forgery — what the devil—”
“I insist it was a curtain,” April declared. Her sisters were saying something too, and Stauffer was shushing her, and Prescott and Miss Karn were making it a free-for-all, with nothing emerging for the record, until Wolfe’s voice came out on top:
“That will do! Ladies and gentlemen! My office is not a barnyard!” He gave me a withering glance. “Confound you, Archie!” He switched to the lawyer. “Mr. Prescott, I beg your pardon for having in my employ a young man whose soaring imagination alights on such clichés as sinister plots and forged wills — As for you, Miss Karn, I presume you think you are being audacious and intrepid—”
“Positively Penthesilean,” May inserted.
Wolfe ignored it. “Taking the bull by the horns. Pfui! It should be possible to adhere to the code of ordinary decent manners even when fighting for a fortune. It should also be possible for a young woman with eyes as intelligent as yours to avoid being hoodwinked by Mr. Goodwin’s elephantine capers. It may be, I admit, that you were disconcerted because, coming here expecting a private interview with me, you found these people here. That was not my fault, nor theirs. They did not know you were coming, nor did I know they were. They came, unannounced, to tell me that Mrs. Noel Hawthorne, immediately after leaving my office this afternoon, proceeded to engage a lawyer, and that he has already made formal application to Mr. Prescott for a copy of the will. As you see, you’re not the only one — Yes, Fritz?”
Fritz had entered in his grand manner, but an unexpected bump in his right rear cramped his style. My eyes widened as I saw who it was that had accidentally bumped him, brushing past — our old friend Inspector Cramer of the homicide squad. At his heels was that pillar of pessimism, District Attorney Skinner, and in the rear was a bony little runt with a mustache, carrying last year’s straw hat. Fritz, bumped, seeing there was nothing left for him to announce, stepped aside and tried not to glare with indignation.
Wolfe’s voice sang out, “How-do-you-do, gentlemen! As you see, I’m busy. If you will kindly—”
“That’s all right, Mr. Wolfe.” Skinner, his deep bass croaking, pushed in front of Cramer. He glanced around at the faces. “Mrs. John Charles Dunn? I’m District Attorney Skinner. Miss May Hawthorne? Miss April Hawthorne? I have some — uh — unpleasant news for you.” He sounded apologetic. “It was necessary to find you at once—”
“Permit me, sir,” Wolfe snapped at him. “This is intolerable! We are conferring on a private matter—”
“I’m sorry,” said Skinner. “Believe me, I am sorry. Our business is extremely urgent, or we wouldn’t come barging in like this. We wish to make some inquiries regarding the death of Mr. Noel Hawthorne last Tuesday afternoon. At your place in the country up near Nyack, wasn’t it, Mrs. Dunn?”
“Yes.” June’s dark eyes were piercing him. “What do you — why do you wish to inquire about it?”
“Because that is our unpleasant duty.” Skinner met her gaze. “Because we are confronted by evidence that your brother’s death was not accidental. Evidence, in fact, that he was murdered.”
There was dead silence. Good and dead.
Skinner and Cramer were taking in faces, and I took them in too. I was close enough to April so that when her lips moved I caught the whispered breath of the two syllables, “Curtain,” but her pallor and her staring eyes told me that she wasn’t aware she had breathed at all.
Chapter 4
Wolfe heaved a deep sigh. Prescott got to his feet, opened his mouth, shut it again, and sat down. Osric Stauffer emitted a sound suggestive of shocked and indignant disbelief, which went unnoticed.
June, her eyes still piercing Skinner, said, “That’s impossible.” Her voice went a little higher: “Quite impossible!”
“I wish it were, Mrs. Dunn,” he declared. “I sincerely do. No one realizes better than I do what this will mean to all of you — your husband and your sisters — all the regrettable aspects of it — and it was with the greatest reluctance — almost unconquerable reluctance—”
“That’s a lie.” The voice came from May Hawthorne, but it was a new one. It snapped like a whip. “Let’s take this as it is, Mr. Skinner. Don’t snivel about reluctance. We know the smell of politics. This means it has been decided that you can use my brother’s death to finish off my brother-in-law. Perhaps you can. Go ahead and try, but spare us the cant.”
Skinner, looking at her and letting her finish, said with composure, “You’re wrong, Miss Hawthorne. I assure you it was with deep and genuine reluctance—”
“Do you deny that for the past two months your crowd has been spreading calumny regarding my brother-in-law and his relations with my brother?”
“Yes, I do deny it. I belong to no crowd, unless you mean my political party. I have heard gossip, a good many people have—”
“Do you deny—”
“Don’t, May,” commanded June, taking over. “What’s the use?” Her eyes darted to Skinner again. “You stated that you have evidence that my brother was murdered. What is the evidence?”
“I’ll tell you that shortly, Mrs. Dunn. Before it can be known exactly what the evidence means it will be necessary to ask for a little information from you. That’s why—”
“May I ask a question?” came from Glenn Prescott.
“Certainly.” Skinner nodded at his professional brother. “I’m glad you’re here, Prescott. Not that I propose to give Mrs. Dunn any reason to consult an attorney, but I’m glad you’re here, anyway.”
“So am I,” said Prescott succinctly. “For one thing, if there was a murder, it was in Rockland County, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Skinner turned abruptly to indicate the bony undersized person with the straw hat still in his hand. “This is Mr. B. A. Regan, district attorney of Rockland County. Mr. Regan, of course you’ve heard of Glenn Prescott, of Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis.”
“Sure I have,” Mr. Regan declared. “It’s a pleasure.”
Prescott nodded curtly. “I see.”
“Mr. Regan came to consult my office. If you would prefer to have him do the talking—”
“Not at all. Go ahead. But another point — not a legal one, but still a point — you say you have evidence that Noel Hawthorne was murdered at the home of John Charles Dunn, while he was a guest there, and when Mr. Dunn was present. Wouldn’t it have been usual and proper to advise Mr. Dunn himself first of all? Instead of broadcasting it? Particularly in view of his eminent position? Instead of tracing Mrs. Dunn to this place and bursting in here and blurting it in her face in the presence of a throng of people?”
The skin around the district attorney’s mouth and eyes had tightened. He said, “I don’t like your tone, Prescott.”
“Never mind my tone. What about my questions?”
“Nor your questions either. However, I’ll answer them. I tried for an hour to communicate with Mr. Dunn. As you must know, he is in Washington appearing before a Senate committee. I couldn’t get to him. Meanwhile I learned that Mrs. Dunn and her sisters had come to the office of Nero Wolfe. I have not broadcast this thing. Nothing would please me better than not to have to broadcast it at all. I am a political opponent, a bitter opponent, of Secretary Dunn and the administration he adorns, but by God, I don’t fight with stink bombs and you ought to know it, whether Miss May Hawthorne does or not. Your insinuation that I came after Mrs. Dunn because I shied at tackling Dunn himself is unwarranted and offensive. Mr. Regan came and laid evidence before me and asked my help. Before the evidence can be interpreted with certainty, information is needed from Mrs. Dunn and probably others. I request her, and others if necessary, to co-operate with me in the performance of my duty.”