She looked at me and said, “Well?” I said, “The waitress will hover. Order your lunch.” “I can order later. What do you want?” A sketch all right. But I stayed pleasant. “I want to take you to 918 West 35th Street for a conversation with Nero Wolfe.” She stared at me. “That's ridiculous. What for?” I said mildly, “We have to be there at two o'clock, so we haven't much time.
Really, Miss Frost, it would be much more human if you'd get something to eat and let me do the same, while I explain. I'm not something revolting, like a radio crooner or an agent for the Liberty League.” “I...I'm not hungry. I can see you're funny. A month ago I would have thought you were a scream.” I nodded. “I'm a knockout.” I beckoned to a waitress and consulted the card.
“What will you have, Miss Frost?” She ordered some kind of goo, and hot tea, and I favored the pork and beans, with a glass of milk.
With the waitress gone, I said, “There are lots of ways I could do this. I could scare you. Don't think I couldn't. Or I could try to persuade you that since your cousin is our client, and since Nero Wolfe is as square with a client as you would be with your twin if you had one, it's to your own interest to go and see him. But there's a better reason for your going than either of those.
Ordinary decency. Whether Wolfe was right or wrong about what you said yesterday at McNair's doesn't matter. The point is that we've kept it to ourselves. You saw this morning what terms we're on with the police; they had me handling that test for them. But have they been ragging you on what you said yesterday? They have not. On the other hand, are you going to have to discuss it with someone—sooner or later? You're darned tooting you are, there's no way out of it. Who do you want to discuss it with? If you take my advice, Nero Wolfe, and the sooner the better. Don't forget that Miss Mitchell heard you say it too, and although she may be a good friend of yours—” “Please don't talk any more.” She was looking at her fork, which she was sliding back and forth on the tablecloth, and I saw how tight her fingers gripped it. I sat back and looked somewhere else.
The waitress came and began depositing food in front of us. Helen Frost waited until she was through, and gone, and then said more to herself than to me, “I can't eat.” “You ought to.” I didn't pick up my tools. “You always ought to eat. Try it, anyhow. I've already eaten, I was only keeping you company.” I fished for a dime and a nickel and laid them on the table. “My car is parked on 52nd, halfway to Park Avenue, on the downtown side. I'll expect you there at a quarter to two.” She didn't say anything. I beat it and found the waitress and got my check from her, paid at the desk, and went out. Across the street and down a little I found a drug store with a lunch counter, entered, and consumed two ham sandwiches and a couple of glasses of milk. I wondered what they would do with the beans, whether they would put them back in the pot, and thought it would be a crime to waste them. I didn't wonder much about Helen Frost, because it looked to me like a pipe, all sealed up. There wasn't anything else for her to do.
There wasn't. She came up to me at ten minutes to two, as I stood on the sidewalk alongside the roadster. I opened the door and she got in, and I climbed in and stepped on the starter.
As we rolled off I asked her, “Did you eat anything?” She nodded. “A little. I telephoned Mrs. Lament and told her where I'm going and said I'd be back at three o'clock.” “Uh-huh. You may make it.” I drove cocky because I felt cocky. I had her on the way and the sandwiches hadn't been greasy and it wasn't two o'clock yet; and even down in the mouth and with rings under her eyes, she was the kind of riding companion that makes it reasonable to put the top down so the public can see what you've got with you.
Being a lover of beauty, I permitted myself occasional glances at her profile, and observed that her chin was even better from that angle than from the front.
Of course there was an off chance that she was a murderess, but you can't have everything.
We made it at one minute past two. When I ushered her into the office there was no one there, and I left her there in a chair, fearing the worst. But it was okay. Wolfe was in the dining-room with his coffee cup emptied, doing his postprandial beaming at space. I stood on the threshold and said: “I trust the fritters were terrible. Miss Frost regrets being one minute late for her appointment. We got to chatting over a delicious lunch, and the time just flew.” “She's here? The devil.” The beam changed to a frown as he made preparations to arise. “Don't suppose for a moment that I am beguiled. I don't really like this.” I preceded him to open the office door. He moved across to his desk more deliberately even than usual, circled around Miss Frost in her chair, and, before he lowered himself, inclined his head toward her without saying anything.
She leveled her brown eyes at him, and I could see that by gum she was holding the fort and she was going to go on holding it. I got at ease in my chair with my notebook, not trying to camouflage it.
Wolfe asked her politely, “You wished to see me, Miss Frost?” Her eyes bulged a little. She said indignantly, “I? You sent that man to bring me here.” “Ah, so I did.” Wolfe sighed. “Now that you are here, have you anything in particular to say to me?” She opened her mouth and shut it again, and then said simply, “No.” Wolfe heaved another sigh. He leaned back in his chair and made a movement to clasp his hands on his front middle, then remembered that it was too soon after lunch and let them drop on the arms of his chair. With half-shut eyes he sat comfortable, motionless.
At length he murmured at her, “How old are you?” “I'll be twenty-one in May.” “Indeed. What day in May?” “The seventh.” “I understand that you call Mr. McNair ‘Uncle Boyd.’ Your cousin told me that.
Is he your uncle?” “Why, no. Of course not. I just call him that.” “Have you known him a long while?” “All my life. He is an old friend of my mother's.” “You would know his preferences then. In candy, for instance. What kind does he prefer?” She lost color, but she was pretty good with her eyes and voice. She didn't bat a lash. “I...I don't know. Really. I couldn't say...” “Come, Miss Frost.” Wolfe kept his tone easy. “I am not asking you to divulge some esoteric secret guarded by you alone. On this sort of detail many people may be consulted—any of Mr. McNair's intimates, many of his acquaintances, the servants at his home, the shops where he buys candy if he does buy it. If, for example, he happens to prefer Jordan almonds, those persons could tell me. I happen at the moment to be consulting you. Is there any reason why you should try to conceal this point?” “Of course not.” She hadn't got her color back. “I don't need to conceal anything.” She swallowed. “Mr. McNair does like Jordan almonds, that's perfectly true.” Suddenly the color did appear, a spot on her cheek that showed how quick her blood was. “But I didn't come here to talk about the kinds of candy that people like. I came here to tell you that you were entirely wrong about what I said yesterday.” “Then you do have something in particular to say to me.” “Certainly I have.” She was wanning up. “That was just a trick and you know it.
I didn't want my mother and my uncle to come down here, but my cousin Lew lost his head as usual, he's always getting scared about me anyhow, as if I didn't have brains enough to take care of myself. You merely tricked me into saying something—I don't know what—that gave you a chance to pretend—” “But, Miss Frost.” Wolfe had a palm up at her. “Your cousin Lew is perfectly correct. I mean, about your brains. —No, permit me! Let me save time. I won't repeat verbatim what was said yesterday; you know as well as I do. I shall merely assert that the words you said, and the way you said them, make it apodictical that you knew the contents of that particular box of candy before Miss Mitchell removed the lid.” “That isn't true! I didn't say—” “Oh, but you did.” Wolfe's tone sharpened. “Understand me. Confound it, do you think I'll squabble with a chit like you? Or do you expect your loveliness to paralyze my intelligence? —Archie. Take this on the typewriter, please. One carbon. Letter-size, headed at the top, Alternative Statements for Helen Frost.”
I swiveled around and
swung the machine up and got the paper in. “Shoot.” Wolfe dictated:
“1. I admit that I knew the contents of the box of candy, and am ready to explain to Nero Wolfe how I knew, truthfully and in detail.
“2. I admit that I knew the contents. I refuse for the present to explain, but am ready to submit to questioning by Nero Wolfe on any other matters, reserving the right to withhold replies at my discretion.
“3. I admit that I knew the contents, but refuse to continue the conversation.
“4. I deny that I knew the contents.” Wolfe sat up. “Thank you, Archie. No, I'll take the carbon; the original to Miss Frost.” He turned to her. “Read them over, please. —You observe the distinctions? Here's a pen; I would like you to initial one of them. One moment.
First I should tell you, I am willing to accept either number one or number two.
I will not accept either of the others. If you choose number three or number four, I shall have to resign the commission I have undertaken for your cousin, and take certain steps at once.” She wasn't a goddess any more; she was too flustered for a goddess. But it took her only a few seconds to collect enough sense to see that she was only gumming the works by fiddling with the paper. She looked level at Wolfe: “I...I don't have to initial anything. Why should I initial anything?” The spots of color appeared again. “It's all a trick and you know it! Anybody that's clever enough can ask people questions and trick them around to some kind of an answer that sounds like—” “Miss Frost! Please. Do you mean to stick to your absurd denial?” “Certainly I stick to it, and there's nothing absurd about it. I can warn you, too, when my cousin Lew—” Wolfe's head pivoted and he snapped, “Archie. Get Mr. Cramer.” I pulled my phone across and dialed the number. They switched me to the extension and I got the clerk and asked for Inspector Cramer. For the sake of Wolfe's cake that had to have a hot griddle right then, I was hoping he wouldn't be out, and he wasn't. His voice boomed at me in the receiver: “Hello! Hello, Goodwin! You got something?” “Inspector Cramer? Hold the wire. Mr. Wolfe wants to speak to you.” I gave Wolfe a nod and he reached for his instrument. But the chit was on her feet, looking mad enough to eat nettle salad. Before lifting his receiver Wolfe said to her: “As a courtesy, you may have a choice. Do you wish Mr. Goodwin to take you to police headquarters, or shall Mr. Cramer send for you?” Her voice at him was a croak: “Don't...don't...” She grabbed up the pen and wrote her name under statement number two on tie paper. She was so mad her hand trembled. Wolfe spoke into the phone: “Mr. Cramer? How do you do. I was wondering if you have arrived at any conclusions from this morning... Indeed...I wouldn't say that...No, I haven't, but I've started a line of inquiry which may develop into something later... No, nothing for you now; as you know, I fancy my own discretion in these matters...You must leave that to me, sir...” When he hung up, Helen Frost was sitting down again, looking at him with her chin up and her lips pushed together. Wolfe picked up the paper and glanced at it, handed it across to me, and settled back in his chair. He reached forward to ring for beer, and settled back again.
“So. Miss Frost, you have acknowledged that you possess information regarding an implement of murder which you refuse to disclose. I wish to remind you that I have not engaged to keep that acknowledgment confidential. For the present I shall do so; I am not committing myself beyond that. Do you know the police mind? One of its first and most constant assumptions is that any withheld knowledge regarding a crime is guilty knowledge. It is a preposterous assumption, but they hug it to their bosoms. For instance, if they knew what you have just signed, they would proceed on the theory that you either put the poison in the candy or know who did. I shall not do that. But as a matter of form I shall ask the question: did you poison that candy?” She was pretty good, at that. She answered in a calm voice that was only pinched a little, “No. I didn't.” “Do you know who did?” “No.” “Are you engaged to be married?” She compressed her lips. “That is none of your business.” Wolfe said patiently, “I shall have to ask you about many things which you will regard as none of my business. Really, Miss Frost, it is foolish of you to irritate me unnecessarily. The question I just asked is completely innocuous; any of your friends could probably answer it; why shouldn't you? Do you imagine this is a friendly chat we are having? By no means. It is a very one-sided affair. I am forcing you to reply to questions by threatening to turn you over to the police if you don't. Are you engaged to be married?” She was cracking a little. Her fists were clenched in her lap, and she looked smaller, as if she had shrunk, and her eyes got so damp that finally a tear formed in the corner of each one and dripped out. Without paying any attention to them, she said to Wolfe, looking at him, “You're a dirty fat beast.
You...you...” He nodded. “I know. I ask questions of women only when it is unavoidable, because I abominate hysterics. Wipe your eyes.” She didn't move. He sighed. “Are you engaged to be married?” Tears of rage were also in her voice. “I am not.” “Did you buy that diamond on your finger?” She glanced at it involuntarily. “No.” “Who gave it to you?” “Mr. McNair.” “And the one set in your vanity case—who gave you that one?” “Mr. McNair.” “Astonishing. I wouldn't have supposed you cared for diamonds.” Wolfe opened a bottle of beer and filled his glass. “You mustn't mind me, Miss Frost. I mean, my seeming inconsequence. A servant girl named Anna Fiore sat in that chair once and conversed with me for five hours. The Duchess of Rathkyn did so for most of a night. I am apt to poke into almost any comer, and I beg you to bear with me.” He lifted the glass and emptied it in par. “For instance, this diamond business is curious. Do you like them?” “I don't...not ordinarily.” “Is Mr. McNair fond of them? Does he make gifts of them more or less at random?”
“Not that I know of.” “And although you don't Wee them, you wear these out of...respect for Mr.
McNair? Affection for an old friend?” “I wear them because I happen to feel like it.” “Just so. You see, I know very little about Mr. McNair. Is he married?” “As I told you, he is an old friend of my mother's. A lifelong friend. He had a daughter about my age, a month or so older, but she died when she was two years old. His wife had died before, when the baby was born. Mr. McNair is the finest man I have ever known. He is...he is my best friend.” “And yet he puts diamonds on you. You must forgive my harping on the diamonds; I happen to dislike them. —Oh, yes, I meant to ask, do you know anyone else who is fond of Jordan almonds?” “Anybody else?” “Besides Mr. McNair.” “No, I don't.” Wolfe poured more beer and, leaving the foam to settle, leaned back and frowned at his victim. “You know, Miss Frost, it is time something was said to you. In your conceit, you are assuming, for your youth and inexperience, a terrific responsibility. Molly Lauck died nine days ago, probably through bungling of someone's effort to kill another person. During all that time you have possessed knowledge which, handled with competence and dispatch, might do something much more important than wreak vengeance; it might save a life, and it is even possible that the life would be one worth saving. What do you think; isn't that responsibility pretty heavy for you? I have too much sense to try coercion.
There's too much egotism and too much mule in you. But you really should consider it.” He picked up his glass and drank.
She sat and watched him. Finally she said, “I have considered it. I'm not an egotist. I...I've considered.” Wolfe lifted his shoulders an inch and dropped them. “Very well. I understand that your father is dead. I gathered that from the statement of your uncle, Mr.
Dudley Frost, that he is the trustee of your property.” She nodded. “My father died when I was only a few months old. So I've never had a father.” She frowned. “That is...” “Yes? That is?” “Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.” “And what does your property consist of?” “I inherited it from my father.” “To be sure. How much is it?” She lifted her brows. “It is what my father left me.” “Oh, come, Miss Frost. Sizes of estates in trust are no secrets nowadays. How much are you wo
rth?” She shrugged. “I understand that it is something over two million dollars.” “Indeed. Is it intact?” “Intact? Why shouldn't it be?” “I have no idea. But don't think I am prying into affairs which your family considers too intimate for discussion with outsiders. Your uncle told me yesterday that your mother hasn't got a cent. His expression. Then your father's fortune was all left to you?” She flushed a little. “Yes. It was. I have no brother or sister.” “And it will be turned over to you—excuse me. If you please, Archie.” It was the phone. I wheeled to my desk and got it. I recognized the quiet controlled voice before she gave her name, and made my own tones restrained and dignified as she deserved. I don't like hysterics any better than Wolfe does.
I turned to Helen Frost: “Your mother would like to speak to you.” I got up and held my chair for her, and she moved over to it.
“Yes, mother...Yes...No, I didn't...I know you said that, but under the circumstances—I can't very well tell you now...I couldn't ask Uncle Boyd about it because he wasn't back from lunch yet, so I just told Mrs. Lament where I was going...No, mother, that's ridiculous, don't you think I'm old enough to know what I'm doing?...I can't do that, and I can't explain till I see you, and when I leave here I'll come straight home but I can't tell now when that will be...Don't worry about that, and for heaven's sake give me credit for having a little sense...No...Good-bye...” She had color in her face again as she arose and returned to her seat. Wolfe had narrow eyes on her. He murmured sympathetically: “You don't like people fussing about you, do you, Miss Frost? Even your mother. I know. But you must tolerate it. Remember that physically and financially you are well worth some fuss.
Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe - Red Box Page 7