In a moment the door opened and Sergeant Bruce entered. She came in three steps, getting the three of us at a glance, stopped with her heels together, and snapped a salute. She appeared to be quite herself, only extremely solemn. She advanced when she was told to.
“This is Nero Wolfe,” Fife said. “He’ll ask you some questions, and you’ll answer as from me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down,” Wolfe told her. “Archie, if you’ll move that chair around? Excuse me, General, if I violate regulations, a major waiting on a sergeant, but I find it impossible to regard a woman as a soldier and don’t intend to try.” He looked at her. “Miss Bruce. That’s your name?”
“Yes, sir. Dorothy Bruce.”
“You were at lunch when that thing exploded?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was as clear and composed as it had been when she told me she was in my eye.
“Is that your usual lunch hour? Four o’clock?”
“No, sir. Shall I explain?”
“Please. With a minimum of sirs. I am not a field marshal in disguise. Go ahead.”