She sat down.
“I’ll go up and tell him about you.”
“What will you tell him?”
“I’ll remind him that a man named Ferdinand Pohl phoned this morning and made a date for himself and four others, to come here to see Mr. Wolfe at six o’clock, which is sixteen minutes from now. I’ll tell him your name is Audrey Rooney and you’re one of the four others, and you’re fairly good-looking and may be nice, and you’re scared stiff because, as you tell it, they’re pretending they think it was Talbott but actually they’re getting set to frame you, and—”
“Not all of them.”
“Anyhow some. I’ll tell him that you came ahead of time to see him alone and inform him that you have not murdered anyone, specifically not Sigmund Keyes, and to warn him that he must watch these stinkers like a hawk.”
“It sounds crazy — like that!”
“I’ll put feeling in it.”
She left her chair again, came to me in three swift steps, flattened her palms on my coat front, and tilted her head back to get my eyes.
“You may be nice too,” she said hopefully.