“That,” she declared, “is quite different from having the opinion that Vic murdered my father. I have no opinion, because I don’t know.”
“Then what are you in sympathy with?”
“I want to find out. So do you. And I certainly agree that the police are being extremely stupid.”
“Who do you think killed him if Vic didn’t?”
“I don’t know.” The brows went up again. “But since I have inherited my father’s business, and since I am engaged to marry Vic, and since a few other things, I want very much to know. That’s why I’m here with you.”
“You don’t belong here!”
“I’m here, Ferdy.”
“I say you don’t belong!” Pohl’s creases were wriggling. “I said so and I still say so! We came, the four of us, for a definite purpose, to get Nero Wolfe to find proof that Vic killed your father!” Pohl suddenly uncrossed his legs, leaned forward to peer at Dorothy Keyes’ face, and asked in a mean little voice, “And what if you helped him?”
Three other voices spoke at once. One said, “They’re off again.”
Another, “Let Mr. Broadyke tell it.”