1. If she was toting a grievance against Bess Huddleston, it would take a smarter man than me to find out what it was. 2. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with her except that she would rather live in the country than the city. 3. She had no definite suspicion about who had sent the anonymous letters or anyone’s motive for sending them.
Wolfe said, “Try Miss Timms for a change.”
I didn’t try to date Maryella for Saturday or Sunday, because Janet had told me they were all going to Saratoga for the weekend. Monday morning, I thought, was no time to start a romance, so I waited until afternoon to phone, got Maryella, and got the news. I went up to the plant rooms, where Wolfe was a sight to behold in his undershirt, cutting the tops from a row of vandas for propagation, and told him:
“Bess Huddleston is dead.”
“Let me alone,” he said peevishly. “I’m doing all I can. Someone will probably get another letter before long, and when—”
“No, sir. No more letters. I am stating facts. Friday evening tetanus set in from that cut on her toe, and about an hour ago she died. Maryella’s voice was choked with emotion as she told me.”
Wolfe scowled at me. “Tetanus?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That would have been a five thousand dollar fee.”
“It would have been if you had seen fit to do a little work instead of—”