“I was looking for you.” she said.
“I went out to phone Mr. Wolfe. What time do you go home?”
“I usually leave around six, but today...” She fluttered a hand. “I told Mr. Huck I’d stay until you’re through.” She glanced around. “This isn’t very private, is it? Let’s go in here.”
She led the way into the room where I had watched the TV with Mrs. O’Shea, and through an arch into a larger room where a table toward one end was set with six places. She was telling me, “Since Mrs. Huck died we eat in here mostly, only I’m not often here for dinner. Sit down. We’ll have cocktails later, upstairs with Mr. Huck.”
We sat, not at the table. She was saying, “I was Mrs. Huck’s secretary for four years, and when she died Mr. Huck kept me. He depends on me a lot. I wish you’d tell me something.”
“Practically anything,” I assured her. “Name it.”
“Well — Mr. Huck feels sure that his brother-in-law is trying to blackmail him, and so do I. What do you think?”
Her gray-green eyes were at mine, intent, earnestly wanting to know what I thought. She couldn’t possibly have been that free of guile, so I realized she was pretty good. “I’m afraid,” I told her, “you’ll have to fill in some. Usually a man knows whether he’s being blackmailed or not without telling his good-looking secretary to ask a brainy detective what he thinks. Look out or you’ll have your fingers in a hard knot and they won’t come loose.”
She jerked her fingers apart, extended a hand as if to touch me in appeal, and then took it back without reaching me.
“I wish we could talk just like two people,” she said hopefully. “I wish I knew how to ask you to help me.”