“I was telling you. Mr. Lewent says his sister promised him that in case of her death he would get a substantial sum. That was about a year before she died, and he is certain she would not have failed to arrange to keep her promise.”
Huck was shaking his head. “He heard her will read, and he saw it.”
“He says she told him she wouldn’t put it in her will because that would have violated a promise she had made her father. He thinks she left it in someone’s care for him — not you, he says, for you would have followed her instructions fully and promptly. He suspects it was Miss Riff or Miss Marcy or Mrs. O’Shea, and he wants Mr. Wolfe to investigate the matter, but he says it can be investigated only with your knowledge and consent, and that’s why he asked you to see me. Also Mr. Wolfe thought—”
Another door swung open, this time the one by which Lewent and I had entered from the hall, and another female was with us. On a guess she was somewhat younger than Dorothy Riff, but it was hard to tell with her nurse’s uniform setting off her big dark eyes and dark brown hair. Stopping for no questions, she crossed to a cabinet, got out a glass, a thermos carafe, and a bottle of Solway’s twenty-year liqueur striped-label scotch, put on ounce from the bottle and two ounces from the carafe into the glass, no ice, and went and handed it to Huck and got thanked.
She asked him in a low, cooing voice, “Everything under control?”
“Fine.”
“Your two-thirty exercise?”
“Of course.”
She left us, having given me just one swift glance. When the door was closed again Huck spoke. “This is medicine for me every two hours, but will you have some?”
“No, thanks. That was Sylvia Marcy?”