“Yeah, I know about that.”
“You didn’t mention it.”
“I hadn’t come to it.”
“Your reserves?” Wolfe smiled, as mean a smile as I had ever seen. “Well. You heard what I just told Miss Nieder. She came yesterday morning to consult me about her uncle.”
“Yeah? What uncle?”
“Mr. Paul Nieder. He is dead. Miss Nieder inherited half of that business from him. Back files of newspapers will tell you that he committed suicide a little over a year ago by jumping into a geyser in Yellowstone Park. Miss Nieder told me about that and many other things — the present status of the business, her own position in it, the deaths of her uncle’s former partner and his wife, and so on. I don’t remember everything she said, and I don’t intend to try. Anyhow it was a mélange of facts which your men can easily collect elsewhere. The only thing I can furnish that might help you is the conclusion I formed. I concluded that Miss Nieder had herself pushed her uncle into the geyser, murdered him, and had become fearful of exposure, and had come to me with the fantastic notion of having me get her out of it.”
“Why you—” Cynthia was sputtering. “You—”
“Shut up,” Wolfe snapped at her. He turned. “Archie. Was that the impression you got?”
“Precisely,” I declared.
Cynthia had done fine, I thought, by shutting up as instructed, but I would have risked a wink at her, or at least a helpful glance, if Cramer’s eyes hadn’t been so comprehensive.