“You won’t answer that?”
“Certainly not, why should I? I don’t owe you any answers to anything.”
“You’re entirely correct,” Wolfe conceded, “but not very intelligent. I suppose you know that those two gentlemen on the couch are Police Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins. Their presence does not mean that I asked that question with the voice of authority, but surely it makes it obvious that if you don’t answer me you will be given an opportunity to answer them. Suit yourself. I’ll try again. When and where did you last see Mr. Paul Nieder?”
Once more Jean proved himself capable of a swift and sensible decision. “I don’t know the exact date,” he said, “but it was early in May last year, at our place of business, just before he left for a vacation.”
“Aha,” Wolfe murmured in a pleased tone, “that’s more like it. Now, Mr. Daumery, here are a few of the facts I promised. Mr. Nieder did not kill himself a year ago May; you heard that letter I read. He was seen, alive, here in New York, last week, by his niece, disguised with a beard, slick hair parted on the left side, and glasses. He was seen again this morning, by many people, only this time he was dead. The manner of his death—”
“So that’s what you had!” Inspector Cramer was no longer on the couch but right among us — or at least among Wolfe, at his desk, barking at him. “By God, this time you’ve asked for it!”
“Pfui,” Wolfe said peevishly. “I’ve got Mr. Daumery here for you, haven’t I? Do you want to take it over now? Are you ready to? Or shall I give him some more facts?”
Cramer’s eyes left Wolfe for a look around. When they hit Cynthia they must have had a message for her, for she left her seat and walked to one over near Demarest. Cramer went and sat in the red leather chair, which put him in the center of things with a full-face view of Jean Daumery. Purley Stebbins had moved too, quietly pulling up a chair to Jean’s rear about arm’s length off.
“Let’s hear your facts,” Cramer growled.
Wolfe’s gaze was back at Jean. “I was about to say,” he resumed, “that the manner of that man’s death — no one but his niece knew it was Mr. Nieder — made it necessary to call in the police. They did what they were supposed to do, and naturally they concentrated on the most important point: who was he? As you see, Mr. Daumery, Mr. Cramer resents not being told by the only people who knew — Miss Nieder, Mr. Goodwin, and me — but that’s really foolish of him. For if he had known who the dead man was he would probably, and reasonably, have focused on the most likely culprit, Miss Nieder, who was known to have been on the spot and who had the excellent motive of wanting to keep her inheritance of a half-share in the business. As it stood, it was vital for the police to identify the corpse. I don’t know, Mr. Daumery, whether you are aware of the stupendous resources of the New York police in attacking a problem like that. You may be sure that they employed all of them in trying to trace that man with a beard and slick hair parted on the left side and glasses. That’s one of the facts I ask you to consider. Is it likely that they failed entirely? Is it likely that they found no one, anywhere, who had seen such a man? I am anxious to be quite fair with you. Is it not likely, for instance, that if the bearded man had been seen recently, on the street or in some other public place, talking with another man — say a man whose description tallies well with yours — that the police have learned of it and can produce a witness or witnesses to identify the second man?”