“He hated her. He despised her. He laughed at her.”
Mrs. Whitten made a choking noise and was out of her chair. But I, rather expecting a little something, was on my feet too, and in front of her. She started to stretch a hand to me and then sat down again. Thinking it remotely possible that she had a cutlery sample in her bag, I stood by.
Wolfe spoke to her. “I should tell you, madam, that I’ve had you in mind from the first. When you discovered your family secretly gathered in the dining room you were not yourself. Instead of upbraiding and bullying them, which would have been in character, you appealed to them. What better explanation could there be of that reversal in form than that you knew your husband was upstairs dead, you having killed him with one swift stab in the back as you passed behind him, leaving him to go down after Mr. Pompa? Your shrewd and careful plan to have it laid to Pompa was badly disarranged by the awful discovery that your sons and daughters were there too; no wonder you were upset. Your plan was not only shrewd and careful, but long and deep, for when, a month ago, you learned of your husband’s infidelity, what did you do? Drive him out with a blast of fury and contempt? No. Understand him and forgive him and try to win him all for you? No. You displayed the blooming and ripening of your affection and trust for him by announcing that he was to be put in control of the family business. That made it certain, you thought, that when you chose your moment and he died, you would be above suspicion. And indeed you were, but you had bad luck. It was ruthless, but wise, to arrange for the police to have a victim at hand, but you had the misfortune to select for that role a man who was once a good cook — indeed, a great one.”
Wolfe jerked his head up. “Mr. Cramer, you are no longer committed. I don’t know how you handle a case like this. You have a man in jail charged with murder, but the murderer is here. How do you proceed?”
“I need things,” Cramer rasped. He was flabbergasted and trying not to show it. “I need those letters. What’s that about an open door? I need—”
“You’ll get all of it. I mean what happens immediately? What about Mrs. Whitten?”
“That’s no problem. There are two men in my car out front. If her wound didn’t keep her from riding down here last night it won’t keep her from riding downtown now.”
“Good.” Wolfe turned to Julie. “I was under an obligation to you. I told you that I thought I could arrange it so that Mrs. Whitten would not prosecute, if you would help me. You have unquestionably helped me. You have done your part. Do you agree that I have done mine?”
I don’t think she heard a word of it. She was looking at him but not seeing him. “There was a notice in yesterday’s paper,” she said, “that his funeral would be today at four o’clock, and it said omit flowers. Omit flowers!” She seemed to be trying to smile, and suddenly her head dropped into her hands and she shook with sobs.