“Because I withhold information pertinent to a crime only under dictation by my interest.”
“I haven’t committed any crime.”
“That’s what they’ll want you to establish, but that won’t satisfy their curiosity.”
She looked at me, and I returned it. I may not be a Nero Wolfe at reading faces, but I too have had some experience at it, and I swear she was sizing me up, trying to decide if there was any way of lining me up with her in case she told Wolfe to go sit on a tack. I made it easy for her by looking manly, staunch and virtuous, but not actually hostile. I saw it on her face when she gave me up. Leaving me as hopeless, she opened the green suede bag, took from it a leather fold and a pen, opened the fold on the little table, and bent over it to write. Having written, she tore a small blue rectangle of paper from the fold and left her chair to put it in front of Wolfe on his desk.
“That’s a check for ten thousand dollars,” she told him.
“I see it is.”
“It’s a retainer.”
“For what?”
“Oh, I’m not trying to bribe you.” She smiled. It was the first time she had shown any reaction resembling a smile, and I gave her a mark for it. “It looks as if I’m going to need some expert advice, and maybe some expert help, and you already know about it, and I wouldn’t want — I don’t care to consult my lawyer, at least not now.”
“Bosh. You’re offering to pay me not to tell the police of your visit.”