“It’s a pack of lies,” she said indignantly.
“It sure is,” I agreed. “I have good ears, so keep your voice down. Mr. Wolfe is perfectly willing to give you a break, and anyhow it would be a job to get you to sign it if it told the truth. We are quite aware that the studio door was locked and you opened it with your key. Also that — no, listen to me a minute — also that you purposely picked up the gun and put it on the bust because you thought Mrs. Mion had killed him and left the gun there so it would look like suicide, and you wanted to mess it up for her. You couldn’t—”
“Where were you?” she demanded scornfully. “Hiding behind the couch?”
“Nuts. If you didn’t have a key why did you break a date to see me because of what I said on the phone? As for the gun, you couldn’t have been dumber if you’d worked at it for a year. Who would believe anyone had shot him so it would look like suicide and then been fool enough to put the gun on the bust? Too dumb to believe, honest, but you did it.”
She was too busy with her brain to resent being called dumb. Her frown creased her smooth pale forehead and took the glisten from her eyes. “Anyway,” she protested, “what this says not only isn’t true, it’s impossible! They found the gun on the floor by his body, so this couldn’t possibly be true!”
“Yeah.” I grinned at her. “It must have been a shock when you read that in the paper. Since you had personally moved the gun to the bust, how come they found it on the floor? Obviously someone had moved it back. I suppose you decided that Mrs. Mion had done that too, and it must have been hard to keep your mouth shut, but you had to. Now it’s different. Mr. Wolfe knows who put the gun back on the floor and he can prove it. What’s more, he knows Mion was murdered and he can prove that too. All that stops him is the detail of explaining how the gun got from the floor to the bust.” I got out my fountain pen. “Put your name to that, and I’ll witness it, and we’re all set.”
“You mean sign this thing?” She was contemptuous. “I’m not that dumb.”
I caught the waiter’s eye and signaled for refills, and then, to keep her company, emptied my glass.
I met her gaze, matching her frown. “Lookit, Blue Eyes,” I told her reasonably. “I’m not sticking needles under your nails. I’m not saying we can prove you entered the studio — whether with your key or because the door wasn’t locked doesn’t matter — and moved the gun. We know you did, since no one else could have and you were there at the right time, but I admit we can’t prove it. However, I’m offering you a wonderful bargain.”
I pointed the pen at her. “Just listen. All we want this statement for is to keep it in reserve, in case the person who put the gun back on the floor is fool enough to blab it, which is very unlikely. He would only be—”