“Quite true,” Wolfe agreed mildly, “if that were all. But there’s the matter of Mion’s death. When I—”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“I’m about to tell you. Surely it isn’t extraneous, since his death resulted, though indirectly, from the assault by Mr. James. But my interest goes beyond that. Mrs. Mion hired me not only to decide about the claim of her husband’s estate against Mr. James — that is now closed — but also to investigate her husband’s death. She was convinced he had not killed himself. She could not believe it was in his character to commit suicide. I have investigated and I am prepared to report to her.”
“You don’t need us here for that,” Rupert the Fat said in a high squeak.
“I need one of you. I need the murderer.”
“You still don’t need us,” Arnold said harshly.
“Hang it,” Wolfe snapped, “then go! All but one of you. Go!”
Nobody made a move.
Wolfe gave them five seconds. “Then I’ll go on,” he said dryly. “As I say, I’m prepared to report, but the investigation is not concluded. One vital detail will require official sanction, and that’s why Inspector Cramer is present. It will also need Mrs. Mion’s concurrence; and I think it well to consult Dr. Lloyd too, since he signed the death certificate.” His eyes went to Peggy. “First you, madam. Will you give your consent to the exhumation of your husband’s body?”
She gawked at him. “What for?”