One of Wolfe’s brows went up. “I trust he yelled it ardently. Forgive me for permitting myself a playful remark; Mr. Gebert would understand it, were he here. So he yelled ‘Calida.’ More than once?”
“Yes, several times. If you mean... my mother’s name...”
“I meant nothing really. I was talking nonsense. It appears that, so far as you know, Mr. Gebert may have died of a heart attack or a clot on the brain or acute misanthropy. But I believe you said it made you afraid. What of?”
She looked at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She stammered. “That’s why... that’s what...” and stopped. Her hands unclasped and fluttered up, and down again. She took another try at it: “I told you... I’ve been afraid...”
“Very well.” Wolfe showed her a palm. “You needn’t do that. I understand. You mean that for some time you have been apprehensive of something malign in the relations of those closest and dearest to you. Naturally the death of Mr. McNair made it worse. Was it because — but forgive me. I am indulging one of my vices at a bad time — bad for you. I would not hesitate to torment you if it served our end, but it is useless now. Nothing more is needed. Did you intend to marry Mr. Gebert?”
“No. I never did.”
“Did you have affection for him?”
“No. I told you... I didn’t really like him.”
“Good. Then once the temporary shock is past you can be objective about it. Mr. Gebert had very little to recommend him, either as a sapient being or as a biological specimen. The truth is that his death simplifies our task a little, and I feel no regret and shall pretend to none. Still his murder will be avenged, because we can’t help ourselves. I assure you, Miss Frost, I am not trying to mystify you. But since I am not yet ready to tell you everything, I suppose it would be best to tell you nothing, so I’ll confine myself, for this evening, to one piece of advice. Of course you have friends — for instance, that Miss Mitchell who attempted loyalty to you on Tuesday morning. Go there, now, without informing anyone, and spend the night. Mr. Goodwin can drive you. Tomorrow—”
“No.” She was shaking her head. “I won’t do that. What you said... about Perren’s murder. He was murdered. Wasn’t he?”