Wolfe matched her tone: “I think not, Mrs. Frost. If so, there will be plenty of time for them. For the present, you will stay in that chair until the nonsense is finished.”
Helen Frost said in a dry even tone, “But then Uncle Boyd was my father. He was my father. All the time. How? Tell me how?” Lew was out of his chair, with a hand on her shoulder, staring at his Aunt Callie. Dudley was making sounds.
Wolfe said, “Please. Sit down, Mr. Frost. Yes, Miss McNair, he was your father all the time. Mrs. Frost thinks that I did not learn that until this red box was found, but she is wrong. I was definitely convinced of it on Thursday morning, when you told me that in the event of your death before reaching twenty-one all of Edwin Frost’s fortune would go to his brother and nephew. When I considered that, in combination with other points that had presented themselves, the picture was complete. Of course, the first thing that brought this possibility to my mind was the fact of Mr. McNair’s unaccountable desire to have you wear diamonds. What special virtue did a diamond have on you — since he seemed not otherwise fond of them? Could it be this, that the diamond is the birthstone for April? I noted that possibility.”
Llewellyn muttered, “Good God. I said — I told McNair once—”
“Please, Mr. Frost. Another little point: Mr. McNair told me Wednesday evening that his wife died, but not that his daughter did. He said he ‘lost’ his daughter. That of course is a common euphemism for death, but why had he not employed it for his wife also? A man may either be direct or euphemistic, but not often both in the same sentence. He said his parents died. Twice he said his wife died. But not his daughter; he said he lost her.”
Glenna McNair’s lips were moving. She muttered, “But how? How? How did he lose me...”
“Yes, Miss McNair. Patience. There were various other little points, things you told me about your father and yourself; I don’t need to repeat them to you. Your dream about the orange, for instance. A subconscious memory dream? It must have been. I have told you enough, I hope, to show you that I did not need the red box to tell me who you are and who killed Mr. McNair and Mr. Gebert and why. Anyway, I shan’t further coddle my vanity at your expense. You want to know how. That is simple. I’ll give you the main facts — Mrs. Frost! Sit down!”
I don’t know whether Wolfe regarded my automatic mostly as stage property or not, but I didn’t. Mrs. Edwin Frost had stood up, and she had a fair-sized black leather handbag she was clutching. I’ll admit it was unlikely she would be lugging an atomizer loaded with nitrobenzene into Wolfe’s office, to have it found if she was searched, but that wasn’t a thing to take a chance on. I thought I’d better butt in for the sake of an understanding. I did so:
“I ought to tell you, Mrs. Frost, if you don’t like this gun pointed at you, give me that bag or lay it on the floor.”
She ignored me, looking at Wolfe. She said with calm indignation, “I can’t be compelled to listen to this rubbish.” I saw a little flash back in her eyes from the fire inside. “I am going. Helen! Come.”