“You removed the lid from that box last Monday. What color was it?”
“Brown. A kind of gold-brown.”
“What kind was it? What did it say on the lid?”
“It said... it said Medley. Some kind of a medley.”
Wolfe snapped, “ ‘Some kind?’ Do you mean to say you don’t remember what name was on the lid?”
She frowned at him. “No... I don’t. That’s funny. I would have thought—”
“So would I. You looked at it and took the lid off, and later replaced the lid and held onto the box, knowing there was deadly poison in it, and you weren’t even curious enough—”
“Now wait a minute. You’re not so smart. Molly was dead on the floor, and everybody was crowding into the room, and I was looking for Mr. McNair to give him the box, I didn’t want the damn thing, and certainly I wasn’t trying to think of things to be curious about.” She frowned again. “At that, it is funny I didn’t really see the name.”
Wolfe nodded. He turned abruptly to Lew Frost. “You see, sir, how it is done. What is to be deduced from Miss Mitchell’s performance? Is she cleverly pretending that she does not know what was on that lid, or is it credible that she really failed to notice it? I am merely demonstrating. For another example, take your cousin.” He switched his eyes and shot at her, “You, Miss Frost. Do you eat candy?”
She looked at her cousin. “Is this necessary, Lew?”