I gave Wolfe a nod and he reached for his instrument. But the chit was on her feet, looking mad enough to eat nettle salad. Before lifting his receiver Wolfe said to her:
“As a courtesy, you may have a choice. Do you wish Mr. Goodwin to take you to police headquarters, or shall Mr. Cramer send for you?”
Her voice at him was a croak: “Don’t... don’t...” She grabbed up the pen and wrote her name under statement number two on the paper. She was so mad her hand trembled. Wolfe spoke into the phone:
“Mr. Cramer? How do you do. I was wondering if you have arrived at any conclusions from this morning... Indeed... I wouldn’t say that... No, I haven’t, but I’ve started a line of inquiry which may develop into something later... No, nothing for you now; as you know, I fancy my own discretion in these matters... You must leave that to me, sir...”
When he hung up, Helen Frost was sitting down again, looking at him with her chin up and her lips pushed together. Wolfe picked up the paper and glanced at it, handed it across to me, and settled back in his chair. He reached forward to ring for beer, and settled back again.
“So. Miss Frost, you have acknowledged that you possess information regarding an implement of murder which you refuse to disclose. I wish to remind you that I have not engaged to keep that acknowledgment confidential. For the present I shall do so; I am not committing myself beyond that. Do you know the police mind? One of its first and most constant assumptions is that any withheld knowledge regarding a crime is guilty knowledge. It is a preposterous assumption, but they hug it to their bosoms. For instance, if they knew what you have just signed, they would proceed on the theory that you either put the poison in the candy or know who did. I shall not do that. But as a matter of form I shall ask the question: did you poison that candy?”
She was pretty good, at that. She answered in a calm voice that was only pinched a little, “No. I didn’t.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Are you engaged to be married?”