“And yet he puts diamonds on you. You must forgive my harping on the diamonds; I happen to dislike them. — Oh, yes, I meant to ask, do you know anyone else who is fond of Jordan almonds?”
“Anybody else?”
“Besides Mr. McNair.”
“No, I don’t.”
Wolfe poured more beer and, leaving the foam to settle, leaned back and frowned at his victim. “You know, Miss Frost, it is time something was said to you. In your conceit, you are assuming, for your youth and inexperience, a terrific responsibility. Molly Lauck died nine days ago, probably through bungling of someone’s effort to kill another person. During all that time you have possessed knowledge which, handled with competence and dispatch, might do something much more important than wreak vengeance; it might save a life, and it is even possible that the life would be one worth saving. What do you think; isn’t that responsibility pretty heavy for you? I have too much sense to try coercion. There’s too much egotism and too much mule in you. But you really should consider it.” He picked up his glass and drank.
She sat and watched him. Finally she said, “I have considered it. I’m not an egotist. I... I’ve considered.”
Wolfe lifted his shoulders an inch and dropped them. “Very well. I understand that your father is dead. I gathered that from the statement of your uncle, Mr. Dudley Frost, that he is the trustee of your property.”
She nodded. “My father died when I was only a few months old. So I’ve never had a father.” She frowned. “That is...”
“Yes? That is?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.”