She moved and I followed. She entered the office, advanced three steps, and stopped, and I detoured around her.
“Good evening, Miss Sperling,” Wolfe said pointedly. He indicated the red leather chair. “That’s the best chair.”
“Did I phone you I was coming?” she demanded.
“I don’t think so. Did she, Archie?”
“No, sir. She’s just surprised that we’re not surprised.”
“I see. Won’t you sit down?”
For a second I thought she was going to turn and march out, as she had that afternoon in the library, but if the motion had been made she voted it down. Her eyes left Wolfe for a look at me, and I saw them stop at my scratched cheek, but she wasn’t enough interested to ask who did it. She dropped her fur neckpiece onto a yellow chair, went to the red leather one and sat, and spoke.
“I came because I couldn’t persuade myself not to. I want to confess something.”
My God, I thought. I hope she hasn’t already signed a statement. She looked harassed but not haggard, and her freckles showed hardly at all in that light.
“Confessions often help,” Wolfe said, “but it’s important to make them to the right person. Am I the one?”