“Good Lord,” I protested, “you’re not in a vacuum, and I’m a detective. They took the names down at the door.”
“Cynthia Brown,” she said.
“I like that fine. That’s Mrs. Orwin you came with?”
“Yes.”
“She’s the current customer? The lead you picked up in Florida?”
“Yes. But that’s—” She gestured. “That’s finished. That’s settled now, since I’m telling you and Nero Wolfe. I’m through.”
“I know. A job at Macy’s or marry a truck driver. There’s one thing you haven’t told me, though — who was it you recognized?”
She turned her head for a glance at the door and then turned it still farther to look behind her. When her face came back to me it was out of kilter again, with the teeth pinching the lower lip.
“Can anyone hear us?” she asked.
“Nope. That other door goes to the front room — today the cloakroom. Anyhow this room’s soundproofed, including the doors.”