With three of the six scared citizens, it was a good thing that Wolfe didn’t have to start from scratch. They had been absolutely determined not to tell why they had gone to see Leo Heller, and, as we learned from the transcripts of interviews and copies of statements they had signed, the cops had had a time dragging it out of them.
By the time the first one was brought to us in the office, a little after eight o’clock, Wolfe had sort of resigned himself to personal misery and was bravely facing it. Not only had he had to devour his dinner in one-fourth the usual time; also he had been compelled to break one of his strictest rules and read documents while eating — and all that in the company of Inspector Cramer, who had accepted an invitation to have a bite. Of course Cramer returned to the office with us and called in, from the assemblage in the front room, a police stenographer, who settled himself in a chair at the end of my desk. Sergeant Purley Stebbins, who once in a spasm of generosity admitted that he couldn’t prove I was a hoodlum, after bringing the citizen in and seating him facing Wolfe and Cramer, took a chair against the wall.
The citizen, whose name as furnished by the documents was John R. Winslow, was the big guy in a dark blue topcoat and homburg who had stuck his head out of the elevator for a look at Archie Goodwin. He now looked unhappy and badly wilted, and was one of the three who had tried to refuse to tell what he had gone to Heller for; and considering what it was I couldn’t blame him much.
He started in complaining. “I think — I think this is unconstitutional. The police have forced me to tell about my private affairs, and maybe that couldn’t be helped, but Nero Wolfe is a private detective, and I don’t have to submit to questioning by him.”
“I’m here,” Cramer said. “I can repeat Wolfe’s questions if you insist, but it will take more time.”
“Suppose,” Wolfe suggested, “we start and see how it goes. I’ve read your statement, Mr. Winslow, and I—”
“You had no right to! They had no right to let you! They promised me it would be confidential unless it had to be used as evidence!”
“Please, Mr. Winslow, don’t bounce up like that. A hysterical woman is bad enough, but a hysterical man is insufferable. I assure you I am as discreet as any policeman. According to your statement, today was your third visit to Mr. Heller’s office. You were trying to supply him with enough information for him to devise a formula for determining how much longer your aunt will live. You expect to inherit a considerable fortune from her, and you wanted to make plans intelligently based on reasonable expectations. So you say, but reports are being received which indicate that you are deeply in debt and are hard pressed. Do you deny that?”
“No.” Winslow’s jaw worked. “I don’t deny it.”
“Are your debts, or any part of them, connected with any violation of the law? Any criminal act?”