That struck Winslow as funny. He did not guffaw, but he tittered, and it did not suit his build. Wolfe insisted, “Did he?”
“I really don’t know, really.” Winslow tittered again.
“From whom did your aunt inherit her fortune?”
“Her husband. My Uncle Norton.”
“When did he die?”
“Six years ago. In nineteen forty-seven.”
“How? Of what?”
“He was shot accidentally while hunting. Hunting deer.”
“Were you present?”
“Not present, no. I was more than a mile away at the time.”