“At my brother’s home. Her home. We all spent the night there — not her home either, that’s one reason she’s acting the way she is, as a part of the residuary estate it will go to that woman and not to her — but she promised to do nothing—”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Dunn. I’d have to see her anyway, before I could accept this job. Bring Mrs. Hawthorne in, Fritz.”
“There are two ladies and a gentleman with her, sir.”
“Bring them all in.”
Chapter 2
Four people, not counting Fritz, acting as usher, entered the office. Fritz had to bring a couple of chairs from the front room.
I like to look at faces. In a good many cases, I admit, a glance will do me, but usually they have points, of one kind or another, that will stand more of an eye. Andrew Dunn looked like a nice husky kid, with a strong resemblance to pictures I had seen of his father. His sister Sara had her mother’s dark eyes of a fighting bird and the Hawthorne forehead, but her mouth and chin was something new. The other girl was a blonde in the bud who would have convinced any impartial jury that all of this great country’s anatomical scenery had not been monopolized by Hollywood. Later information disclosed that her name was Celia Fleet and that she was April Hawthorne’s secretary.
But though I like to look at faces, and those three were worthy of attention, the one that drew my gaze was the one I couldn’t see. The story had it that Noel Hawthorne’s arrow which had accidentally struck his beautiful wife had plowed diagonally across from the brow to the chin, and what was left was there behind that veil — with, it was said, one eye working — and that was what I looked at. You couldn’t help it. The gray veil was fastened to her hat and extended below her chin, and was harnessed with a strip of ribbon. No skin was in sight except her ears. She was mediumsized, with what would ordinarily be called a nice youthful figure, only with the veil and knowing why it was there, you didn’t have the feeling of anything being nice. I sat and stared at it, trying to ignore an inclination to offer somebody a ten-spot to pull the veil up, knowing that if it was done I’d probably offer another ten-spot to get it pulled down again.
She didn’t take the chair I placed for her. She stood there stiff. I had the feeling she couldn’t see, but she obviously could. After the greetings, and when I was back in my chair again, I noticed that April’s fingers were unsteady as she fumbled for a cigarette. May was looking sweet again, but she was tense. So was June’s voice:
“My dear Daisy, this was unnecessary! We were completely candid with you! We told you we were going to consult Mr. Nero Wolfe. You gave us till Monday. There was no reason whatever why you should have any suspicion — Sara, you little devil, what on earth are you doing? Put that away!”