Dunn was looking queer. His jaw was working and his eyes were bulging, though his stare seemed to be directed nowhere in particular, certainly not at us. He muttered something unintelligible and stared around as if he expected to see something. Wolfe asked him again what was the matter.
“It was there!” he said, pointing to the chair the counterfeit Daisy had been sitting on when I found her with Naomi Karn. “We were right there!”
“Who were? When?”
“I was! With two men. To settle that Argentina loan. I came up from Washington to meet them, and wanted to keep the meeting secret. Noel was in Europe. I telephoned Daisy, and she said she wouldn’t be at home that evening — she would instruct Turner to let us in. It’s incredible! She didn’t know who I was meeting or what it was about! Good God!”
“A chronic eavesdropper doesn’t require any special inducement,” said Wolfe dryly.
“She hid here and listened! She must have! And she told Noel — and he—” Dunn choked it off abruptly. In a moment he went on. “No, I’m wrong. I remember now. Daria — one of the men mentioned these curtains, and I got up and parted them and looked in here. It was empty. There wasn’t much light, only what came from the opening in the curtains, but it was empty.”
“Wait a minute,” I told him. “I like this idea, let’s hang onto it. She could have entered by that door after you looked behind the curtains. Better yet, she could have simply ducked behind the bar when she heard one of you mention the curtains.”
Wolfe objected, “There’s not enough room.”
“Sure there’s enough room.” I was all for it. “Don’t judge other people by yourself. Hell, I could hide there easily. Look, I’ll give you a demonstration.”
I stepped to the open end of the bar.