“It’s nice to have this,” said Skinner. “Thank you very much.” So he was going to try being oily. “Now just tell me what Wolfe was discussing with Mr. and Mrs. Dunn.”
That started the second hour.
I had had plenty of time to get my mind in order, so it went along without much friction. Having ruled out Sara’s confession and Daisy’s story of the cornflower and a few other things I gave them enough to account for the afternoon. Naturally there were a few little clashes, the most serious one arising from Skinner’s suggestion that it would be a good plan for me to turn over my notes of the various interviews. I told him they were Nero Wolfe’s property and if he got them at all it would have to be from Wolfe himself. They yapped some about that and Hombert got pretty unpleasant, but the notes stayed in my pocket. After that they calmed down again, and later even did me the honor to ask my opinion on a technical point. The police, they said, had seen the bar only when it was lit by electricity, whereas I had been there when the only light came from the little window in one corner, and only a moment after Daisy Hawthorne had left by the rear door. Mrs. Hawthorne had admitted to them that she had been there and that I had seen her leave. She had stated that, being reluctant to appear before people wearing that veil, she often entered the bar from the rear to observe callers from the shelter of the curtains; that she had done so today when she had been told that Ritchie and Bronson had come to inspect Hawthorne’s private papers; that she had been there only a few minutes when my approach caused her to retreat; and that she had seen nothing on the floor behind the bar. With the light as it was in there at that time, did I think she could have entered by the door and failed to see the body?
I said yes, the light had been so dim that even when I stooped right over the body I had barely been able to tell who it was.
They skated around a while longer, and then Skinner sprung one on me that I had been expecting ever since I entered. It had in fact been on my tongue a couple of times to anticipate it, but I had decided there was no sense in depriving them of a little pleasure along with their work. So I concealed my grin when Skinner began a build-up for it.
He said casually, “One point that bothers us is that no one heard any outcry, not even the servants at the rear of this floor, and there wasn’t the slightest sign of a struggle. Miss Karn seems to have been healthy and fairly sturdy. But apparently she didn’t call for help and she offered no resistance to speak of.”
“That’s surprising,” I agreed. “We didn’t hear anything up in the library.”
“I was just going to ask if you did.”
“Nope. Of course, in cases of strangulation you’ll often find that the victim was first rendered helpless by a blow or a drug or something. Your M.E. could tell you. And by the way, that reminds me of something I forgot to mention, while Davis was up there with us I offered to get him a drink because he looked like he could use one, and I went to the bar and poured about half a pint from a bottle of MacNeal’s Diamond Label.”
Cramer glared at me and snorted. “The hell you did.” Hombert only snorted. Skinner said dryly, “Some day, Goodwin, you’re going to pull one of those cute ones and it’ll fly right back in your face.”