“It is also,” May put in, “why something my sister said to you at the beginning was untrue. She said we didn’t need a detective, but we do. You will have to find a way to bring pressure on Miss Karn much more compelling than threat of a court contest of the will.”
“I see.” Wolfe grimaced. “No wonder I don’t like fights about dead men’s property. They’re always ugly fights.”
“This one isn’t,” June declared. “It will be if Daisy and that woman get it into a court, but our part of it isn’t. What’s ugly about our trying to avoid a stinking scandal by persuading that woman that three or four million dollars of our brother’s fortune is all she’s entitled to? If her avarice and stubbornness make the persuasion difficult and expensive...”
“And even if it were ugly,” said May quietly, “it would still have to be done. I think, Mr. Wolfe, we’ve told you everything you need to know. Will you do it?”
Wolfe looked at the clock on the wall. I felt sorry for him. He didn’t like the job, but he had to take it. Moreover, he permitted nothing whatever to interfere with his custom of spending four hours a day in the plant rooms on the roof — from nine to eleven in the morning and from four to six in the afternoon — and the clock said five minutes to four. He looked at me, gave me a scowl for my grin, and glanced up at the clock again.
He rose from his chair as abruptly as his bulk would permit.
“I’ll do it,” he announced gruffly. “And now, if you don’t mind, I have an appointment for four o’clock—”
“I know!” Sara Dunn exclaimed. “You’re going up to the orchids. I’d love to see them—”
“Some other time, Miss Dunn. I’m in no mood for it. Shall I report to you, Mrs. Dunn? Or Mr. Prescott?”
“Either. Or both.” June was out of her chair.