“Well.” Wolfe stirred in his chair. “I have already accepted a commission—”
“I know you have. But first another thing. My salary is $15,000 a year and I have a hard time living on it. If I resign and resume private practice—”
Wolfe waved it away. “If you can trust me with your fate I can trust you for a fee. But I can’t undertake to look two ways at once. Your wife and her sisters and Mrs. Hawthorne have engaged me in the matter of the will. They are my clients. If I take on your job too I run the risk of finding myself confronted by the painful necessity...”
Wolfe let it hang. Dunn glowered at him. The tableau was interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by its opening for the entrance of the butler.
“What is it?” Dunn demanded.
“Three gentlemen to see you, sir. Mr. Skinner, Mr. Cramer and Mr. Hombert.”
“Ask them to wait. Tell them — put them in that room with the piano. I’ll see them there.”
The butler bowed and went. June, looking across at Wolfe, said quietly, “You mean, what if one of us killed my brother.”
“Bosh!” Dunn blurted.
June shook her head at him. “Bosh to us, John, not to Mr. Wolfe.” Her eyes went to Wolfe. “If we ask you to expose a murderer, we’ll expect you to do so if you can. Do you really — do you think one of us did it?”