“I haven’t started thinking,” said Wolfe testily. “I just want things understood. I don’t like it. If Miss May Hawthorne, for instance, is going to be convicted for murder, I’d rather have nothing to do with it. I work as a detective to make money, and I expect to make some on that will business. I’d prefer to let it go at that, but my confounded vanity won’t let me. John Charles Dunn stands here and puts his fate in my hands. What the devil is a conceited man like me going to do?” He frowned at Dunn. “I warn you, sir, that if I start after this murderer I’m apt to catch him. Or her.”
“I hope you do.”
“So do I,” said June. “We all do.”
“Except one of you,” said Wolfe grimly. “At present I know nothing at all about it, but if Mr. Skinner is proceeding on the theory that Hawthorne was killed by someone in that gathering at your house, I don’t blame him. At any rate, I’ll have to start with them. Separately. Who is on the premises?”
“My sisters are,” said June. “and the children, and I think Miss Fleet...”
I chimed in, “I saw Mrs. Hawthorne downstairs, or at least someone in a veil.”
“That will do to begin with,” said Wolfe. “You, Mr. Dunn? It won’t hurt Mr. Skinner to wait a few minutes longer. I understand you were chopping wood. Miss May Hawthorne says she was asked whether she heard your axe going continuously from 4:30 to 5:30.”
“She didn’t,” Dunn said curtly. “I’m not a robot. I sat on a log. I was in a stew. I didn’t like Noel Hawthorne being there, even for our anniversary.”
“It wasn’t exactly a gay carefree party.”
“It was not.”