The footsteps I had heard became Mr. John Charles Dunn and his wife June. Coming up the stairs, they reached our level, and, turning for the corridor, saw us. Dunn called:
“Have you seen Prescott, Mr. Wolfe? He’s here and wants to talk with you.”
Wolfe replied that he hadn’t seen the lawyer but would do so presently. Dunn nodded and, his wife beside him, dragged his feet along the corridor to the next flight of stairs. As soon as they were out of sight I switched to English again:
“Naomi Karn is down in the living room, but that’s not what gave me palsy. Daisy Hawthorne is there with her, talking to her.”
He growled, “What the devil did you drag me out here for? If you think this is a time for childish flummery—”
“No, sir, I don’t. Far from it. I’m telling you, the veiled widow is there in the library. She is also downstairs chatting with Naomi Karn. I just this second saw her. Someone’s playing a funny joke. But who’s the joke on, us up here, or Naomi down there?”
“Do you mean to tell me someone is masquerading—”
“Yeah, that’s the idea. These Hawthorne girls certainly are cards. But which is which?”
“In the living room talking with Miss Karn?”
“Yep.”