It had been fairly obvious on the phone that she was tight, and she must have had another go. Under control and in order, she could have been a fine specimen, with big dark eyes and a wide warm mouth, but not at the moment. Elma had started to offer a hand but changed her mind. I said distinctly, “Mrs. Ashby, Miss Vassos. I’m Archie Goodwin. May we come in?”
“You’re a surprise,” she told Elma. “You’re so little. Not teeny, but little. He liked big girls, like me, only he made exceptions. You’ve got a nerve, suing me for a million dollars. I ought to be suing you for what he spent on you. Did he give you a gold flower with a pearl in the middle? You haven’t got it on. There was one in a Jensen box when I went there that morning, the day he got killed. Kill now, pay later. I like it. I hope you like it.” She fluttered a hand. “Thank you for coming, thank you very much. I just wanted to look at you. My God, you’re little.”
I was smiling at her, a broad, friendly smile. “About that gold flower with a pearl in the middle, Mrs. Ashby. That you saw on his desk Monday morning. You didn’t expect Miss Vassos to be wearing that, did you?”
“Certainly not. They’ve got that one, the police. I told them I saw it there and they said they had it.” Her eyes went back to Elma, with an effort. “Of course you’ve got one. They all got one. Eighty bucks at Jensen’s, sometimes more.”
Elma parted her lips to say something, but I got in ahead. “I suppose your husband was in his room when you were there Monday morning, Mrs. Ashby? What time was it?”
“It was ten o’clock.” She grinned at me. “You’re a detective.” She pointed a wobbly finger at me. “Answer yesh or no.”
“Yes, but I’m not a cop.”
“I know, I know. Nero Wolfe. Look here, if I’m high I know it. I know what I said and what I signed. I went there that morning at ten o’clock, and I knocked on the door, and he opened it, and I went in, and he gave me forty dollars, and I came out, and I went and bought a pair of shoes with the forty dollars because the accounts at the stores had been stopped.” She straightened up, swaying a little, reached and caught the edge of the door, backed up, and swung the door shut with a loud slam.
I could have stuck a foot in to stop it, but didn’t bother. The shape she was in, it would have taken more than intelligence guided by experience to sort her out, and I already had a better fact than I had expected to get, that she had been in Ashby’s room Monday morning and the cops knew it. Of course they had checked it, and if the clerk who sold her the shoes had confirmed her timetable she was out. Maybe. I followed Elma to the elevator.
In the taxi Elma said nothing until it stopped at Fifth Avenue for a red light, then turned her head to me and blurted, “It’s so ugly!”
I nodded. “Yeah. I told you she’d be hard to take, but I had to have a look at her. That kill now, pay later, that’s okay, but the trouble is who does the paying?”
“Did she kill him?”
“Pass. She says he left her nothing but debts.”
“It’s so ugly. I don’t want to sue her. Couldn’t we stop it, I mean for her?”
I patted her shoulder. “Quit fussing. The damage has been done, and whoever gets it now has got it coming. You came and asked Mr. Wolfe for something and you’re going to get it, so relax. You have just convinced me, absolutely, that you never went very far with Ashby. Knowing you were going to meet Mrs. Ashby, you put your lipstick on crooked. Not that I had any real doubt, but that settles it.”
She opened her bag and got out her mirror.
Paying the hackie at the curb in front of the old brownstone, mounting the stoop with Elma, and using my key, I was surprised to find that the chain bolt was on, since it was only five-thirty and Wolfe would still be up in the plant rooms. I was starting my finger to the button when the door opened and Fritz was there; he must have been in the hall on the lookout. He had his finger to his lips, so I kept my voice low to ask as we entered, “Company?”
He took Elma’s coat and put it on a hanger as I attended to mine, then turned. “Three of them, two men and a woman, in the office. Mr. Mercer, Mr. Horan, and Miss Cox. The door is closed. I don’t like this, Archie, I never do, you know that, having to watch people-”
“Sure. But if they brought a bomb it won’t go off till they leave.” I didn’t bother about my voice since the office was soundproofed, including the door. “When did they come?”
“Just ten minutes ago. Mr. Wolfe said to tell them to come back in an hour, but they insisted, and he said to put them in the office and stay in the hall. I told him I was making glace de viande, but he said one of them is a murderer. I want to do my share, you know that, Archie, but I can’t make good glace de viande if I have to be watching murderers.”
“Certainly not. But he could be wrong. It’s possible that Miss Vassos and I have just been interviewing the murderer, who is plastered.” I turned to Elma. “This could be even uglier, so why don’t you go up to your room? If you’re needed later we’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Goodwin,” she said and headed for the stairs. Fritz made for the kitchen, and I followed. He went to the big table, which was loaded with the makings of meat glaze, and, after getting the milk from the refrigerator and pouring a glass, I went to the small table against the wall, where the house phone was, and buzzed the plant rooms.
“Yes?”
“Me. Miss Vassos has gone to her room and I’m in the kitchen. Report on Mrs. Ashby.” I gave it to him. “So it’s just as well I wasn’t supposed to bring her; I would have had to carry her up the stoop. Notice that I didn’t pry it out of her that she was there Monday morning, she tossed it in. Verdict reserved. Any instructions about the company in the office?”
“No.”
“Do you want me up there?”
“No. I’ve been interrupted enough.” He hung up.
The genius. If he had a program beyond a fishing party, which I doubted, I could guess my part as we went along. I finished the milk, taking my time, and went to the alcove in the hall and slid the panel, uncovering the hole. On the alcove side the hole is an open rectangle; on the office side it is hidden by a picture of a waterfall which you can see through from the alcove.
John Mercer, president of Mercer’s Bobbins, Inc., was leaning back in the red leather chair, patting the chair arms with his palms. His white hair was thin but still there, and he looked more like a retired admiral than a bobbin merchant. Fritz had put yellow chairs in front of Wolfe’s desk for the other two. They were talking in the low voices people use in a doctor’s waiting room, something about a phone call that had or hadn’t come from some customer. Philip Horan was broad-shouldered and long-armed, with a long bony face and quick-moving brown eyes. Frances Cox was a big girl, a real armful, but her poundage was well distributed. Nothing about her smooth smart face suggested that she had been through three tough days, though she must have been. I stayed at the hole, sizing them up, until the sound came of the elevator, then rounded the corner to the office door, opened it, and stayed there as Wolfe entered. He crossed to his desk, stood, and sent his eyes around. He fixed them on Mercer and spoke.