Free Curtains For Three by Rex Stout Page B

weary,
    removed, and skeptical. She didn’t say in so many words that she wished she had never gone near Nero Wolfe, but she might as well have. I had a notion that Fred Weppler felt the same way about it but was being gallant and loyal. It was Peggy who had insisted on coming to Wolfe, and Fred didn’t want her to feel that he thought she had made things worse instead of better.
    They didn’t perk up even when Wolfe showed them the statement with Clara James’
    name signed to it. They read it together, with her in the red leather chair and him perched on the arm.
    They looked up together, at Wolfe.
    “So what?” Fred demanded.
    “My dear sir.” Wolfe pushed his cup and saucer back. “My dear madam. Why did you come to me'Because the fact that the gun was not on the floor when you two entered the studio convinced you that Mion had not killed himself but had been murdered. If the circumstances had permitted you to believe that he had killed himself, you would be married by now and never have needed me. Very well. That is now precisely what the circumstances are. What more do you want'You wanted your minds cleared. I have cleared them.”
    Fred twisted his lips, tight.
    “I don’t believe it,” Peggy said glumly.
    “You don’t believe this statement?” Wolfe reached for the document and put it in his desk drawer, which stuck me as a wise precaution, since it was getting close to nine o’clock. “Do you think Miss James would sign a thing like that if it weren’t true'Why would - “
    “I don’t mean that,” Peggy said. “I mean I don’t believe my husband killed himself, no matter where the gun was. I knew him too well. He would never have killed himself - never” She twisted her head to look up at her fellow client.
    “Would he, Fred?”
    “It’s hard to believe,” Fred admitted grudgingly.
    “I see.” Wolfe was caustic. “Then the job you hired me for was not as you described it. At least, you must concede that I have satisfied you about the gun; you can’t wiggle out of that. So that job’s done, but now you want more.
    You want a murder disclosed, which means, of necessity, a murderer caught. You want - “
    “I only mean,” Peggy insisted forlornly, “that I don’t believe he killed himself, and nothing would make me believe it. I see now what I really - ” The doorbell sounded, and I went to answer it.
    IX So the clients stayed for the party.
    There were ten guests altogether: the six who had been there Monday evening, the two clients, Inspector Cramer, and my old friend and enemy, Sergeant Purley Stebbins. What made it unusual was that the dumbest one of the lot, Clara James,
    was the only one who had a notion of what was up, unless she had told her father, which I doubted. She had the advantage of the lead I had given her at the Churchill bar. Adele Bosley, Dr. Lloyd, Rupert Grove, Judge Arnold, and Gifford James had had no reason to suppose there was anything on the agenda but the damage claim against James, until they got there and were made acquainted with Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins. God only knew what they thought then; one glance at their faces was enough to show they didn’t know. As for Cramer and Stebbins, they had had enough experience of Nero Wolfe to be aware that almost certainly fur was going to fly, but whose and how and when'And as for Fred and Peggy, even after the arrival of the law, they probably thought that Wolfe was going to get Mion’s suicide pegged down by producing Clara’s statement and disclosing what Fred had told us about moving the gun from the bust to the floor, which accounted for the desperate and cornered look on their faces. But now they were stuck.
    Wolfe focused on the inspector, who was seated in the rear over by the big globe, with Purley nearby. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Cramer, first I’ll clear up a little matter that is outside your interest.”
    Cramer nodded and shifted the cigar in his mouth to a new angle. He was