Free The Golden Spiders by Rex Stout Page A

from me, Miss Estey,” I assured her. “I’ve been in New York ten years too, and then some. You say the police wanted you to tell them what Nero Wolfe said, but how about Archie Goodwin? Did they ask you to tell them what I say?”
    “I don’t think so. No.”
    “Good. Not that I have anything special to say, but I would like to ask a few questions if you’ll sit down.”
    “I’ve been sitting answering questions all afternoon.”
    “I’ll bet you have. Such as, where were you last night from ten o’clock to two o’clock?”
    She stared. “You’re asking me that?”
    “No, just giving a sample of the kind of questions you’ve been answering all afternoon.”
    “Well, here’s a sample of the kind of answers I gave. Yesterday between five and six Mrs. Fromm dictated about a dozen letters. A little after six she went up to dress, and I started on some phone calls she had told me to make. A little after seven, after she had gone out, I had dinner alone, and after dinner I typed the letters she had dictated and went out to mail them at the box at the corner. That was around ten o’clock. I came right back and told Peckham, the butler, I was tired and was going to bed, and went up to my room and turned on WQXR for the music, and went to bed.”
    “Fine. Then you live here?”
    “Yes.”
    “Another example. Where were you Tuesday afternoon from six o’clock to seven?”
    She went and sat down and cocked her head at me. “You’re right, they asked me that too. Why?”
    I shrugged. “I’m just showing you that I know the kind of questions cops ask.”
    “You are not. What is it about Tuesday afternoon?”
    “First how did you answer it?”
    “I couldn’t until I thought back. That was the day Mrs. Fromm went to a meeting of the Executive Committee of Assadip-the Association for the Aid of Displaced Persons. She let me take a car-the convertible-and I spent the afternoon and evening chasing all over town trying to find a couple of refugees that Assadip wanted to help. I never found them, and I got home after midnight. I’d have a hard time accounting for every minute of that afternoon and evening, and I don’t intend to try. Why should I? What happened Tuesday between six and seven?”
    I regarded her. “How about a trade? Tell me where Mrs. Fromm was yesterday afternoon from three-fifteen to five o’clock, and what letters she dictated from five to six, and what phone calls she made, and I’ll tell you what happened Tuesday.”
    “Those are more samples of what the police asked.”
    “Naturally. But these I like.”
    “She made no phone calls at all, but told me to make some later, to ask people to buy tickets for a theater benefit for the Milestone School. There were twenty-three names on the list, and the police have it. The letters she dictated were miscellaneous, just routine matters. Mr. Kuffner and Mr. Horan both said to let the police take the copies, so I did. If you want me to try to remember, I think-”
    “Never mind. What did she do between the time she left the Assadip office and the time she got home?”
    “I know two things she did. She went to a shop on Madison Avenue and bought some gloves-she brought them home with her-and she called at the office of Paul Kuffner. I don’t know whether she did anything else. What happened Tuesday?”
    “A car stopped for a light at the corner of Ninth Avenue and Thirty-fifth Street, and the woman driving it told a boy to get a cop.”
    Her brow wrinkled. “What?”
    “I told you.”
    “But what has that to do with it?”
    I shook my head. “Not in the bargain. I said I’d tell you what happened. This is a very complicated business, Miss Estey, and you may decide to tell the police what Archie Goodwin said, and they wouldn’t like it if I went around telling the suspects exactly how all the-”
    “I’m not a suspect!”
    “I beg your pardon. I thought you were. Anyhow, I’m not-”
    “Why should I be?”
    “If for no other