not looking for a client or a fee. He is doing this on his own and doesn’t want or expect anyone to pay him.”
Her eyes were still on me, but her mind wasn’t. She was considering something. “I see no reason& ” she said, and stopped.
I waited a little, then said, “Yes, Mrs Althaus?”
“I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. I have suspected it was the FBI, ever since Mr Yarmack told me that nothing about them was found in the apartment. So has Mr Yarmack, and so has Miss Hinckley. I don’t think I am a vindictive woman, Mr Goodwin, but he was my-” Her voice was going to quiver, and she stopped. In a moment she went on. “He was my son. I am still trying to realize that he-he’s gone. Did you know him'Did you ever meet him?”
“No.”
“You’re a detective.”
“Yes.”
“You’re expecting me to help you find-to fix the blame for my son’s death. Very well, I want to. But I don’t think I can. He rarely spoke to me about his work. I don’t remember that he ever mentioned the FBI. Miss Hinckley has asked me that, and Mr Yarmack. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything about it, I’m truly sorry, because if they killed him I hope they will be punished. It says in Leviticus ‘Thou shalt not avenge’, but Aristotle wrote that revenge is just. You see, I have been thinking about it. I believe-“
She turned to face the arch. A door had closed, and there were voices, and then a girl appeared. As she approached I got up, but Mrs Althaus kept her chair. The pictures in the Gazette file understated it. Marian Hinckley was a dish. She was an in-between, neither blonde nor brunette, brown hair and blue eyes, and she moved straight and smooth. If she wore a hat she had ditched it in the foyer. She came and gave Mrs Althaus a cheek kiss, then turned to look at me as Mrs Althaus pronounced my name. As the blue eyes took me in I instructed mine to ignore any aspect of the situation that was irrelevant to the job. When Mrs Althaus invited her to sit I moved a chair up. As she sat she spoke to Mrs Althaus. “If I understood you on the phone-did you say Nero Wolfe knows it was the FBI'Was that it?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t get it straight,” Mrs Althaus said. “Will you tell her, Mr Goodwin?”
I described it, the three points: why Wolfe was interested, what had made him suspicious, and how his suspicion had been supported by what a man told him yesterday. I explained that he didn’t know it was the FBI, and he certainly couldn’t prove it, but he intended to try to and that was why I was there.
Miss Hinckley was frowning at me. “But I don’t see& Has he told the police what the man told him?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess I didn’t make it plain enough. He thinks the police know it was the FBI, or suspect it. For instance, one thing he wants to ask you people: Are the police keeping after you'Coming back, again and again, asking the same questions over and over'Mrs Althaus?”
“No.”
“Miss Hinckley?”
“No. But we’ve told them everything we know.”
“That doesn’t matter. In a murder investigation, if they haven’t got a line they like, they never let up on anybody, and it looks as if they have let up on everybody. That’s one thing we need to know. Mrs Althaus just told me that you and Mr Yarmack both think that the FBI killed him. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Because there was nothing about the FBI in his apartment.”
“Do you know what there might have been'What he had dug up?”
“No. Morris never told me about things like that.”
“Does Mr Yarmack know?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“How do you feel about it, Miss Hinckley'Whoever killed Morris Althaus, do you want him caught'Caught and dealt with?”
“Of course I do. Certainly I do.”
I turned to Mrs Althaus. “You do too. All right, it’s a good bet that he never will be caught unless Nero Wolfe does it. You may know that he doesn’t go to see people.
Her eyes were still on me, but her mind wasn’t. She was considering something. “I see no reason& ” she said, and stopped.
I waited a little, then said, “Yes, Mrs Althaus?”
“I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you. I have suspected it was the FBI, ever since Mr Yarmack told me that nothing about them was found in the apartment. So has Mr Yarmack, and so has Miss Hinckley. I don’t think I am a vindictive woman, Mr Goodwin, but he was my-” Her voice was going to quiver, and she stopped. In a moment she went on. “He was my son. I am still trying to realize that he-he’s gone. Did you know him'Did you ever meet him?”
“No.”
“You’re a detective.”
“Yes.”
“You’re expecting me to help you find-to fix the blame for my son’s death. Very well, I want to. But I don’t think I can. He rarely spoke to me about his work. I don’t remember that he ever mentioned the FBI. Miss Hinckley has asked me that, and Mr Yarmack. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything about it, I’m truly sorry, because if they killed him I hope they will be punished. It says in Leviticus ‘Thou shalt not avenge’, but Aristotle wrote that revenge is just. You see, I have been thinking about it. I believe-“
She turned to face the arch. A door had closed, and there were voices, and then a girl appeared. As she approached I got up, but Mrs Althaus kept her chair. The pictures in the Gazette file understated it. Marian Hinckley was a dish. She was an in-between, neither blonde nor brunette, brown hair and blue eyes, and she moved straight and smooth. If she wore a hat she had ditched it in the foyer. She came and gave Mrs Althaus a cheek kiss, then turned to look at me as Mrs Althaus pronounced my name. As the blue eyes took me in I instructed mine to ignore any aspect of the situation that was irrelevant to the job. When Mrs Althaus invited her to sit I moved a chair up. As she sat she spoke to Mrs Althaus. “If I understood you on the phone-did you say Nero Wolfe knows it was the FBI'Was that it?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t get it straight,” Mrs Althaus said. “Will you tell her, Mr Goodwin?”
I described it, the three points: why Wolfe was interested, what had made him suspicious, and how his suspicion had been supported by what a man told him yesterday. I explained that he didn’t know it was the FBI, and he certainly couldn’t prove it, but he intended to try to and that was why I was there.
Miss Hinckley was frowning at me. “But I don’t see& Has he told the police what the man told him?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess I didn’t make it plain enough. He thinks the police know it was the FBI, or suspect it. For instance, one thing he wants to ask you people: Are the police keeping after you'Coming back, again and again, asking the same questions over and over'Mrs Althaus?”
“No.”
“Miss Hinckley?”
“No. But we’ve told them everything we know.”
“That doesn’t matter. In a murder investigation, if they haven’t got a line they like, they never let up on anybody, and it looks as if they have let up on everybody. That’s one thing we need to know. Mrs Althaus just told me that you and Mr Yarmack both think that the FBI killed him. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Because there was nothing about the FBI in his apartment.”
“Do you know what there might have been'What he had dug up?”
“No. Morris never told me about things like that.”
“Does Mr Yarmack know?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“How do you feel about it, Miss Hinckley'Whoever killed Morris Althaus, do you want him caught'Caught and dealt with?”
“Of course I do. Certainly I do.”
I turned to Mrs Althaus. “You do too. All right, it’s a good bet that he never will be caught unless Nero Wolfe does it. You may know that he doesn’t go to see people.
Similar Books
