Champagne for One

"Yes," she said, "it does. It says that if Faith dies he can pay me only half as much or even less. Are you telling the truth, that she was murdered?"

"Nuts," Byne said. "It’s not the truth he’s after. Anyhow, I wasn’t even there. Don’t look at me, Elaine, look at him."

"I thought," Wolfe said, "that it might save time to see the agreement now, so I sent Mr Gather to your apartment to look for it. It will expedite matters if you phone him and tell him where it is. He is good with locks and should be inside by this time."

Byne was staring. "By God," he said.

"Do you want to phone him?"

"Not him. By God. You’ve been threatening to call the police. I’ll call them myself. I’ll tell them a man has broken into my apartment, and he’s there now, and they’ll get him."

I left my chair. "Here, Dinky, use my phone."

He ignored me. "It’s not the agreement," he told Wolfe. "It’s your goddamn nerve. He won’t find the agreement because it’s not there. It’s in a safe-deposit box and it’s going to stay there."

"Then it must wait until Monday." Wolfe’s shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. "However, Mr Gather will not have his trouble for nothing. Aside from the chance that he may turn up other interesting items, he will use your typewriter, if you have one. I told him if he found one there to write something with it. I even told him what to write. This: ‘Have you found out yet that Edwin Laidlaw is the father of Faith Usher’s baby? Ask him about his trip to Canada in August 1956.’ He will type that and bring it to me. You smile. You are amused? Because you don’t have a typewriter?"

"Sure I have a typewriter. Did I smile?" He smiled again, a poker smile. "At you dragging Laidlaw in all of a sudden. I don’t get it, but I suppose you do."