Fer-De-Lance

"Mother. This is Mr. Goodwin. I told you he was coming." She turned to me and indicated a chair. I took it. Mrs. Barstow let the jigsaw pieces drop from her fingers and turned to look at me.

She was very handsome. She was fifty-six, her daughter had told me, but she looked over sixty. Her eyes were gray, deep-set and far apart, her hair was nearly white, and while her face with its fine features was quite composed, I got the impression that there was nothing easy or natural about that, it came from the force of a strong personal will. She kept looking at me without saying anything until I was guessing that I didn’t look very composed myself. Sarah Barstow had taken a chair some distance away. I was about ready to open up from my end when Mrs. Barstow suddenly spoke: "I know your business, Mr. Goodwin."

I nodded. "It really isn’t my business, it is that of my employer, Mr. Nero Wolfe. He asked me to thank you for permitting me to come."

"He is welcome." The deep-set gray eyes never left me. "Indeed, I am grateful that someone-even a stranger whom I shall never see-should acknowledge my authority over the doors of my house."

"Mother!"

"Yes, Sarah. Don’t be offended, dear; I know-and it is of no importance whether this Mr. Goodwin does or not-that the authority has not been usurped. It was not you who forced me to resign, it was not even your father. According to Than, it was God; probably His hands were idle and Satan furnished the mischief."

"Mother, please." Sarah Barstow had got up and approached us. "If you have anything to ask, Mr. Goodwin…"

I said, "I have two questions. May I ask you two questions, Mrs. Barstow?"

"Certainly. That is your business."

"Good. The first one is easy to ask, but may be hard to answer. That is, it may require thought and a long memory. Of all people, you are the one probably have wanted to kill Peter Oliver Barstow? Who had a grievance against him, a new one or maybe a very old one? What enemies did he have? Who hated him?"

"That isn’t a question. It is four questions."

"Well-maybe I can hitch them together."

"It isn’t necessary." The composure did not escape from the will. "They can all be answered at once. Myself."

I stared at her. Her daughter was beside her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Mother! You promised me-"