If Death Ever Slept

WOLFE: Then we’ll turn it around. We’ll assume the contrary and take them in turn. Start with Mr. Jarrell himself. He took his own gun, with that hocus-pocus, and shot Eber with it. What do you say to that?

NORA: I don’t say anything.

(She stood up.)

NORA: I know you’re a clever man, Mr. Wolfe. That’s why your picture is in my scrapbook. I may not be as clever as you are, but I’m not an utter fool.

(She started off, and, halfway to the door, turned.)

NORA: I’ll be here at six o’clock if Mr. Jarrell tells me to.

She went. I whispered to Orrie, “Go let her out, Archie.” He whispered back, “Let her out yourself, Alan.” The result was that she let herself out. When I heard the front door close I left the wing and made it to the front in time to see her, through the one-way glass panel, going down the stoop. When she had reached the sidewalk safely I went to the office.

Wolfe was forward in his chair, his palms on his desk. Orrie was at my desk, in my chair, at ease. I stood and looked down at Wolfe.

“First,” I said, “Who is whom?”

He grunted. “Confound that woman. When you were introduced to her Monday afternoon I suppose you were looking at her. And you saw no sign that she had recognized you?”

“No, sir. A woman who has it in her to collar a million bucks knows how to hide her feelings. Besides, I thought it was only women under thirty who put my picture in scrapbooks. Then the program will be as scheduled?”

“Yes. Have you a reason for changing it?”

“No, sir. You’re in for it. Please excuse me a minute.” I pivoted to Orrie. “You’ll be me at six o’clock, I can’t help that, but you’re not me now.”

Down went my hands, like twin snakes striking, and I had his ankles. With a healthy jerk he was out of my chair, and I kept him coming, and going, until he was flat on his back on the rug, six feet away. By the time he had bounced up I was sitting. I may or may not know how to deal with a murderer, but I know how to handle an imposter.

Chapter 8