If Death Ever Slept

“Yes, Mr. Foote, he did,” Wolfe conceded. “I don’t know much about him and may have to know more before this matter is settled. One thing I do know, he says he was in his room alone at a quarter past six Wednesday afternoon, when the gun was taken. So was Mr. Jarrell, by his account. Mr. Green has told you of Mr. Jarrell’s coming for him, and what followed. Mr. Brigham was in the lounge. Where were you, Mr. Foote?”

“Where was I when?”

“I thought I had made it plain. At a quarter past six Wednesday afternoon.”

“I was on my way back from Jamaica, and I got home-no. No, that was yesterday, Thursday. I must have been in my room, shaving. I always shave around then.”

“You say ‘must have been.’ Were you?”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“No. I’m not Louis the Fourteenth. I don’t get an audience in to watch me shave.”

Wolfe nodded. “That’s out of fashion.” His eyes went to Trella. “Mrs. Jarrell, we might as well get this covered. Do you remember where you were at that hour on Wednesday?”

“I know where I am at that hour every day-nearly every day, except week ends.” I could see one of her ears, but not her face. “I was in the studio looking at television. At half past six I went to the lounge.”

“You’re sure you were there on Wednesday?”

“I certainly am.”

“What time did you go to the studio?”

“A little before six. Five or ten minutes before.”

“You remained there continuously until six-thirty?”

“Yes.”

“I believe the studio is on the main corridor. Did you see anyone passing by in either direction?”

“No, the door was closed. And what do you take me for? Would I tell you if I had?”

“I don’t know, madam; but unless we find that gun you may meet importunity that will make me a model of amenity by comparison.” His eyes went past Wyman to Susan. “Mrs. Jarrell? If you please.”

She replied at once, her voice down as usual, but firm and distinct. “I was in my room with my husband. We were there together, from about a quarter to six, for about an hour. Then we went down to the lounge together.”

“You confirm that, Mr. Jarrell?”

“I do.” Wyman was emphatic.

“You’re sure it was Wednesday?”

“I am.”

Wolfe’s eyes went left and were apparently straight at me, but I was on a line with Lois, who was just in front. “Miss Jarrell?”