Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

I was inclined to agree with her. Wolfe was leaning back comfortably in his chair, his arms folded, with his eyes closed, and I had a suspicion that he was about two-thirds asleep. He had finished two bottles of beer, after going without for over a month, and he was back in the only chair in the world he liked, and his insane project of going outdoors and walking fast twice a day was only a hideous memory.

He heaved a deep sigh and half opened his eyes, with their focus on Lily.

“It is no occasion for drollery, Miss Rowan,” he muttered at her. “Especially for you. You are suspected of murder. At a minimum that is nothing to be jocund about.”

“Ha,” she said. She didn’t laugh; she merely said, “Ha.”

Wolfe shook his head. “I assure you, madam, it is not a time to ha. The police suspect you. They will annoy you and irritate you. They will ask questions of your friends and enemies. They will dig into your past. They will do it poorly, without any discrimination, and that will make it worse. They will go back as far as they can, for they know that Miss Amory’s father worked for your father a long while ago, and they will surmise-probably they already have-that the reason for your killing Miss Amory is buried in that old association.” Wolfe’s shoulders went up a quarter of an inch and settled back again. “It will be extremely disagreeable. So I suggest that we clear it away now, all that we can of it.”

The twist was at the corner of Lily’s mouth. “I think,” she said, “that you and Archie ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I thought you were friends of mine, and here you are trying to prove I committed murder. When I didn’t.” She switched to me, “Archie, look at me. Look in my eyes. Really I didn’t, Archie.”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “You went to that apartment yesterday afternoon to see Miss Amory, arrived about 5:40 or 5:45, found the door open, walked in, and saw her there on the floor, dead. Is that it?”

Lily studied him, with her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t believe,” she said slowly, “that I’m going to talk about it. Of course I’d be willing to discuss it with you as a friend, but this is different.”

“I am merely repeating what you told Mr. Good-”

“Then there’s no use going over it again, is there?”