The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

Well, her boss. That's why he's first. He let her go for six months and come back to her job. He must have known what she went for. She told her friends, including me, that she was taking a long vacation, but she must have told Manny the truth. Hell, it's obvious. If you're half as good as you're supposed to be it stares you in the face.

It does indeed. But it was only yesterday afternoon that she was sitting in the chair you occupy. Granting that Mr. Upton is the most likely of the alternatives, are there any others? Besides Mr. Haft and Mr. Krug?

No. Bingham took a sip of brandy. Not unless there was someone I didn't know about, and I don't think there was. Carol liked to tell me things. She liked the way I took things.

I believe I asked you if you killed her.

And I said certainly. I meant certainly I didn't. You haven't asked me where I spent last night and how and when I learned of her death. I spent the night at home in bed, alone, and I was at the studio before nine o'clock, at work. I'm getting up a pilot for a big fall show and I'm a month late. Someone at the studio heard it on the radio and told me. And there had been a picture of her in the batch you sent me Tuesday. I broke away as soon as I could and came to ask you about the picture. I knew damn well you must know something.

So you recognized the picture.

Of course I did. The reason I didn't say so, and I didn't put her on my list, was the same as Krug's, only he says his was subconscious and mine wasn't. You had told us you were looking for someone who had sent anonymous letters to Lucy Valdon. Carol Mardus couldn't possibly have sent anonymous letters to anybody. I didn't need my subconscious to tell me that.

You were intimate with her, Mr. Bingham?

Balls. No, we were never on speaking terms. We used smoke signals. He looked at his watch. I've got to get back to the studio. We should finish soon. Wolfe reached for his glass, emptied it, and put it down. Mr. Haft. You are now conspicuous, on Mr. Bingham's roster of alternatives. I invite comment.

Haft was slumped in his chair with his spindly legs stuck out straight. Some men look all right slumping, but he wasn't built for it. He had finished his scotch and soda and put the glass on Wolfe's desk.