Rex Stout - Red Box, The

When he hung up, Helen Frost was sitting down again, looking at him with her chin up and her lips pushed together. Wolfe picked up the paper and glanced at it, handed it across to me, and settled back in his chair. He reached forward to ring for beer, and settled back again.

“So. Miss Frost, you have acknowledged that you possess information regarding an implement of murder which you refuse to disclose. I wish to remind you that I have not engaged to keep that acknowledgment confidential. For the present I shall do so; I am not committing myself beyond that. Do you know the police mind? One of its first and most constant assumptions is that any withheld knowledge regarding a crime is guilty knowledge. It is a preposterous assumption, but they hug it to their bosoms. For instance, if they knew what you have just signed, they would proceed on the theory that you either put the poison in the candy or know who did. I shall not do that. But as a matter of form I shall ask the question: did you poison that candy?”

She was pretty good, at that. She answered in a calm voice that was only pinched a little, “No. I didn't.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Are you engaged to be married?”

She compressed her lips. “That is none of your business.”

Wolfe said patiently, “I shall have to ask you about many things which you will regard as none of my business. Really, Miss Frost, it is foolish of you to irritate me unnecessarily. The question I just asked is completely innocuous; any of your friends could probably answer it; why shouldn't you? Do you imagine this is a friendly chat we are having? By no means. It is a very one-sided affair. I am forcing you to reply to questions by threatening to turn you over to the police if you don't. Are you engaged to be married?”

She was cracking a little. Her fists were clenched in her lap, and she looked smaller, as if she had shrunk, and her eyes got so damp that finally a tear formed in the corner of each one and dripped out. Without paying any attention to them, she said to Wolfe, looking at him, “You're a dirty fat beast.

You…you…”

He nodded. “I know. I ask questions of women only when it is unavoidable, because I abominate hysterics. Wipe your eyes.”

She didn't move. He sighed. “Are you engaged to be married?”

Tears of rage were also in her voice. “I am not.”

“Did you buy that diamond on your finger?”

She glanced at it involuntarily. “No.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Mr. McNair.”

“And the one set in your vanity case-who gave you that one?”

“Mr. McNair.”

“Astonishing. I wouldn't have supposed you cared for diamonds.” Wolfe opened a bottle of beer and filled his glass. “You mustn't mind me, Miss Frost. I mean, my seeming inconsequence. A servant girl named Anna Fiore sat in that chair once and conversed with me for five hours. The Duchess of Rathkyn did so for most of a night. I am apt to poke into almost any comer, and I beg you to bear with me.”

He lifted the glass and emptied it in par. “For instance, this diamond business is curious. Do you like them?”

“I don't…not ordinarily.”

“Is Mr. McNair fond of them? Does he make gifts of them more or less at random?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And although you don't Wee them, you wear these out of…respect for Mr.

McNair? Affection for an old friend?”

“I wear them because I happen to feel like it.”

“Just so. You see, I know very little about Mr. McNair. Is he married?”

“As I told you, he is an old friend of my mother's. A lifelong friend. He had a daughter about my age, a month or so older, but she died when she was two years old. His wife had died before, when the baby was born. Mr. McNair is the finest man I have ever known. He is…he is my best friend.”

“And yet he puts diamonds on you. You must forgive my harping on the diamonds; I happen to dislike them. – Oh, yes, I meant to ask, do you know anyone else who is fond of Jordan almonds?”

“Anybody else?”

“Besides Mr. McNair.”

“No, I don't.”

Wolfe poured more beer and, leaving the foam to settle, leaned back and frowned at his victim. “You know, Miss Frost, it is time something was said to you. In your conceit, you are assuming, for your youth and inexperience, a terrific responsibility. Molly Lauck died nine days ago, probably through bungling of someone's effort to kill another person. During all that time you have possessed knowledge which, handled with competence and dispatch, might do something much more important than wreak vengeance; it might save a life, and it is even possible that the life would be one worth saving. What do you think; isn't that responsibility pretty heavy for you? I have too much sense to try coercion.

There's too much egotism and too much mule in you. But you really should consider it.” He picked up his glass and drank.

She sat and watched him. Finally she said, “I have considered it. I'm not an egotist. I…I've considered.”

Wolfe lifted his shoulders an inch and dropped them. “Very well. I understand that your father is dead. I gathered that from the statement of your uncle, Mr.

Dudley Frost, that he is the trustee of your property.”

She nodded. “My father died when I was only a few months old. So I've never had a father.” She frowned. “That is…”

“Yes? That is?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

“And what does your property consist of?”

“I inherited it from my father.”

“To be sure. How much is it?”

She lifted her brows. “It is what my father left me.”

“Oh, come, Miss Frost. Sizes of estates in trust are no secrets nowadays. How much are you worth?”

She shrugged. “I understand that it is something over two million dollars.”

“Indeed. Is it intact?”

“Intact? Why shouldn't it be?”

“I have no idea. But don't think I am prying into affairs which your family considers too intimate for discussion with outsiders. Your uncle told me yesterday that your mother hasn't got a cent. His expression. Then your father's fortune was all left to you?”

She flushed a little. “Yes. It was. I have no brother or sister.”

“And it will be turned over to you-excuse me. If you please, Archie.”

It was the phone. I wheeled to my desk and got it. I recognized the quiet controlled voice before she gave her name, and made my own tones restrained and dignified as she deserved. I don't like hysterics any better than Wolfe does.

I turned to Helen Frost: “Your mother would like to speak to you.” I got up and held my chair for her, and she moved over to it.

“Yes, mother…Yes…No, I didn't…I know you said that, but under the circumstances-I can't very well tell you now…I couldn't ask Uncle Boyd about it because he wasn't back from lunch yet, so I just told Mrs. Lament where I was going…No, mother, that's ridiculous, don't you think I'm old enough to know what I'm doing?…I can't do that, and I can't explain till I see you, and when