I stepped to the door and put the chain bolt in its slot. Any city employee arriving with papers would have only a two-inch crack to hand the papers through.
Wolfe led us back to the office, motioned us to our chairs, sat at his desk, and demanded of Cynthia, "Did you kill that man?"
She met his eyes and gulped. Then her head went down, her hands went up, her shoulders started to shake, and sounds began to come.
VI
That was terrible. The only thing that shakes Wolfe as profoundly as having a meal rudely interrupted is a bawling woman. His reaction to the first is rage, to the second panic.
I tried to reassure him. "She'll be all right. She just has to -"
"Stop her," he muttered desperately.
I crossed to her, yanked her hands away, using muscle, pulled her face up, and kissed her hard and good on the lips. She jerked her face aside, shoved at me, and protested, "What the hell!"
That sounded better, and I turned to Wolfe and told him reproachfully, "You can't blame her. I doubt if it's fear or despair or anything normal like that. It's probably hunger. I'll bet she hasn't had a bite since breakfast."
"Good heavens." His eyes popped wide open. "Is that true, Miss Nieder? Haven't you had lunch?"
She shook her head. "They kept me there – and then I had to see you -"
Wolfe was pushing the button. Since it was only five steps from the office to the kitchen door, in seconds Fritz was there.
"Sandwiches and beer at once," Wolfe told him. "Beer, Miss Nieder?"
"I don't have to eat."
"Nonsense. Beer? Claret? Milk? Brandy?"
"Scotch and water. I could use that."