Wolfe nodded. "Then we know of four people with keys beside you. Miss Zarella, Mr. Daumery, Mr. Roper, Mr. Demarest. Can you have them here this evening at half-past eight?"

Cynthia gawked. "You mean – here?"

"At this office."

"But good lord." She was flabbergasted. "I can't just order them around! What can I say? I can't say I want them to help find out who killed my uncle because they don't know it was my uncle! You must consider they're much older than I am – all but Bernard – and they think I'm just a fresh kid. Even Bernard is seven years older. After all, I'm only twenty-one – that is, I will be – my God!"

She looked horror-struck, as if someone had poked a window pole at her.

"What now?" Wolfe demanded.

"Tomorrow's my birthday! I'll be twenty-one tomorrow!"

"Yes?" Wolfe said politely.

"Happy birthday!" she cried.

"Not this one," Wolfe stated.

"Look out," I warned him. "That's one of a girl's biggest dates."

He pushed his chair back hastily, arose, and looked at me.

"Archie. I would like to see those people this evening. Six o'clock would do, but I prefer eight-thirty, after dinner. Go up there with Miss Nieder. She is under suspicion of murder, and has engaged me, and can reasonably expect their co-operation. She is in fact half-owner of that business, and one of them is her partner, one is her lawyer, and the other two are her employees. What better do you want?"