Three Doors To Death by Stout Rex

Author:Stout, Rex [Stout, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Crime, Thriller, Classic
ISBN: 9780553251272
Publisher: Crimeline
Published: 1995-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Nero Wolfe 16 - Three Doors To Death

VI

The two sons were supporting their mother, one on either side, and continued to do so along the hall and on into the office. She was wearing a tan summer outfit, dotted with brown, which I would have assumed to be silk if I had not heard tell that in certain shops you can part with three centuries for a little number in rayon. Eve was in white, with yellow buttons, and Phoebe was in what I would call calico, two shades of blue. My impulse to smile at her of course had to be choked.

Thinking it might prevent an outburst, or at least postpone it, I formally pronounced their names for Wolfe and then saw that their chairs were arranged the way he liked it when we had a crowd, so that he wouldn’t have to work his neck too much to take them all in. Jerome and Mortimer, declining my offer of the big couch for Mom, got her comfortable in the red leather chair, but it was Phoebe who took the chair next to her. Mortimer stayed on his feet. The others sat.

Wolfe’s eyes swept the arc. “You all look mad,” he said inoffensively.

“If you think that’s witty,” Eve snapped.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I was merely acknowledging an atmosphere.” His eyes moved to Mrs. Whitten. “Do you want me to talk, madam? You came here, and you might like to tell me why.”

“Your lousy punk,” Mortimer blurted, “might like to step outside and ask me why!”

“Mortimer!” Mrs. Whitten turned to him. “Sit down.”

He hesitated, opened his trap and shut it again, moved, and sat, next to Phoebe. A fine brother she picked.

“You will please remember,” Mrs. Whitten told the flock, “that I am to do the talking. I wanted to come alone, but you talked me out of it, and now you will please keep silent. Including you, Dan,” she added to the son-in-law. She returned to Wolfe. “I was getting my breath. The exertion was ? not too much, but enough.” She was still using sighs to get oxygen, and she was even paler than when I had seen her in bed.

“I can wait,” Wolfe said placidly. “Would you like some brandy?”

“No, thank you.” She breathed long and deep. “I don’t take alcohol, even as medicine, though all my children do. Their father permitted it. I apologized for my son calling your associate, Mr. Goodwin, a lousy punk. Do you wish an apology from him?”

“Certainly not. He wouldn’t mean it.”

“I suppose not. Do you share Mr. Goodwin’s opinions?”

“Often. Not always, heaven knows.”

“He told Dr. Cutler that Virgil Pompa did not kill my husband, that he is innocent. Do you believe that too?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Wolfe regarded her. “It seems to me,” he suggested, “that you’re going a long way round, and it’s an hour past midnight, you need rest and quiet, and I have myself a great many questions to ask ? all of you. What you most urgently want

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