Rex Stout by The Hand in the Glove Page B

In cash, or a check?”
    “No, he didn’t. He asked me if I wanted one, and I said no.”
    Brissenden grunted, and when Dol glanced at him she met an unbelieving stare. Sherwood was saying, “That’s too bad. Was anyone else present at your conversation with Storrs?”
    “No. We were alone in my office. My secretary had gone home.”
    “I see. Did you and Storrs discuss anything else? Anything besides his hiring you to get rid of Ranth?”
    “No.”
    “Nothing whatever?”
    “No.”
    “Search your memory, Miss Bonner.” Sherwood leaned toward her. “You will reflect that we are investigating a murder, and it was you who furnished the first demonstration of proof that it was murder. You did not attempt to retire behind the shield of feminine delicacy and horror.You have offered us two strong points against Ranth: that paper yesterday, and your story here about Storrs’ hostility towards him. If Ranth did it we’ll get him. All that can be done is being done. But we can’t afford to overlook anything, and we’re not going to. As you know, I spent five hours here last night asking questions of everybody concerned, and there are things that need explanation, and I expect you to help explain them if you can. Search your memory. Are you sure that Storrs said nothing to you yesterday about a visit made to his office that morning by Steve Zimmerman?”
    “Yes. He said nothing about it.”
    “Didn’t mention it?”
    “No.”
    “And are you sure that he said nothing about threats that had been made against his life by Leonard Chisholm?”
    “Threats—” Dol looked astonished. Then she looked contemptuous. “Rubbish.”
    Sherwood calmly agreed: “Quite possibly. I’m aware that men are constantly declaring their readiness to kill other men; it’s a universal safety valve; I do it myself. But the point here is that Storrs did get killed. That’s why it may not be rubbish. I am informed that Chisholm stated specifically that he would strangle Storrs, and that you heard him say it. Is that correct?”
    “It is. I think it is also irrelevant.”
    “That may be. Did Storrs mention Chisholm’s threats at your office yesterday?”
    “No.” Dol was getting irritated. “How could he? He couldn’t possibly have heard of it—unless Martin Foltz telephoned him as soon as he left my office with Chisholm and Miss Raffray, and that is inconceivable. There are some things that some men don’t do. Martin Foltz wouldn’t do that.”
    “But Chisholm might have previously made the same threat direct to Storrs. He could have phoned him or called on him. Couldn’t he?”
    “No.—Oh, I suppose he could. Did he?”
    “He says not. If he did, and anyone heard it, we’re likely to find it out. The New York police are co-operating withus. What I am asking you is, did Storrs mention such a threat, or anything about Chisholm, to you?”
    “No. Chisholm wasn’t mentioned.”
    “I see. You expect me to believe that.”
    Dol opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. After a moment she spoke with complete composure: “Yes, Mr. Sherwood. I expect you to believe everything I say.”
    Brissenden suddenly and explosively barked, “Take her down! You’re wasting time, Dan! The others too! You’ve got to turn on some heat!” The middle-aged man, startled, jerked up his head so violently that his spectacles slid down on his nose. Simultaneously an interruption came from the door. There was a knock, and the trooper opened it to admit a bulky man in a dark blue suit with his hat in his hand who looked like what he was, a county detective. He crossed to the table and nodded separately to the colonel and the attorney. Sherwood asked, “Well?”
    The man’s voice was husky, flat, and utterly without hope: “I had an idea I thought I ought to tell you about.”
    “You mean you’ve found something?”
    “Not exactly found something, no, sir. I’ve been working the places to the north and east, like you said, with Mullins. We