Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

Once Nero Wolfe, showing off, said to me, "Vultus est index animi," and I said, "That's not Greek," and he said, "A Latin proverb. The face is the index of the mind." It depends on whose face and whose mind. Across from you at the poker table, Saul Panzer's face is an index of absolutely nothing. But you keep on trying, and I was still at it on Orrie Cather's face after he showed me in and took my hat and coat and we sat. I sat and eyed him until he demanded, "Can't you place me?"

I said, "Vultus est index animi."

"Good," he said. "I've often wondered. What the hell's eating you?"

"Just curiosity. Is it possible that you're playing me?"

"For God's sake. Playing you how? For what?"

"I wish I knew." I crossed my legs. "Okay, I'll report. I followed the script. I arrived at a quarter past four on the dot, pushed the button several times, got no reaction as expected, used the key you gave me, took the elevator to the fourth floor, used the other key, and entered. No one in the living room, and I went to the bedroom. I don't say someone was there, because properly speaking a corpse is not someone. It was on the floor not far from the bed. I had never seen Isabel Kerr or a picture of her, but I suppose it had been her. A pink thing with lace and pink slippers, no stockings. A couple of -"

"You're saying she was dead?"

"Don't interrupt. A couple of inches over five feet, hundred and ten pounds, well-designed oval face, blue eyes, lots of clover-blossom-honey hair, small ears close -"

"By God. By God."

"Her?"

"Yes."

"Stop interrupting. Mr. Wolfe never does. I didn't have to touch her to check. I mean it. There was a bruise on the forehead and a big dent in the skull, two inches above and back of the left ear. On the floor, three feet from her right shoulder, was a marble ashtray which looked heavy enough to dent a thicker skull than hers probably was. There were purple spots on an arm and a leg. Cadaveric lividities to you. Her forehead was good and cold, and -"

"You said you didn't touch her."

"I touch with my fingers. I don't call applying a wrist to a forehead or a leg touching. The leg was cold too. It had been a corpse for at least five hours and probably more. The ashtray had been wiped. There were butts and ashes on the carpet but no particles on the tray. I was in there a total of about six minutes. The idea of staying to look for things didn't appeal to me." I put a hand in a pocket and got something. "Here are your keys."