Murder by the Book

They were ten minutes late, so Wolfe was in the office when they arrived. Before any conversation got started I noticed an interesting little item. Off the end of Wolfe's desk, facing it, the big red leather chair is the most convenient spot for a visitor, and when there are two or more visitors that is obviously the seat for whoever has priority. When that group had been there before, Corrigan, the senior partner, had occupied it, but this time who should pop into it but the white-haired blinking Briggs, Helen Troy's Uncle Fred. Apparently no one remarked it but me, and that was equally interesting. As they sat, Emmett Phelps, the long-armed six-foot encyclopedia, was nearest me; Corrigan was next; then the sleepy-eyed slumpy Louis Kustin, successor to Conroy O'Malley as the firm's trial man; and then the disbarred O'Malley with a bitter twist to his mouth.

Wolfe's eyes went from left to right and back again. "Well, gentlemen?"

Three of them spoke at once.

"I can't converse with bedlam," Wolfe said testily.

Frederick Briggs, in the red leather chair, blinking, took the ball. "At our previous visit," he said slowly and distinctly, "I came with my associates under protest. On that occasion you were invited to question us. This time we have questions to ask you. You may remember that I characterized your methods as unethical and reprehensible, and you justified that criticism when you fabricated a notation on Dykes's letter of resignation, imitating the handwriting of one of us, and gave it to the police. What defense do you offer for that action?"

Wolfe's brows were up. "None, Mr. Briggs."

Briggs blinked furiously. "That is not acceptable. I insist- we insist-on an answer."

"Then I'll give you one." Wolfe was not aroused. "As you say, the notation was in Mr. Corrigan's hand. There are three possible explanations of how it was made. One, by Mr. Corrigan himself some time ago. Two, by me recently. Three, by any one of you, including Mr. Corrigan, either before or after I asked to see the letter. The letter was easily accessible, there in your office files. You, sir, can't possibly know which explanation- is correct, unless you made the notation yourself. Questioned by the police, all of you have denied making it. I

deny making it." Wolfe flipped a hand. "Surely you don't credit me with a monopoly in mendacity?"

"That's evasive. I insist-"