Over My Dead Body

"None, perhaps. But this suits me better. It's neater." He handed the thing to me and then regarded her gloomily. "I hope you know what you're doing. I hope you have some idea of what's going on. I haven't. Mr Faber has come here twice for the purpose of getting hold of that paper."

"Oh." She compressed her lips. "He has?"

"Yes. The second time was only a little more than an hour ago, and Mr Goodwin lost his temper and hit him in the eye. So… I presume you girls realize that possession of that document-"

"We realize it."

"Very well. Do you still expect to complete your… errand… to-day?"

"Yes."

"When and where?"

She shook her head.

He shrugged. "Did you keep your appointment with Mr Cramer this morning?"

"Yes, but not with Mr Cramer. A man came and took me down there, and two men talked with me. That's where I came from, here."

"You told about finding those things in your pocket and so on."

"Yes."

"Did they ask about your political mission-anything of that sort?"

"Why, no, they don't know anything about that."

"Were you followed when you left there?"

"I-" She bit it off. In a moment she said, "I don't think so." Her head jerked at me and back at him. "If you're going to insist-I haven't much time. I must see Carla anyway, but if he's going-"

Wolfe nodded. "All right. Pfui. Archie, give that paper to Miss Lovchen in the presence of Miss Tormic."

I suggested, "Fred's in the front room-"

"No. You do it."

"Cramer's due in half an hour."

"I know. Hurry back."

I ushered her out. That roadster was still at the kerb in front where I had left it. We climbed in and I warmed up the engine a minute, and rolled. She was completely don't-touch-me. Whatever her mind was on, it certainly wasn't on me, and during the short ride to 48th Street I accepted that as the status quo.

Across the street from Miltan's a little group was collected on the sidewalk, and in front of the entrance a flatfoot was pacing a short beat. He gave us an eye as we went in, but made no attempt to interfere. Inside was no sign of life in the hall or reception room; but a murmur came from the rear and we went back there to the large office. Jeanne Miltan was in a chair at a desk, with two squad dicks, each with a notebook, seated facing her. Her husband, looking haggard and hopeless, was pacing the floor, shaking his head at himself. As we entered one of the dicks looked up and barked:

"What do you want?"

I waved a friendly hand. "Okay, private business."

Neya intercepted Miltan and asked, "Is Miss Lovchen upstairs?"