Over My Dead Body

"Weren't they? Who took them to you at the Hotel Brissenden? Mr Barrett?"

She shrugged.

Cramer barked, "We can prove that; and that's not all we can prove! After those clothes were delivered to you this morning, you put them on and left the hotel, and you were followed."

"Zat ees not true." She set her teeth on her lower lip for a moment, and then went on: "For one sing, if you had me followed, you would know where I was and you would not wait so late to get me and bring me here. For anozzer sing, I did not leave zee hotel, not once until zee men came-"

"That won't get you anywhere! Now, look here-"

"Please, Mr Cramer?" Wolfe opened his eyes. "If you don't mind? Remember what you said, that you'd be no better off if you had stood across the street yourself and seen her go in with him and emerge without him. There's no point in running her up a tree if you have no ammunition to bring her down again."

"Have you?" the inspector demanded.

"I don't know, but I'd like to find out."

Cramer pulled out a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. "Go ahead."

Wolfe cleared his throat and focused on her. "Madame Zorka-is that your name?"

"Of course eet ees."

"I know it's the name on your letterheads and in the telephone book. But were you christened Zorka?"

"Eet ees my name."

"What's the rest of it?"

She fluttered a nervous hand. "Zorka."

"Now, my dear young lady. Last night, inferentially at least, you were drunk. But you're not drunk now, you're merely bedraggled. Do you intend to tell us the rest of your name or not?"

"I…" She hesitated, and then said with sudden determination, "No. I can't."

"Why can't you?"

"Because I-it would be dangerous."

"Dangerous to whom? To you?"

"No, not to me-as much as uzzer people." She took a deep breath. "I am a refugee. I escaped."

"Where from?"

She shook her head.

"Come, come," Wolfe said brusquely. "Not the place, the city, the village, if you think you can't. What country? Germany? Russia? Italy? Yugoslavia?"

"All right. Zat much. Yugoslavia."

"I see. Croatia? Serbia? Montenegro?"

"I said Yugoslavia."

"Yes, but… Very well." Wolfe shrugged. "How long ago did you escape?"

"About one year ago."

"And came to America? To New York?"

"First Paris. Paris some time, then America."

"Did you bring a lot of money with you?"

"Oh, no." She spread out her hands to reject an absurdity. "No money. No refugee could have money."

"But I understand you have a business here in New York which must have cost a good deal to set up."