Over My Dead Body

She said, with the eyes aimed at him, "You are Nero Wolfe."

Wolfe nodded just perceptibly. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on the desk and his fingers linked together. Having seen him scrutinize a lot of people, I was aware that he was putting on a special and rare performance.

She said, "You sent a policeman to bring me here. I don't understand that."

"Inspector Cramer sent him."

"But you must have permitted it." There was a swift movement of her head; a characteristic arrested toss that I had observed that afternoon. "Or suggested it."

"Yes, Miss Tormic. I arranged it. A certain fact was exposed which required immediate action in order to save Mr Goodwin from arrest. He is my confidential assistant, and I wouldn't welcome the ignominy of bailing him out of jail. Or perhaps instead of a fact, it's a lie. We'll find out. I thought it better to do so in the presence of Inspector Cramer, and besides, I want to see how you behave under pressure."

"I can stand pressure."

"Good. We'll see."

She smiled at him. When her mouth was composed the don't-touch-me was in command, but when she smiled it was all come-hither. "Have you told him that I am your adopted daughter?"

Wolfe frowned and turned to me. "Is the man who brought them in the kitchen?"

"Yes, sir. It's Stebbins. You know Sergeant Stebbins."

He nodded. "Nevertheless, Miss Tormic, I think we'll discuss that later. I haven't told the police that you are my daughter. For the present, it is desirable that I should not be suspected of so intimate a prejudice. Do you agree to that?"

"I should think…" She hesitated. The smile had gone. "Of course, I'll do whatever you say; but…" She smiled again. "I'd like to have that paper back, the record of adoption which you signed. I want to hang on to that. I admit it's pure selfishness, because I know what it might mean to be the daughter of Nero Wolfe. I proved that by sending for you when I got into trouble. Of course, since I've never seen you since I was three years old, I can't be expected to show violent affection and throw my arms around you and kiss you-"

"No, indeed," Wolfe agreed hastily. "There's no question of… it's a matter of responsibility, and that's all. My responsibility. I was sane, in the legal sense, when I assumed it. As for the records of adoption, I would prefer, if you don't mind-but that's probably Mr Cramer. Unless it's Madame Zorka."

"Zorka!" exclaimed Carla Lovchen in surprise.