The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

I had got there enough in advance of the mob to give Wolfe a brief report of my day, which didn’t seem to interest him much, and to help Fritz and Orrie collect chairs and arrange them. When the first arrivals rang the bell Orrie disappeared into the front room and shut the door. Having been in there for chairs, I had seen what he was safeguarding-a middle-aged round-shouldered guy wearing glasses, with his belt buckled too tight. Orrie had introduced us, so I knew his name was Bernard Levine, but that was all.

The seating arrangement had been dictated by Wolfe. The six females were in a row in front, with the policewomen alternating with Angela Wright, Claire Horan, and Jean Estey. Inspector Cramer was in the red leather chair, with Purley Stebbins at his left, next to Jean Estey. Back of Jean Estey was Lips Egan, within reach of Stebbins in case he got nervous and started using pliers on someone, and to Egan’s left, in the second row, were Horan, Lipscomb, and Kuffner. Saul Panzer and Fred Durkin were in the rear.

I said Cramer was in the red leather chair, but actually it was being saved for him. He had insisted on speaking privately with Wolfe, and they were in the dining room. I don’t know what it was he wanted, but I doubted if he got it, judging from the expression on his face as he marched into the office ahead of Wolfe. His jaw was set, his lips were tight, and his color was red. He stood, facing the gathering, until Wolfe had passed to his chair and got into it, and then he spoke.

“I want it understood,” he said, “that this is official only up to a point. You were brought here by the Police Department with the approval of the District Attorney, and that makes it official, but now Nero Wolfe will proceed on his own responsibility, and he has no authority to insist on answers to any questions he may ask. You all understand that?”

There were murmurs. Cramer said, “Go ahead, Wolfe,” and sat down.

Wolfe’s eyes moved left to right and back again. “This is a little awkward,” he said conversationally. “I’ve seen only two of you before, Mr. Horan and Mr. Kuffner. Mr. Goodwin has provided me with a chart, but I’d like to check. You’re Miss Jean Estey?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Angela Wright?”

She nodded.

“Mrs. Dennis Horan?”

“That’s my name. I don’t think-”

“Please, Mrs. Horan.” He was brusque. “Later, if you must. You’re Mr. Vincent Lipscomb?”

“Right.”