The Rubber Band

She told the story. At first she was nervous and jerky, and I noticed that when she was inclined to stumble she glanced across at Wolfe as he leaned back, massive and motionless, with his fingers twined on his belly and his eyes nearly shut. She glanced at him and went ahead. They didn't interrupt her much with questions. She read the letter from her father, and when she finished and Cramer held out his hand for it, she glanced at Wolfe. Wolfe nodded, and she passed it over. Then she went on, with more detail even than she had told us. She spoke of her first letters with Harlan Scovil and Hilda Lindquist and her first meeting with Mike Walsh.

She got to the Marquis of Clivers and Walsh's recognition of him as he emerged from his hotel fifteen days back. From then on they were after her, not Cramer much, but Skinner and Hombert, and especially Skinner. He began to get slick, and of course what he was after was obvious. He asked her trick questions, such as where had her mother been keeping the letter from her father when she suddenly produced it on her deathbed. His way of being clever was to stay quiet and courteous and go back to one thing and then abruptly forward to another, and then after a little suddenly dart back again. Clara Fox was no longer nervous, and she didn't get mad. I remembered how the day before she had stood cool and sweet in front of Perry's desk. All at once Skinner began asking her about the larceny charge. She answered; but after a dozen questions on that Wolfe suddenly sdrred, opened his eyes, and wiggled a finger at the District Attorney.

"Mr. Skinner. Permit me. You're wasting time. The larceny charge is indeed pertinent to the main issue, but there is very little chance that you'll ever discover why. The fact is that the line you have taken from the beginning is absurd."

"Thanks," Skinner said drily. "If, as you say, it is pertinent, why absurd?"