“Don’t you dare frisk Mr. Thorwald!” said Daisy. “He’d never buy another article from me. And he won’t be happy if you frisk his colleague, either.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Cabot, “but better safe than sorry, you know.”
However, Daisy’s protest resonated strongly with Miss Genevieve. When Lambert looked at her she shrugged, sighed, and nodded. The two editors were permitted to approach unfrisked, though Lambert observed them closely as if trying to spot unnatural bulges.
This constant vigilance and endless suspense were very wearing on the nerves, Daisy thought. What with one thing and another, she thanked heaven that Alec was not an American policeman!
15
Daisy went to meet the editors. “Hello, Mr. Pascoli,” she said. “Mr. Thorwald, I’m frightfully glad to see you’re safe and sound.”
Thorwald took her hand in both his. “My dear Mrs. Fletcher, I’m most sincerely obliged to you for your advice and encouragement in a situation in which I felt myself at a considerable disadvantage.”
Now Daisy felt herself at a considerable disadvantage, due to her upbringing. Miss Genevieve, no doubt, would have seized the moment to request an increase in her remuneration. Daisy could only murmur, “It was nothing,” and hope his gratitude was long-lasting.
“What did they want?” she continued, leading the way back to the others. “Gilligan and Rosenblatt, I mean.”
“Exactly as you suggested, Rosenblatt wanted my narrative reiterated, and Gilligan desired me to scrutinize a person whom he held in custody.”
“Barton Bender. You didn’t recognize him, did you?”
“Certainly not. While circumstances may upon occasion require one to be in proximity to such individuals, I don’thesitate to affirm that no male acquaintance of mine would adorn his person with such a quantity of gold and gems, to say nothing of the excessive and disagreeable effluvium of bay rum which remained in the atmosphere after his departure!”
Daisy didn’t think Thorwald had quite understood the purpose of the exercise, but as she was quite certain Bender had not himself shot Carmody, she held her peace. “Miss Cabot, Miss Genevieve,” she said, “may I introduce Mr. Thorwald and Mr. Pascoli?”
“So happy to meet you,” twittered Miss Cabot. “Will you take tea?”
Miss Genevieve regarded the gentlemen with interest as they bowed, Pascoli dismayed, Thorwald with a look of foreboding. “Sigurd Thorwald,” she pronounced, “so you’re an editor now. I suppose it was inevitable.”
“I’m most obliged to you, ma’am,” said Thorwald in surprise, taking off his pince-nez and polishing the lenses vigorously.
“Always did use half a dozen words where one would suffice, but I dare say you’re quite capable of cutting other people’s words to good effect.”
In the meantime, Pascoli drew Daisy aside and said, “I hoped for a word with you in private, Mrs. Fletcher. I’d like to discuss the Carmody case and the old ladies won’t want to talk murder.”
“On the contrary. Miss Genevieve knows just as much about it as I do,” Daisy assured him, “and she’s positively eager to discuss it. Maybe you’ve heard of Eugene Cannon?”
“Sounds familiar,” said Pascoli, puzzled. “Oh, you mean the crime reporter? Yes, his writing was held up to me asa model when I started in the business, but he was pretty near retirement then. I never met him. Why? Just a minute, there was something odd about him. I can’t remember …”
“He was a she. Eugene Cannon was Genevieve Cabot.”
Pascoli swung round to stare at Miss Genevieve. “This lady here? Oh boy!”
Miss Genevieve stared back, critically.
“Mr. Pascoli is interested in Carmody’s murder,” Daisy said to her. “You’ve been in the news business. I’m sure you know much better than I what information will be useful to him.”
“Town Talk?” Miss Genevieve’s eyes gleamed. “I expect I can give you a few pointers, young man. Sit down.”
Daisy left them to it, turning to Thorwald, while Lambert divided his attention between the two conversations.
“Tell me what happened at police headquarters and the D.A.’s Office,” Daisy invited.
“I consider myself exceptionally fortunate that my profession has never required me to frequent Centre Street,” Thorwald began. “In actual fact, today was the occasion of my first visit to that abominable place.”
“And you went as a witness, not a journalist,” Daisy said sympathetically.
“Indeed! The headquarters building I cannot bring myself to describe to a lady of refinement. Suffice it to say that I was escorted to an apartment of the most sordid aspect, which my lawyer later informed me was one of the better rooms. There Detective Sergeant Gilligan interrogated me in an unpleasantly hectoring fashion, demanding a repetition of the narrative with which I obliged him immediately after the crime.”
