The swank of the place was more real than apparent. There was nothing shabby about it, but it didn’t give you an impression of being dolled up to impress the customers. I trailed around after Carla in her effort to locate Neya, and so got a look. It was one of the old four-story houses. On the ground floor were a reception room and a large office and a couple of small ones; one flight up, a long hall with a gray carpet, with doors leading into the private rooms for dancing lessons; two flights, the salle d’armes, with two medium-sized rooms, one big one, and the showers and locker rooms; and at the top, living quarters for Miltan and his wife. Those I didn’t see, then. Neya was finally flushed in the women’s locker room. Carla brought her out to where I was waiting in the hall and introduced me, and we shook hands. Neya Tormic said:
“Can you do something about this awful thing, Mr. Goodwin? The awful lie that man tells? Can you? You must! I was hoping that Nero Wolfe … my father …”
Her voice had a foreign purr in it, but she pronounced words a little better than Carla. God knows she didn’t look anything like Nero Wolfe, but of course a girl that looked like him would be something that you would either pass up entirely or pay a dime to look at in a side show. And then – um – he had adopted her. Her eyes were as black as Carla’s and she was about the same height, an inch over medium, but her chin, in fact her whole face, went more to a point, and the whole idea of her, the way she talked and stood and looked at you, was a queer combination of come-hither and don’t-touch-me. Having known her father a long while, I suppose I gave her the preliminary once-over with more interest than any other female I had ever met, and my first verdict was that she had real quality, both of mind and of matter, but that a definite judgment would have to wait for further analysis. She noticed me taking in her costume, a green robe, belted and carelessly closed in front, showing underneath a white canvas blouse and slacks, with gym shoes and rolled-up socks.
“I was giving a lesson,” she said. “Miltan wanted me to. He doesn’t want any fuss. Nobody does but that fool Driscoll. A liar like that – we would know how to deal with him in my country. Carla tells me that he – that my father has been told about me, and of course you have too. I do not wish anyone else to know. Why didn’t he come?”
“Nero Wolfe? Bad case of pernicious inertia. He never goes anywhere anytime for anybody.”
“I am his adopted daughter.”
“So I understand. And you’ve been here in New York a couple of months and his address is in the phone book.”
“He abandoned me. I was taught to hate him. I had no wish –”
“Until you got into trouble. I got the impression that you abandoned him at the age of three. But let’s skip that, I was sent here to keep you out of jail and time’s short. You look intelligent enough to know that I’ve got to have the truth and all of it. What were you doing with Driscoll’s coat?”
Her chin went up and her eyes withered me. “Nothing. I didn’t touch his coat.”
“What were you doing in the men’s locker room?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Is there any other girl around that looks like you?”
“No. Not enough – no.”
“Not enough for Driscoll to see her and think she was you?”
“No.”
“What were you doing yesterday afternoon at the time Driscoll says he saw you with his coat?”
“I was giving Mr. Ludlow a lesson.”
“Fencing?”
“Yes, épée.”
“In the large room?”
“No, the small one at the end.”
“Who is Mr. Ludlow?”
“He is a man who comes to take lessons with the épée.”
“Are you sure you were with him at the time Driscoll says he saw you frisking his coat?”
“Yes. Mr. Driscoll went to Miltan at twenty minutes to five. He said it had taken him about fifteen minutes to dress. I began the lesson with Mr. Ludlow at four o’clock, and we were still there when Miltan sent for me.”
“And you didn’t leave that room during that time?”
“No, I did not.”
Carla Lovchen put in, “But Neya! Do you forget that Belinda Reade says she saw you outside, in the hall, a little before half past four?”
“She lies,” Neya said calmly.
“But the man that was with her saw you too!”
“He also lies.”
My God, I thought, it’s a good thing Wolfe isn’t here to see his daughter put on an exhibition like this. It looked very much as if the family reunion would take place in jail.
“How about Ludlow?” I demanded. “Does he lie too?”
She hesitated, her brow wrinkling, and before she got her answer ready another voice broke in. It was a male voice, and its owner had appeared from around the corner which led to the stairs. He was about my age and size, with a good pair of light-colored eyes, and a gray suit of a distinctive weave hung on him in a way that made it obvious the fit had not been managed by waving a piece of chalk at a stock job.
“I was looking for you.” He came up to us, with a conventional smile. “Miltan wants you in the office. This ridiculous affair.”
Carla Lovchen said, “Mr. Ludlow, this is Mr. Goodwin.”
We shook, and I met his eyes and liked them, not on account of any candor or friendliness, but because they showed sense.
I inquired, “Ludlow?”
“Right. Percy Ludlow.”
“Miss Tormic gave you a fencing lesson yesterday afternoon?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you’re the man I want to see. Was she with you continuously from four o’clock till half past?”
His brow went up and he smiled. “Well, really. All I know about you is that your name is Goodwin.”
“I represent Miss Tormic. She has engaged Nero Wolfe. I’m his assistant.”
He glanced at her and caught her nod. “Well! Nero Wolfe? That ought to do it. I was told that Miss Tormic said yesterday that she was with me continuously.”
“Yeah. What do you say?”
His brow went up again. “I couldn’t very well call Miss Tormic a liar. Could I? Let’s go down to the office. Driscoll isn’t there yet, but he should be, any minute –”
“Then she was with you? You realize that in that case she can’t possibly be held on Driscoll’s charge?”
“Oh, yes, I quite realize that. But unfortunately there are those two people who claim to have seen her in the hall.” He pointed. “Right there, not ten feet from the door of the locker room. And of course Driscoll too.”
He was moving. I obstructed him. “Look here, Mr. Ludlow, if you’ll assure me that you’ll stick to it –”
“My dear chap! Assure you? This sort of thing must be handled – anyhow, a dozen or more people have been made acquainted with this charge against Miss Tormic, and whatever is said they should hear. To clear it up, you know.”
They were all moving, for the stairs, and I couldn’t obstruct all of them, so I went with the current. It was so loony that it dazed me. Carla looked worried and Ludlow looked bland. As for Neya, her attitude could have come only from the sublime assurance of innocence or the sublime asininity of a nincompoop, or mix it yourself. Here she had a witness who might have been wheedled into standing fast with a class A alibi and she wasn’t even bothering to toss him a suggestion. As I trailed them downstairs and entered the office with them, I was trying to figure out a method of enticing Driscoll down to 35th Street, for it certainly seemed likely it would come to that.
The office was the big room at the rear of the ground floor. There was a large red carpet and a couple of desks, and chairs scattered around. The walls were decorated with pictures of people dancing and fencing, or standing holding a sticker, with a large one of Miltan in some kind of a uniform, and with swords and daggers hanging here and there. I knew the picture was Miltan because Carla Lovchen took me across and introduced me to him and his wife. He was small and thin, next door to a runt, but wiry-looking, and had black eyes and hair and a moustache which pointed due east and west. He looked and acted harassed, and as soon as he shook hands with me darted off somewhere. His wife, in spite of her New York clothes and her 1938 hair-do, looked like one of those colored pictures in the National Geographic entitled “Peasant Woman of Wczibrrcy Leading a Bear to Church.” At that, she was handsome if you like the type, and she had shrewd eyes.