Tenth Commandment

9

I stood on the sidewalk in front of the Kipper townhouse on East 82nd Street, between Fifth and Madison. To the west I could see the Metropolitan Museum. To the east the street stretched away in an imposing facade of townhouses, embassies, consulates, and prestigious foundations. No garbage collection problems on this block. No litter. No graffiti.

The Kipper home was an impressive structure of grey stone with an entrance framed in wrought iron. There were large bow windows on the third and fourth floors, the glass curved. I wondered what it cost to replace a pane. Above the sixth floor was a heavily ornamented cornice, and above that was a mansard roof of tarnished copper.

A narrow alleyway separated the Kipper building from the next building east. It had an iron gate and bore a small polished brass sign: DELIVERIES. I wondered if I would be sent around to the tradespeople's entrance.

Despite Detective Stilton's advice, I had decided not to attempt to claim that my visit was concerned with Sol Kipper's insurance. That would surely be handled by investigators from the insurance company involved, and I had neither the documentation nor expertise to carry off the impersonation successfully.

I rang the bell outside the iron grille door. The man who opened the carved oaken inner door almost filled the frame. He was immense, one of the fattest men I have ever seen. He was neither white nor black, but a shade of beige.

He looked like the Michelin tyre man, or one of those inflated rubber dolls which, when pushed over, bobs upright again. But I didn't think he'd bob upright from a knockdown. It would require a derrick.

'Yes, sah?' he inquired. His voice was soft, liquid, with the lilt of the West Indies.

'My name is Joshua Bigg,' I said. 'I am employed by Tabatchnick. Orsini, Reilly, and Teitelbaum, who are Mrs Kipper's attorneys. I would appreciate a few minutes of Mrs Kipper's time, if she is at home.'

He stared at me with metallic eyes that bulged like the bowls of demitasse spoons. Apparently he decided I was not a potential assassin or terrorist, f o r. .

'Please to wait, sah,' he said. 'A m o m e n t. . '

He closed the door and I waited outside in the cold. True to his word, he was back in a moment and stepped down the short stairway to unlatch the iron door. He had unexpectedly dainty hands and feet, and moved in a slow, fastidious way as if he found physical action vulgar.

He led me into a tiled entrance hall that rose two floors and was large enough to accommodate a circus troupe. A wide floating staircase curved up to the left. There were double doors on both sides and a corridor that led to the rear of the house. The hall was decorated with live trees in pots and an oversized marble Cupid, his arrow aimed at me.

The butler took my hat and coat; I hung on to my briefcase. He then led me to the left, knocked once, opened the doors, and ushered me in.'

This was obviously not the formal living room; more like a family room or sitting room. It was impossible to make a chamber of that size cosy or intimate, but the decorator had tried by placing chairs and tables in groups. He only succeeded in making the place look like the card-room of a popular club. But it was cheerful enough, with bright colours, flower prints on the walls, and what to my untrained eye appeared to be an original Cezanne over the mantel.

There were two people in this cavern. As I walked towards them, the man rose to his feet, the woman remained seated, fitting a cigarette into a gold holder.

I repeated my name and those of my employers. The man shook my hand, a firm, dry grip.

'Mr Bigg,' he said. 'A pleasure. I am Godfrey Knurr.

This lady is Mrs Kipper.'

I set the briefcase I had been lugging all day on the floor and moved forward to light her cigarette.

'Ma'am,' I murmured, 'I'm happy to meet you.'

'Thank you,' she said, holding out a slender white hand.

'Won't you sit down, Mr Bigg? No, not there. That's Godfrey's chair.'

'Oh, Tippi,' he said in a bright, laughing voice. 'Any chair will do. I think there are enough of them.'

But I didn't take his chair. I selected one closer to the small fire in the grate and so positioned that I could look at both of them without turning.

'What a beautiful home you have, Mrs Kipper,' I said.

'Breathtaking.'

'More like Grand Central Station,' Knurr said in his ironic way. Then he said exactly what Perce Stilton had said: 'A terrible waste of space.'

Mrs Kipper made a sound, a short laugh that was almost a bark.

'You see, Mr Bigg,' she said, 'Mr Knurr is a minister, the Reverend Godfrey Knurr. He does a great deal of work with the poor, and he's hinted several times that it would be an act of Christian charity if I allowed a mob of his ragamuffins to live in my lovely home.'

'Beginning with me,' Knurr said solemnly, and they both laughed. I smiled politely.

'Ma'am,' I said, 'I hope you'll pardon me for not phoning in advance, but I was in the neighbourhood on other company business and took the chance of calling on you. If you wish to confirm that I am who I claim to be, I suggest you phone Mr Tabatchnick.'

'Oh, I don't think that will be necessary,' she said lazily.

'How is dear Leonard?'

'Leopold, ma'am. In good health. Busy as ever.'

'With that odd hobby of his? What is it — postage stamps or breeding Yorkies or something?'

'Tropical fish, ma'am,' I said, passing her tests.

'Of course,' she said. 'Tropical fish. What a strange hobby for an attorney. You'd think he would prefer more energetic pets.'

'Some of them are quite aggressive, Mrs Kipper.

Belligerent, in fact.'

I was conscious of the Reverend Knurr regarding me narrowly, as if he were wondering if my words implied more than they meant. I hadn't intended them to, of course. I am not that devious.

'Well,' Mrs Kipper said, 'I'm sure you didn't call to discuss Mr Tabatchnick's fish. Just why are you here, Mr Bigg?'

'It concerns your late husband's estate, ma'am,' I said, and glanced towards Godfrey Knurr.

'Tippi, would you prefer I not be present?' he asked. 'If it's something confidential — family matters — I can adjourn to the kitchen and gossip with Chester and Perdita for a while.'

'Nonsense,' she said. 'I'm sure it's nothing you shouldn't hear. Mr Bigg, Godfrey has been a close friend for many years, and has been a great help since my husband's death. You may speak freely in front of him.'

'Yes, ma'am,' I said submissively. 'There is nothing confidential about it. At present, your attorneys are engaged in striking a tentative total value for your late husband's estate. This includes stocks, bonds, miscellaneous investments, personal property, and so forth. The purpose of this is for filing with the proper Federal and State authorities for computation of the estate tax.'

'Godfrey?' she asked, looking to him.

'Yes,' he said, 'that's correct. Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's. In this case, Tippi, I'm afraid you're going to be unpleasantly surprised by what Caesar demands.'

'Well, we'd like our computation of assets to be as accurate as possible,' I continued. 'It sometimes happens that the IRS and State Tax Bureau make estimates of the value of an estate that are, uh, in variance with those of the attorneys submitting the will to probate.'

'You mean they're higher,' Pastor Knurr said with his rueful laugh.

'Frequently,' I agreed. 'Naturally, as the attorneys of record, we hope to keep estate taxes to their legal minimum. I have been assigned the task of determining the value of this home, its furnishings, and your late husband's personal possessions.'

Knurr settled back in his armchair. He took a pipe and tobacco pouch from the side pocket of his jacket. He began to pack the pipe bowl, poking the tobacco down with a blunt forefinger.

'This is interesting,' he said. 'How do you determine the value of a house like this, Mr Bigg?'

That one was easy.

'Current market value,' I said promptly. 'How much you could expect to receive if it was put up for sale. Other factors would be the current property tax assessment and comparison with the value of other houses in the neighbourhood. When it comes to furnishings, things get a little more complicated. We would like to base our evaluation on the original purchase cost, minus depreciation — to keep the total value as low as possible, you understand — but the IRS usually insists on replacement value. And that, in these inflationary times, can sometimes be much more than the original cost.'

'I should think so,' Mrs Kipper said sharply. 'Why, some of my beautiful things couldn't be bought for double what I paid for them. And some simply can't be replaced at any price.'

'Tippi,' Knurr said, lighting his pipe with deep drags,

'don't tell the tax people that! '

I paused, looking at him, while he got his pipe evenly lighted to his satisfaction. He used three matches in the process. His tobacco smoke smelled of fruit and wine.

The Reverend Godfrey Knurr was a few inches short of six feet. He was a stalwart man, bulging the shoulders and sleeves of his hairy tweed jacket. He wore grey flannel slacks and oxblood moccasins. A checked gingham shirt was worn without a tie, but buttoned all the way up. Still, it revealed a strong, corded neck. He had square hands with short fingers.

His hair and beard were slate-coloured. The beard was not full; it was moustache and chin covering, cut straight across at the bottom. It was trimmed carefully around full, almost rosy lips. He had steady, brown, no-nonsense eyes, and a nose that was slightly bent. It was not a conventionally handsome face, but attractive in a craggy, masculine way. A lived-in-face. His age, I estimated, was in the early forties, which would make him about ten years younger than Mrs Kipper. He moved well, almost athletically, and had an erect carriage and forceful gestures.

I turned my attention back to the widow.

'My assignment,' I said, 'will necessitate my taking a complete inventory of the furnishings, I'm afraid. I don't expect to do that today, of course. It may take several days, I'll do my best not to inconvenience you, ma'am, and I'll try to be as unobtrusive as possible while I'm here.

Today, I hope merely to make a preliminary survey, count the number of rooms, and plan how best to proceed with the inventory. Is that acceptable to you, Mrs Kipper?'

'Damn!' she said fretfully. 'I wish this was all over with.'

She took another cigarette from a porcelain box on the table beside her. I sprang to my feet and rushed to light it.

'Thank you,' she said, looking at me amusedly. 'You're very polite. You don't smoke?'

'No, ma'am.'

'Drink?'

'Occasionally,' I said. 'Wine mostly.'

'For thy stomach's sake,' Knurr rumbled.

'Would you care for a glass of wine now, Mr Bigg?'

'Oh no, thank you, Mrs Kipper. I'd really like to get started on my preliminary inspection.'

'In a minute or two,' she said. 'How long have you been with Mr Tabatchnick?'

'About six years.'

'Married?'

'No, ma'am.'

'No?' she said, widening her eyes theatrically. 'Well, we'll have to do something about that!'

'Now, Tippi,' Godfrey Knurr said, groaning, 'don't start playing matchmaker again.'

'What's so wrong with that?' she flashed out at him.

'Sol and I were so happy together, I want everyone to be that happy.'

Godfrey Knurr winked at me.

'Watch out for us, Mr Bigg,' he said with his brisk laugh 114

'Tippi brings them together and I marry them, it's a partnership.'

'Oh, Godfrey,' she murmured, 'you make it all sound so — so coldblooded.'

'Cold blood — hot marriage,' he said. 'An ancient Greek proverb.'

'Which you just made up,' she said.

'That's right,' he allowed equably, and now they both laughed.

'I wonder if I might — ' I started.

'Well, if you won't have a drink, Mr Bigg,' the widow said, 'I think the Reverend and I shall. The usual, Godfrey?'

'Please,' he said.

I looked at him and I thought he shrugged a bit in resignation.

I did not believe Mrs Kipper was being deliberately obstructive. She would let me inspect her home — in her own good time. She wanted to make it perfectly clear to me that she was mistress of this house, and her wish was law, no matter how foolish or whimsical others might think her. So I waited patiently while drinks were served.

Mrs Kipper pushed a button at the end of a long extension cord. We waited in silence for a moment before the obese butler came stepping quietly into the room.

'Mom?' he asked.

'Drinks, Chester,' she said. 'The usual for the Reverend and me. Mr Bigg isn't indulging.'

'Yes, mom,' he said gravely and moved out silently. For his size, he was remarkably light on his feet. His movements were almost delicate.

While he was gone, Mrs Kipper began talking about the preview of an art exhibit at a Madison Avenue gallery she had attended the previous evening. Although she looked at me occasionally, ostensibly including me in the conversation, most of her remarks were directed to Knurr. In other words, she did not ignore me, but made little effort to treat me as other than a paid employee to whom one could be polite without being cordial. That was all right; it gave me a chance to observe the lady.

She was silver blonde, pretty in a flashy way, with her hair up and meticulously coiffed. Not a loose end or straggle. She had a really excellent, youthful figure: slender arms and smashing legs, artfully displayed by her short, sleeveless shift of buttery brown velvet. She had a small, perfect nose, and cat's eyes with a greenish tinge.

Her thin lips had been cleverly made up with two shades of rouge to appear fuller.

It was a crisp face, unlined, with tight skin over prominent cheekbones. I wondered if that seamless face and perfect nose owed anything to a plastic surgeon's skill.

She kept her sharp chin slightly elevated, and even when laughing she seemed to take care lest something shatter.

I thought she would make a brutal and vindictive enemy.

Chester came in with the drinks. They appeared to be a Scotch and soda for Knurr and a dry martini straight up for Mrs Kipper. She spoke before the butler left the room.

'Chester,' she said, 'Mr Bigg wishes to inspect the house, top to bottom. Will you escort him about, please? Show him anything he wishes to see?'

'Yes, mom,' the butler said.

I rose hastily to my feet, gripping my briefcase.

'Mrs Kipper,' I said, 'thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I appreciate your co-operation. Mr Knurr, it's been a pleasure meeting you.'

He stood up to shake my hand.

'Hope to see you again, Mr Bigg,' he said, 'Good luck on your inventory.'

'Thank you, sir.'

I followed the mountainous bulk of Chester out of the room. He closed the doors behind us, but not before I heard the laughter, quickly hushed, of Mrs Tippi Kipper

and the Reverend Godfrey Knurr.

The butler paused in the entrance hall and turned to face me.

'You wish to see all the rooms, sah?'

'Please. I'm going to be taking an inventory of the furnishings. Not today, but during several visits. So you'll be seeing a lot of me. I'll try not to be too much of a nuisance.'

He looked at me puzzled.

'To figure the value of the estate,' I explained. 'For taxes.'

'Ah, yes,' the big man said, nodding. 'Many beautiful, expensive things. You shall see. This way, sah.'

He led the way along the corridor at the rear of the hall.

He stopped before a conventional door and swung it open.

Within was a sliding steel gate, and beyond that a small elevator. Chester opened the gate, allowed me to enter, then followed me in. He slid the gate closed; the outer door closed automatically, and I immediately became conscious of his sweet cologne. The butler pressed a button, a light came on in the elevator, and we began to ascend, slowly.

'How long have you been with the Kippers?' I asked curiously.

'Seventeen years, sah.'

'Then you knew the first Mrs Kipper?'

'I did indeed, sah. A lovely lady. Things have — '

But then he stopped and said nothing more, staring straight ahead at the steel gate.

The elevator halted abruptly. Chester pushed the gate aside and opened the outer door. He stepped out and held the door open for me.

'The sixth floor, sah.'

I looked around.

'The main staircase doesn't come up this high?'

'It does not, sah. The main staircase stops on the fifth floor. But there is a back staircase, smaller, that comes all the way up. Also the elevator, of course.'

I opened my briefcase, took out my notebook, and prepared to make what I hoped would appear to be official jottings.

This was the party room Detective Stilton had described to me, a single chamber that occupied the front half of the building. I noted bistro tables and chairs, a giant TV set, hi-fi equipment, a clear central area obviously used for dancing, a movie projector, etc.

'This room is used for entertaining?' I asked.

'Quite so, sah.'

'And those two doors?'

'That one to the rear staircase, and that one to a lavatory,' he said, pronouncing it la vor atree.

'Mrs Kipper does a lot of entertaining?'

'Not since Mr Kipper's passing, sah. But she has said she will now begin again. A buffet dinner is planned for next week.'

I wondered if I detected a note of disapproval in his voice, but when I glanced at him, he was staring into space with those opaque eyes, expressionless as a blind man's.

I walked towards the rear of the room. Two sets of French doors opened on to the terrace. I could see the potted plants, trees, and outdoor furniture Stilton had mentioned. I tried the knob of one of the doors. It was locked.

'Mrs Kipper has ordered these doors to be kept locked, sah,' Chester said in sepulchral tones. 'Since the accident.'

'Could I take a quick look outside, please? Just for a moment?'

He hesitated, then said, 'As you wish, sah.'

He had a heavy ring of keys attached to a thin chain fastened to his belt. He selected a brass key with no fumbling about and unlocked the door. He followed me out on to the terrace. I wandered around, making quick notes: 4 otdr tbls, 8 mtl chrs, cktl tbl, 2 chse lngs, 2 endtbls, plnts, trees, etc.

I walked to the rear of the terrace. The cement wall had recently been repainted.

'This is where the accident happened?' I asked.

He nodded dumbly. I thought he had paled, but it may have been the hard outdoor sunlight on his face.

I leaned over cautiously and looked down. I didn't care what Perce had said, it seemed to me I was a long way up, and no one could survive a fall from that height.

Directly below was the ground floor patio, with more outdoor furniture, and in the rear a small garden now browned and desolate. The patio was paved with tiles, as described. I could see where Sol Kipper had landed, because bright new tiles had replaced those broken when he hit.

I think that was the first time I really comprehended what I was doing. I was not merely trying to solve an abstract puzzle; I was trying to determine how a human being had met his death. That withered garden, those smashed tiles, the drop through empty space — now it all seemed real to me: the dark figure pinwheeling down, arms and legs outspread, wind whipping his clothing, ground rushing up, sickening i m p a c t. .

'Did he cry out?' I asked in a low voice.

'No, sah,' Chester said in a voice as quiet as mine. 'We heard nothing until the poor man hit.'

I shivered.

'Cold out here,' I said. 'Let's go in.'

Apparently Chester didn't enjoy using stairs, up or down, for we rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

'On this floor,' Chester said, 'we have the master bedroom, with two bathrooms, and Mrs Kipper's dressing room. Also, the maid has her apartment on this floor, the better to be able to assist Mrs Kipper. In addition, Mr Kipper had a small private office on this floor. As you can see, sah, the main staircase stops here.'

We went through all the rooms, or at least looked in at them, with me busily taking notes. I was particularly interested in the master bedroom, an enormous chamber with furniture in cream-coloured French provincial decorated with painted vines and flowers. Two bathrooms were connected to the bedroom, and another door led to Mrs Kipper's dressing room.

This was a squarish area with a full-length, three-way mirror; a chaise longue covered in pink satin; a littered dresser, the mirror surrounded by electric bulbs; an antique phone on an ormolu-mounted table; and a brass serving cart with a small selection of bottles, glasses, and bar accessories. Two walls of the room were louvred folding doors.

'Mrs Kipper's wardrobe, sah,' Chester said. 'Do you wish to see?'

'Oh no,' I said hastily. 'That won't be necessary.'

'A hundred pairs of shoes,' he remarked drily.

There were two unused rooms on the fifth floor. One, Chester explained, had originally been the nursery, and the other had been the children's playroom.

'Before your time, I imagine,' I said.

'Yes, sah,' Chester said gravely. 'My father was in service with the Kipper family at that time.'

I looked at him with new interest.

'What is your last name, Chester?' I asked.

'Heavens,' he said.

I thought at first that was an exclamation of surprise, but then he said, 'Chester Heavens, sah,' and I knew that we had something else in common.

'The maid is Perdita Schug,' he continued, 'and Mrs Bertha Neckin is our cook and housekeeper. That is our permanent staff, sah. We three have our apartments here.

In addition, the house is serviced by a twice-a-week cleaning crew and a janitor who comes in for a few hours each morning for garbage removal, maintenance chores,

and jobs of that nature. Temporary staff are employed as needed for special occasions: large dinners, parties, dances, and so forth.'

'Thank you, Chester,' I said. Then, to convince him I was not interested in information or gossip extraneous to my assignment, I said, 'The furnishings in the apartments of the permanent staff — are they owned by Mrs Kipper?'

'Oh yes, sah. The furniture is, yes. We have a few personal possessions. Pictures, radios, bric-a-brac — things of that sort.'

'I understand,' I said, making quick notes.

We descended via elevator to the fourth floor. This level, Chester told me, was totally uninhabited. But all the rooms were furnished, all the doors unlocked. There were four bedrooms (each with its own bathroom) that had been used by the Kipper children. In addition, there were two large guest bedrooms, also with baths. There was also a sewing room, a completely equipped darkroom that had been used by one of the Kipper sons with an interest in photography, and one room that seemed designed and furnished with no particular activity in mind.

'What is this room?' I asked.

'Just a room, sah,' Chester said casually, and I found myself repeating silently what Detective Stilton and Godfrey Knurr had already said: 'A terrible waste of space.'

The third floor appeared to be a little more lived-in. It included a comfortable, wood-panelled library-den which, Chester said, had frequently been used by the late Sol Kipper to entertain old friends at pinochle or gin rummy games, or just to have a brandy and cigar after dinner.

Also on this floor was the apartment of the cook-housekeeper, Mrs Bertha Neckin. It was a snug suite with bright Indian rugs on polished parquet floors and a lot of chintz.

Framed photographs were everywhere, mostly of children.

There were two more guest bedrooms on the third floor and one long chamber across the front of the house illuminated by two bow windows. This was called the

'summer room' and was furnished with white wicker, circus and travel posters on the walls and, at one end, a little stage for the production of puppet shows, an enthusiasm, Chester told me, of all the Kipper children when they were young. I liked that room.

The second floor consisted of a large, mirrored ballroom, with a raised platform at one end for a band or entertainment. Straight chairs lined the walls, and there were connecting bathrooms and a small dressing room for the ladies.

Chester Heavens had his apartment on this floor. It consisted of a bedroom, small study, and bathroom. The furnishings revealed no more than the man himself. Everything was clean, neat, squared away. Almost precise. No photographs. Few books. A radio and a small, portable TV set. The paintings on the walls were empty landscapes.

'Very nice,' I said politely.

Then I asked the butler if the house was ever filled, if all those bedrooms were ever used. He said they had been, when the first Mrs Kipper was alive, during the holiday season. Then all the Kipper children and their children and sometimes cousins, aunts, and uncles came to spend a week or longer. There were big dinners, dances, parties.

There was confusion, noise, and laughter.

'But not after Mr Kipper remarried?' I asked.

'No, sah,' he said, his face expressionless. 'The family no longer gathers.'

On the ground floor, in addition to the entrance hall and sitting room which I had already seen, were the formal living room, dining room, kitchen and pantry. I took a quick look through the French doors of the dining room at the patio. It looked even more forlorn than it had from six floors up.

Then Chester Heavens led me back along the corridor to the kitchen and pantry area. I had thought the kitchen in the Stonehouse apartment was large; this one was tremendous, with a floor area that must have measured 15 x 25 feet. It looked like a hotel or restaurant kitchen, with stainless steel fixtures and appliances, and utensils of copper and cast iron hanging from overhead racks.

There were four doors leading from the kitchen. One was the entrance from the corridor which we used. A swinging door led to the dining room. A rear door, glass panelled, allowed access to the patio. The fourth door was heavily bolted and chained, and had a peephole. Chester told me it opened on to the alleyway and was used for deliveries.

'Mrs Neckin is off today,' the butler said in his soft voice, 'but perhaps you would care to meet the other member of our staff.'

He led the way into the pantry. It was large enough to accommodate a square oak table and four high-backed oak chairs. Seated in one of the chairs, leafing idly through the afternoon Post, was a vibrant young lady who looked up pertly as we entered.

'Mr Bigg,' Chester said formally, 'may I present our maid, Miss Perdita Schug. Perdita, this gentleman is Mr Joshua Bigg. Stand up, girl, when you're meeting a guest of this house.'

She rose lazily to her feet, smiling at me.

'How do you do, Miss Schug,' I said.

'I do all right,' she said saucily. 'And you can call me Perdita. Everyone else does. Except Chester here, and I won't tell you what he calls me!'

He looked at her with the first emotion I had seen him exhibit — disgust.

'Watch your tongue, girl,' he said wrathfully, and in reply she stuck out her tongue at him.

He turned away. I nodded at Perdita, smiling, and started to follow the butler. Then a buzzer sounded and I 123

heard a sharp click. Chester looked up at the monitor mounted on the wall. It had two rows of indicators in a glass case. When a servant was summoned from anywhere in the house, the monitor buzzed and an indicator clicked up to show a white square. A label was pasted on the glass above each square showing in which room the button had been pushed. I counted the labels. Thirty-two.

'They'll want their tea now, I expect,' Chester said.

'Excuse me a moment, Mr Bigg. Get the tray ready, Perdita.'

I was standing in the pantry entrance. There was plenty of room, but Perdita brushed closely by.

'Pardon me,' she said blithely, 'but duty calls.'

She took a plate from the refrigerator and whisked away the damp cloth covering it. The sandwiches were crustless and about the size of postage stamps. She put the plate on a dolly on a large silver serving tray, then added a silver teapot, china cups and saucers, spoons, silver creamer and sugar bowl. She turned the light up under a teakettle on the range and, while the water was coming to a boil, dumped four teaspoons of tea into the pot, making no effort to measure it exactly. All her movements were deft and sure.

Chester returned and examined the tray.

'Napkins,' he snapped.

Perdita opened the cupboard and added two small, pink linen napkins to the tray.

'Mr Bigg,' the butler said to me, 'Mrs Kipper asked if you were still in the house, and when I said you were, she requested that I inquire if you would care for a cup of tea or coffee.'

'That's very kind of her,' I said. 'Coffee would be fine.

If it isn't too much trouble.'

'No trouble, sah,' he assured me. 'Perdita, make enough for all of us. I'll be back as soon as I've served.'

The copper kettle was steaming now, and the butler filled the teapot. Then he lifted the tray up before him with 124

both hands. He had to carry it extended at some distance; his stomach intruded. He moved down the corridor at a stately pace.

Perdita was no more than an inch or two taller than I. A dark, flashing button of a woman. Shiny black hair cut as short and impudently as a flapper's. Sparkling eyes. Her long tongue kept darting between small white teeth and wet lips. I watched her as she assembled our belowstairs treat.

She was formed like a miniature Venus. Almost as plump as that marble Cupid in the entrance hall. Creamy skin. In a steamy fantasy, I saw her wearing an abbreviated satin skirt, tiny lace apron and cap, pumps, a shocking decolletage — the classic French maid from the pages of La Vie Parisienne. She frightened me with her animal energy, but I was attracted to her.

She came into the pantry bringing a plate of macaroons.

She fell into the chair across the table from me. She put an elbow on the tabletop, cupped her chin in a palm. She stared at me, eyes glittering.

'You're cute,' she said.

'Thank you, Perdita,' I said, trying to laugh. 'You're very kind.'

'I am not kind,' she protested. 'I'm just telling you the truth. I always say what I feel — straight out. Don't you?'

' W e l l. . not always,' I said judiciously. 'Sometimes that's difficult to do without hurting people.'

'What do you think of me — straight out?'

I was rescued by the return of Chester Heavens. He sat down heavily at the oak table. He ate three macaroons swiftly: one, two, three.

'The coffee is ready,' he said. 'Perdita, will you do the honours?'

She rose, passed behind his chair. She stroked the back of his sleekly combed hair. He reached up to knock her hand away, but she was already in the kitchen.

'Please excuse the girl, sah,' he said to me. 'She has a certain wildness of spirit.'

Perdita returned with the percolator and we sat having our coffee and macaroons. I wondered how to bring them around to a discussion of Sol Kipper's plunge.

'Sad times, sah,' Chester said, wagging his big head dolefully. 'Mr Kipper was the best of marsters.'

'A doll,' Perdita said.

'It was a tragedy,' I said. 'I don't know the details, but it must have been very distressing to all of you.'

Then they started reliving those horror-filled moments beginning when they heard the crash and thump on the patio. What they told I had already learned from Percy Stilton. Like him, I was convinced they were telling as much of the truth as they knew.

'And there were only the four of you in the house when it happened?' I asked.

'Five, sah,' Chester said. 'Counting poor Mr Kipper.'

'The janitor wasn't here then?'

'Oh no, sah. It was in the afternoon. He comes only in the morning.'

'Terrible,' I said. 'What an awful experience. And Mrs Kipper fainted, you say?'

'Just fell away,' Perdita said, nodding. 'Just crumpled right up. And Mrs Neckin started screeching.'

'Weeping, girl,' the butler said reprovingly.

'Whatever,' the maid said. 'She was making enough noise.'

'You all must have been terribly upset,' I said, 'when you heard the noise, rushed out, and saw him.'

The butler sighed.

'A bad few moments, sah,' he said. 'Girl, are there more macaroons? If not, there is a pecan ring. Bring that. Yes, sah, it was a bad few moments. The marster was dead, Mrs Kipper had fainted, Mrs Neckin was wailing — it was a trouble to know what to do.'

'But then the Reverend Knurr rang the bell?' I prompted.

'Exactly, sah. That gentleman waiting outside was our salvation. He took charge, Mr Bigg. Called the police department, revived Mrs Kipper, moved us all into the sitting room and served us brandy. I don't know what we would have done without him.'

'He seems very capable,' I said, my attention wandering because Perdita had brought the pecan ring to the table.

She was standing next to me, cutting it into wedges. Her soft hip was pressed against my arm.

'He is that, sah,' Chester said, selecting the wedge with the most pecans on top and shoving it into his mouth. 'A fine gentleman.'

'Oh fine,' Perdita said, giggling. 'Just fine!'

'Watch your tongue, girl,' he said warningly again, and again she stuck out her tongue at him. It seemed to be a ritual.

'I gather the Reverend is a frequent visitor,' I said musingly, pouring myself another half-cup of coffee.

'Where is his church?'

'He does not have a regular parish, sah,' the butler said.

'He provides personal counselling and works with the poor young in Greenwich Village. Street gangs and such.'

'But he is a frequent visitor?' I repeated.

'Oh yes. For several years.' Here the butler leaned close to me and whispered, 'I do believe Mrs Kipper is now taking religious instruction, sah. From Reverend Knurr.

Since the death of her husband.'

'The shock,' I said.

'The shock,' he agreed, nodding. 'For then it was brought home to her the shortness of life on this earth, and the eternity of life everlasting. And only those who seek the love of the Great God Jehovah shall earn the blessing thereof. Yea, it is written that only from suffering and turmoil of the spirit shall we earn true redemption and forgiveness for our sins.'

Then I knew what his passion was.

The monitor buzzer sounded again and I welcomed it. I stood up.

'I really must be going,' I said. 'Chester, I appreciate your invaluable assistance. As I told you, I shall be back again. I will call first. If it is inconvenient for you or Mrs Kipper, please tell me and I'll schedule another time.'

Perdita preceded me along the corridor to the entrance hall. I watched her move. She helped me on with my coat.

'Bundle up,' she said, pulling my collar tight. 'Keep warm.'

'Yes,' I said. 'Thank you.'

'Thursday is my day off,' she said.

'Oh?'

'We all have our private phones,' she said. 'I'm in the book. Schug. S-c-h-u-g.'

Back home that evening in my favourite chair, eating a spaghetti Mug-o-Lunch, I scribbled notes to add to the Kipper file and jotted a rough report of my conversations with Dr Stolowitz and Ardis Peacock.

I was interrupted in my work by a phone call. I was delighted to hear the voice of Detective Percy Stilton. His calling proved he was sincere in his promise to co-operate.

I was almost effusive in my greetings.

'Whoa,' he said. 'Slow down. I got nothing great to tell you. I checked on Marty Reape. Like I figured, they closed it out as an accident. No witnesses came forward to say otherwise. What did they expect? In this town, no one wants to get involved. One interesting thing though: he had a sheet. Nothing heavy or they would have pulled his PI licence. But he was charged at various and sundry times.

Simple assault; charges dropped. Attempted extortion; charges dropped. Trespassing; no record of disposal. That tell you anything?'

'No,' I said.

'Well, I asked around,' Perce said. 'This Reape apparently was a cruddy character. But they didn't find 128

any great sums of money on the corpse. And they didn't find anything that looked like legal evidence of any kind.

And that's about it. You got anything?'

I told him how I had gone to Reape's office looking for the evidence, left out how I had been conned by Mr Ng; I described the mourners at The Dirty Shame. He laughed.

I told him I thought that someone had got to Blanche Reape before me, because she had money to pay the office rent and pick up the bill for the funeral party.

' Well. . yes,' Stilton said cautiously. 'That listens. I can buy that. If the case was still open, I'd go over and lean on the lady and see if I could find out where those greenies came from. But I can't, Josh. She sounds like a wise bimbo, and if I throw my weight around, she might squeal.

Then it gets back to the brass, and my loot wants to know what I'm doing working on a closed case. Then my ass is out on a branch, just hanging there. You understand?'

'Of course I understand,' I said, and told him I didn't think there was anything we could do about Mrs Reape other than rifling her apartment in hopes that she still had the evidence that got her husband killed. And burglary was out of the question.

Then I told Stilton about my afternoon visit to the Kipper townhouse. He listened carefully, never interrupting until I mentioned that I had asked Chester Heavens if Sol Kipper had cried out while he was falling, and the butler said they hadn't heard a thing until the awful sounds of the body thumping to earth.

'Son of a bitch,' Percy said again.

'What's wrong?' I asked.

'Nothing,' he said, 'except that I should have asked that question and didn't. You're okay, Josh.'

I was pleased. I finished my report and we agreed I had discovered nothing that shed any additional light.

'Except that religious angle,' Perce said. 'Knurr being a 129

minister and that fat butler sounding like a religious fanatic.'

'What does that mean?' I asked.

'Haven't the slightest,' he admitted cheerfully. 'But it's interesting. You're going to keep on with it, Josh?'

'Oh sure,' I said. 'I'm going back there as often as I can.

I want to talk to the cook-housekeeper, and I'd like to look around a little more. How do you like my cover story?'

'Fantastic,' he said. 'You're becoming a hell of a liar.'

'Thank you,' I said faintly.