Too Many Cooks

16

THE TRADITION WAS VIOLATED, and I overheard a few grumbles about it, in the big parlor before the door to the dining room was thrown open and Louis Servan appeared on the threshold to invite us in. Chiefly, though, as they sipped sherry or vermouth in scattered groups, the grumbles were on another subject: the decree that had been issued that none of them was to leave the jurisdiction of West Virginia until permission had been given by the authorities. Domenico Rossi orated about it, making it plenty loud enough to be heard by Barry Tolman, who stood by the radio looking worried but handsome; Ramsey Keith bellowed his opinion of the outrage; while Jerome Berin said God above, it was barbarous, but they would be fools to let it interfere with digestion. Albert Malfi, looking a little subdued but with darts still in his eyes, seemed to have decided that courting Mamma Mondor was a sensible first step in his campaign for election in 1942; Raymond Liggett sat on the couch conversing quietly with Marko Vukcic. My friend Tolman got it right in the neck, or rather he didn’t get it at all, when Constanza Berin came in and he went up to her looking determined, and spoke. She failed to see or hear him so completely that for a second I thought he wasn’t there at all, I had just imagined it.

A couple of minutes before we started for the dining room Dina Laszio entered. The noise died down. Rossi, her father, hurried over to her, and not far behind him was Vukcic; then several others went up to pay their respects to the widow. She resembled a grieving widow about as much as I resemble a whirling dervish, but of course it can’t be expected that every time a woman packs for a little trip with her husband she will take weeds along in case he happens to get bumped off. And I couldn’t very well disapprove of her showing up at the feast, since I knew that Nero Wolfe had requested Servan to see her personally and insist on it.

At the table I was next to Constanza again, which was tolerable. Wolfe was at Servan’s right. Vukcic was on the other side of Dina Laszio, down a “ways. Liggett and Malfi were directly across from me, next to each other. Berin was across from Wolfe, on Servan’s left, which seemed to me quite an honor for a guy just out of jail, and next to him was Clay Ashley, not making much of a success of attempts to appear affable. The others were here and there, with the meager supply of ladies spotted at intervals. On each plate when we sat down was an engraved menu:

LES QUINZE MAITRES

Kanawha Spa, West Virginia,

Thursday, April 8th, 1937.

AMERICAN DINNER

Oysters Baked in the Shell

Terrapin Maryland Beaten Biscuits

Pan Broiled Young Turkey

Rice Croquettes with Quince Jelly

Lima Beans in Cream Sally Lunn

Avocado Todhunter

Pineapple Sherbet Sponge Cake

Wisconsin Dairy Cheese Black Coffee

As the waiters, supervised by Moulton, smoothly brought and took, Louis Servan surveyed the scene with solemn and anxious dignity. The first course should have helped to allay the anxiety, for the oysters were so plump and savory, not to mention aromatic, that it seemed likely they had been hand-fed on peanuts and blueberries. They were served with ceremony and a dash of pomp. As the waiters finished distributing the enormous tins, each holding a dozen oysters, they stood back in a line against one of the screens-the one which forty-eight hours previously had concealed the body of Phillip Laszio-and the door to the pantry hall opened to admit a brown-skinned cook in immaculate white cap and apron. He came forward a few paces, looking embarrassed enough to back right out again, but Servan stood up and beckoned to him and then turned to the table and announced to the gathering, “I wish to present to you Mr. Hyacinth Brown, the fish chef of Kanawha Spa. The baked oysters we are about to eat is his. You will judge whether it is worthy of the honor of being served to Les Quinze Maitres. Mr. Brown wishes me to tell you that he appreciates that honor.-Isn’t that so, Brown?”

“Yes, sir. You said it.”

There was a ripple of applause. Brown looked. more embarrassed than ever, bowed, and turned and went. The masters lifted forks and waded in, and the rest of us followed suit. There were grunts and murmurs of appreciation. Rossi called something across the length of the table. Pierre Mondor stated with quiet authority, “Superb. Extreme oven?” Servan nodded gravely, and the forks played on.

With the terrapin the performance was repeated, this time the introduction being accorded to Crabtree; and when the course was finished there was a near riot of enthusiasm and it was demanded that Crabtree reappear. Most of them got up to shake his hand, and he wasn’t embarrassed at all, though he was certainly pleased. Two of them came in with the turkey. One was Grant, with wrinkled face and gray kinky hair, and the other was a tall black one that I didn’t know, since he hadn’t been at the party Wednesday night. I never tasted better turkey, but the other servings had been generous and my capacity limited me to one portion. Those guys eating were like a woman packing a trunk-it’s not a question of capacity but of how much she has to put in. Not to mention the claret they washed it down with. They were getting merrier as they went along, and even old Servan was sending happy smiles around.

Unquestionably it was first class fodder. I went slow on the wine. My head was fuzzy anyhow, and if I was going to be called on to save Wolfe’s life again I might need what wits I had left.

There was nothing strained about the atmosphere, it was just a nice party with everyone well filled and the smell of good coffee and brandy in front of us, when finally, a little after ten o’clock, Wolfe arose to start his speech. He looked more like the plaintiff in a suit for damages than an after-dinner speaker, and he was certainly aware of it, but it didn’t seem to bother him. We all got our chairs moved around to face him more comfortably and got settled into silence. He began in an easy informal tone:

“Mr. Servan, Ladies, Masters, Fellow Guests. I feel a little silly. Under different circumstances it might be both instructive and amusing for you, at least some of you, to listen to a discussion of American contributions to la haute cuisine, and it might be desirable to use what persuasiveness I can command to convince you that those contributions are neither negligible nor meager. But when I accepted an invitation to offer you such a discussion, which greatly pleased and flattered me, I didn’t realize how unnecessary it would be at the moment scheduled for its delivery. It is delightful to talk about food, but infinitely more delightful to eat it; and we have eaten. A man once declared to me that one of the keenest pleasures in life was to close his eyes and dream of beautiful women, and when I suggested that it would be still more agreeable to open his eyes and look at them, he said not at all, for the ones he dreamed about were all beautiful, far more beautiful than any his eye ever encountered. Similarly it might be argued that if I am eloquent the food I talk to you about may be better than the food you have eaten; but even that specious excuse is denied me. I can describe, and pay tribute to, some superlative American dishes, but I can’t surpass the oysters and terrapin and turkey which were so recently there”-he indicated the table-“and are now here.” With a gentle palm he delicately patted the appropriate spot.

They applauded. Mondor cried, “Bien dit!” Servan beamed.

Properly speaking, he hadn’t started the speech yet, for that wasn’t in it. Now he started. For the first ten minutes or so I was uneasy. There was nothing in the world I would enjoy more than watching Nero Wolfe wallowing in discomfiture, but not in the presence of outsiders. When that happy time came, which it never had yet, I wanted it to be a special command performance for Archie Goodwin and no one else around. And I was uneasy because it seemed quite possible that the hardships on the train and loss of sleep and getting shot at might have upset him so that he would forget the darned speech, but after the first ten minutes I saw there was nothing to worry about. He was sailing along. I took another sip of brandy and relaxed.

By the time he was half through I began to worry about something else. I glanced at my wrist. It was getting late. Charleston was only sixty miles away, and Tolman had said it was a good road and could easily be made in an hour and a half. Knowing how complicated the program was, it was my opinion that there wasn’t much chance of getting away that night anyhow, but it would have ruined the setup entirely if anything had happened to Saul. So my second big relief came when the greenjacket from the hall entered softly from the parlor, as he had been instructed, and gave me the high sign. I sidled out of my chair with as little disturbance as possible and tiptoed out.

There in the small parlor sat a little guy with a big nose, in need of a shave, with an old brown cap hanging on his knee. He stood up and stuck out his hand and I took it with a grin.

“Hello, darling, I never would have thought that the time would come when you would look handsome to me. Turn around, how do you look behind?”

Saul Panzer demanded, “How’s Mr. Wolfe?”

“Swell. He’s in there making a speech I taught him.”

“You sure he’s all right?”

“Why not? Oh, you mean his casualty.” I waved a hand. “A mere nothing. He thinks he’s a hero. I wish to God they’d shoot me next time so he’d stop bragging. Have you got anything?”

Saul nodded. “I’ve got everything.”

“Is there anything you heed to explain to Wolfe before he springs it?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve got everything he asked for. The whole Charleston police force jumped into it.”

“Yeah, I know. My friend Mr. Tolman arranged that. I’ve got another friend named Odell that throws stones at people-remind me to tell you about it sometime. This is a jolly place. Then you wait here till you’re called. I’d better go back in. Have you had anything to eat?”

He said his inside was attended to, and I left him. Back in the dining room again, I resumed my seat beside Constanza, and when Wolfe paused at the end of a paragraph, I took my handkerchief from my breast pocket, passed it across my lips, and put it back again. He gave me a fleeting glance to acknowledge the signal, he had reached the part about the introduction of file powder to the New Orleans market by the Choctaw Indians on Bayou Lacombe, so I knew he had got to page 14. It looked as though he was putting it over in good style. Even Domenico Rossi looked absorbed, in spite of the fact that in one place Wolfe specifically stated that in the three most important centers of American contributions to fine cooking-Louisiana, South Carolina, and New England-there had been no Italian influence whatever.

He reached the end. Even though I knew his program, and knew the time was short, I had supposed he would at least pause there, and perhaps give Louis Servan a chance to make a few remarks of appreciation, but he didn’t even stop long enough for them to realize that the speech was finished. He looked around-a brief glance at the rectangle of faces-and went right on:

“I hope I won’t bore you if I continue, but on another subject. I count on your forbearance, for what I have to say is as much in your interest as in my own. I have finished my remarks on cooking. Now I’m going to talk to you about murder. The murder of Phillip Laszio.”

There were stirs and murmurs. Lisette Putti squeaked. Louis Servan put up a hand:

“If you please. I would like to say, Mr. Wolfe does this by arrangement. It is distressing to end thus the dinner of Les Quinze Maitres but it appears… unavoidable. We do not even… however, there is no help…”

Ramsey Keith, glancing at Tolman, Malfi, Liggett, Ashley, growled inhospitably, “So that’s the reason these people-”

“Yes, that’s the reason.” Wolfe was brisk. “I beg you, all of you, don’t blame me for intruding a painful subject into an occasion of festivity. The intruder was the man who killed Laszio, and thereby worked disaster on a joyous gathering, cast the gloom of suspicion over a group of eminent men, and ruined my holiday as well as yours. So not only do I have a special reason for rancor for that man”-he put the tip of a finger to his bandage-“but we all have a general one. Besides, before dinner I heard several of you complaining of the fact that you will all be detained here until the authorities release you. But you know that’s a natural consequence of the misfortune that overtook you. The authorities can’t be expected to let you disperse to the four corners of the earth as long as they have reason to suspect that one of you is a murderer. That’s why I say I count on your forbearance. You can’t leave here until the guilty man is discovered. So that’s what I intend to do here and now. I’m going to expose the murderer, and demonstrate his guilt, before we leave this room.”

Lisette Putti squeaked again, and then covered her mouth with her palm. There were no murmurs. A few glanced around, but most of them kept their eyes on Wolfe.

He went on, “First I think I’d better tell you what was done here-in this room-Tuesday evening, and then we can proceed to the question of who did it. There was nothing untoward until Mondor, Coyne, Keith and Servan had all been here and tasted the sauces. The instant Servan left, Laszio reached across the table and changed the position of the dishes, all but two. Doubtless he would have shifted those also if the door had not begun to open for the entrance of Berin. It was a childish and malicious trick intended to discredit Berin, and possibly Vukcic too. It may be that Laszio intended to replace the dishes when Berin left, but he didn’t, because he was killed before he got a chance to.

“While Berin was in here the radio in the parlor was turned on. That was a prearranged signal for a man who was waiting for it out in the shrubbery. He was close enough to the parlor window-”

“Wait a minute!” The cry wasn’t loud, nor explosive; it was quite composed. But everyone was startled into turning to Dina Laszio, who had uttered it. There was as little turmoil in her manner as in her voice, though maybe her eyes were a little longer and sleepier even than usual. They were directed at Wolfe: “Do we interrupt you when you tell lies?”

“I think not, madam-granting your premise. If each of my statements is met with a challenge we’ll never get anywhere. Why don’t you wait till I’m through? By that time, if I have lied, you can bankrupt me with a suit for slander.”

“I turned on the radio. Everyone knows that. You said it was a prearranged signal…”

“So I did. I beg you, let’s don’t turn this into a squabble. I’m discussing murder and making serious charges. Let me finish, let me expose myself, then rebut me if you can; and either I shall be discredited and disgraced, or someone here will be… do you hang in West Virginia, Mr. Tolman?”

Tolman, his eyes riveted on Wolfe’s face, nodded.

“Then someone will die at the end of a rope.-As I was saying, the man concealed in the shrubbery out there”-he pointed to the door leading to the terrace-“was close enough to the open parlor window so that when the radio warned him he could observe the return of Berin to the parlor. Instantly he proceeded to the terrace and entered this room by that door. Laszio, here alone by the table, was surprised at the entrance of a liveried servant-for the man wore Kanawha Spa livery and had a black face. The man approached the table and made himself known, for Laszio knew him well. ‘See,’ the man said with a smile, ‘don’t you know me, I am Mr. White’-we may call him that for the present, for he was in fact a white man-‘I am Mr. White, masquerading, ha ha, and we’ll play a joke on these fellows. It will be quite amusing, ha ha, Laszio old chap. You go behind that screen and I’ll stay here by the table…’

“I confess that no one except Laszio heard those words, or any others. The words actually spoken may have been quite different, but whatever they were, the upshot was that Laszio went behind the screen, and Mr. White, having procured a knife from the table, followed him there and stabbed him to the heart, from behind. It was certainly done with finesse and dispatch, since there was no struggle and no outcry loud enough to be heard in the pantry hall. Mr. White left the knife where he had put it, seeing that it had done its work, and emerged from behind the screen. As he did so a glance showed him that the door to the pantry hall-that door-was open a few inches and a man, a colored man, was peering at him through the crack. Either he had already decided what to do in case of such an emergency, or he showed great presence of mind, for he merely stood still at the end of the screen, looking straight at the eyes peering at him, and placed his finger to his lips. A simple and superb gesture. He may or may not have known-probably he didn’t-that at the same moment the door leading to the terrace, behind him, had also opened, and a woman was looking through at him. But his masquerade worked both ways. The colored man knew he was a fake, a white man blacked up, took him for one of the guests playing a joke, and so was not moved to inquire or interfere. The woman supposed he was a servant and let it go at that. Before he left this room Mr. White was seen by still another man-the headwaiter, Moulton here-but by the time Moulton looked through the door Mr. White was on his way out and his back was turned, so Moulton didn’t see his face.-We might as well record names as we go along. The man who first peered through the door was Paul Whipple, one of our waiters here-who, by the way, is studying anthropology at Howard University. The one who saw Mr. White going out was Moulton. The woman who looked through the terrace door was Mrs. Lawrence Coyne.”

Coyne jerked around to look, startled, at his wife. She put up her chin at Wolfe. “But… you promised me…”

“I promised you nothing. I’m sorry, Mrs. Coyne, but it’s much better not to leave out anything I don’t think-”

Coyne sputtered indignantly. “I’ve heard nothing-nothing-”

“Please.” Wolfe put up a hand. “I assure you, sir, you and your wife have no cause for worry. Indeed, we should all be grateful to her. If she hadn’t hurt her finger in the door, and asked you to kiss it in my hearing, it’s quite probable that Mr. Berin would have got the noose instead of the man who earned it. But I needn’t go into that.

“That’s what happened here Tuesday night. I’ll clear up a point now about the radio. It might be thought of, since it was turned on, as a prearranged signal, while Berin was in here tasting the sauces, that it was timed at that moment so as to throw suspicion on Berin, but not so. There was probably no intention to have suspicion aimed at any specific person, but if there was, that person was Marko Vukcic. The arrangement was that the radio should be turned on a few minutes prior to the visit of Vukcic to the dining room, no matter who was tasting the sauces at that moment. It was chance that made it Berin, and chance also that Laszio had shifted the sauces around to trick Berin. And the chance trap for Berin was actually sprung, innocently, by Moulton, who came to the table and changed the dishes back again before Vukcic entered. I haven’t told you about that. But the point I am making is that the radio signal was given a few minutes prior to the scheduled entrance of Vukcic to the dining room, because Vukcic was the one man here whom Mrs. Laszio could confidently expect to detain in the parlor, delaying his visit to the dining room, and giving Mr. White the necessary time alone with Laszio to accomplish his purpose. As we all know, she insured the delay by putting herself into Vukcic’s arms for dancing, and staying there.”

“Lies! You know it’s lies-”

“Dina! Shut up!”

It was Domenico Rossi, glaring at his daughter. Vukcic, with his jaw set, was gazing at her. Others sent glances at her and looked away again.

“But he tells lies-”

“I say shut up!” Rossi was much quieter, and more impressive, than when he was picking a scrap. “If he tells lies, let him tell all of them.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wolfe inclined his head half an inch. “I think now we had better decide who Mr. White is. You will notice that the fearful risks he took in this room Tuesday night were more apparent than real. Up to the moment he sank the knife into Laszio’s back he was taking no risk at all; he was merely an innocent masquerader. And if afterwards he was seen-well, he was seen, and what if he was, since he was blacked up? The persons who saw him here Tuesday night have all seen him since, with the blacking and livery gone, and none has suspected him. He depended for safety on his certainty that he would never be suspected at all. He had several bases for that certainty, but the chief one was that on Tuesday evening he wasn’t in Kanawha Spa; he was in New York.”

Berin burst out, “God above! If he wasn’t here-”

“I mean he wasn’t supposed to be here. It is always assumed that a man is where probability places him, unless suspicion is aroused that he is somewhere else, and Mr. White figured that such a suspicion was an impossibility. But he was too confident and too careless. He permitted his own tongue to create the suspicion in a conversation with me.

“As you all know, I’ve had wide experience in affairs of this kind. It’s my business. I told Mr. Tolman Tuesday night that I was sure Berin hadn’t done it, but I withheld my best reason for that assurance, because it wasn’t my case and I don’t like to involve people where I have no concern. That reason was this, I was convinced that Mrs. Laszio had signaled to the murderer by turning on the radio. Other details connected with that might be attributed to chance, but it would take great credulity to believe that her hanging onto Vukcic in that dance, delaying his trip to the dining room while her husband was being killed, was also coincidence. Especially when, as I did, one saw her doing it. She made a bad mistake there. Ordinary intelligence might have caused her to reflect that I was present and that therefore more subtlety was called for.

“When Berin was arrested I did become interested, as you know, but when I had got him released I was again unconcerned With the affair. Whereupon another idiotic mistake was made, almost unbelievable. Mr. White thought I was discovering too much, and without even taking the trouble to learn that I had withdrawn, he sneaked through the shrubbery outside my window and shot me. I think I know how he approached Upshur Pavilion. My assistant, Mr. Goodwin, an hour or so later, saw him dismounting from a horse at the hotel. The bridle path runs within fifty yards of the rear of Upshur. He could easily have left the path, tied his horse, advanced through the shrubbery to my window, and after the shot got back to the horse again and off on the path without being seen. At all events, he made that mistake, and by it, instead of removing me, he encountered me. My concern revived.

“I assumed, as I say, that the murderer was in league with Mrs. Laszio. I dismissed the idea that it was solely her project and he had been hired by her, for that would have rendered the masquerade meaningless; besides, it was hard to believe that a hired murderer, a stranger to Laszio, could have entered this room, got a knife from the table, enticed Laszio behind the screen, and killed him, without an outcry or any struggle. And just as yesterday, when Berin was arrested and I undertook to find evidence to free him, I had one slender thread to start with, Mrs. Coyne’s appeal to her husband to kiss her finger because she had caught it in a door, so to-day, when I undertook to catch the murderer, I had another thread just as slender. It was this. Yesterday about two o’clock Mr. Malfi and Mr. Liggett arrived at Kanawha Spa after a nonstop airplane flight from New York. They came directly to my room at Upshur Pavilion before talking with anyone but servants, and had a conversation with me. During the conversation Liggett said-I think this is verbatim: ‘It seems likely that whoever did it was able to use finesse for other purposes than tasting the seasonings in Sauce Printemps.’ Do you remember that, sir?”

“For God’s sake.” Liggett snorted. “You damn fool, are you trying to drag me into it?”

“I’m afraid I am. You may enter your action for slander along with Mrs. Laszio. Do you remember saying that?”

“No. Neither do you.”

Wolfe shrugged. “It’s unimportant now. It was vital in its function as my thread.-Anyway, it seemed suitable for inquiry. It seemed unlikely that such a detail as the name of the sauce we were tasting had been included in the first brief reports of the murder wired to New York. I telephoned there, to an employee of mine, and to Inspector Cramer of the police. My requests to Mr. Cramer were somewhat inclusive: for instance, I asked him to check on all passengers of airplanes, scheduled or specially chartered, from all airports, leaving New York Tuesday, which had stopped no matter where in this part of the country in time for a passenger to have arrived at Kanawha Spa by nine o’clock Tuesday evening. I made it nine o’clock because when we went to the parlor after dinner Tuesday Mrs. Laszio immediately disappeared and was not seen again for an hour; and if there was anything to my theory at all it seemed likely that that absence was for a rendezvous with her collaborator. I also asked Mr. Cramer to investigate Mrs. Laszio’s life in New York-her friends and associates-now, madam. Please. You’ll get a chance.-For suspicion was at that point by no means confined to Liggett. There was even one of you here not entirely clear; and I want to express publicly to Mr. Blanc my thanks for his tolerance and good nature in assisting with the experiment which eliminated him. No doubt he thought it ridiculous.

“At one o’clock this afternoon I received a telegram telling me that Sauce Printemps had not been mentioned in the account in any New York paper Tuesday morning. Since Liggett had left in the airplane before ten o’clock, had come non-stop, and had talked with no one before seeing me, how had he known it was Sauce Printemps? Probably he had talked with someone. He had talked with Mrs. Laszio around nine-thirty Tuesday evening, somewhere in the grounds around this building, making the arrangements which resulted in Laszio’s murder.”

I wasn’t any too well pleased, because I couldn’t see Liggett’s hands; he was across from me and the table hid them. Nor his eyes either, because they were on Wolfe. All I could see was the corner of his thin smile on the side of his mouth that was toward me, and the cord on the side of his neck as he held his jaw clamped. From where he sat he couldn’t see Dina Laszio, but I could, and she had her lower lip caught by her teeth. And at that, that was the only outward sign that she wasn’t quite as nonchalant as she had been when she patted Wolfe’s shoulder.

Wolfe went on, “At three o’clock I had a phone call from Inspector Cramer. Among other things, he told me that Saul Panzer, my employee, had left on an airplane for Charleston in accordance with my instructions. Then-I might as well mention this-around six o’clock another silly mistake was made. To do Mr. Liggett justice, I doubt if it was his own idea; I suspect it was Mrs. Laszio who thought of it and persuaded him to try it. He came to my room and offered me fifty thousand dollars cash to ask Mr. Berin to take the job of chef de cuisine at the Hotel Churchill.”

Lisette Putti squeaked again. Jerome Berin exploded, “That robbers’ den! That stinking hole! Me? Rather would I fry eggs on my finger nails-”

“Just so. I declined the offer. Liggett was foolish to make it, for I am not too self-confident to welcome the encouragement of confession from the enemy, and his offer of the preposterous sum was of course confession of guilt. He will deny that; he will probably even deny he made the offer; no matter. I received other and more important encouragement: another phone call from Inspector Cramer. Time is short, and I won’t bore you with all the details, but among them was the information that he had uncovered rumors of a mutual interest, going back two years, between Liggett and Mrs. Laszio. Also he had checked another point I had inquired about. Coming here on the train Monday night, Mr. Berin had told me of a visit he had made last Saturday to the Resort Room of the Hotel Churchill, where the waiters were dressed in the liveries of famous resorts, among them that of Kanawha Spa. Inspector Cramer’s men had discovered that about a year ago Mr. Liggett had had a duplicate of the Kanawha Spa livery made for himself and had worn it at a fancy dress ball. No doubt it was that fact that he already owned that livery which suggested the technique he adopted for his project. So as you see, I was getting a good sketch for my picture: Liggett had known of the Sauce Printemps before he had any right to; he was on terms with Mrs. Laszio; and he had a Kanawha Spa livery in his wardrobe. There were other items, as for instance he had left the hotel Tuesday noon, ostensibly to play golf, but had not appeared at either of the clubs where he habitually plays; but we shall have to do some skipping. Mr. Tolman can collect these things after Liggett is arrested. Now we’d better get on to Saul Panzer-I haven’t mentioned that he telephoned me from Charleston immediately after the call from Inspector Cramer.-Will you bring him, please, from the small parlor?”

Moulton trotted out.

Liggett said in an even tone, “The cleverest lie you’ve told is about my trying to bribe you. And the most dangerous lie, because there’s some truth in it. I did go to your room to ask you to approach Berin for me. And I suppose your man is primed to back up the lie that I offered fifty thousand-”

“Please, Mr. Liggett.” Wolfe put up a palm at him. “I wouldn’t talk extempore if I were you. You’d better think it over carefully before you-ah, hello, Saul! It’s good to see you.”

“Yes, sir. Same to you.” Saul Panzer came and stood beside my chair. He had on his old gray suit with the pants never pressed, and the old brown cap in his hand. After one look at Wolfe his sharp eyes darted around the rectangle of faces, and I knew that each of those phizzes had in that moment been registered in a portrait gallery where it would stay forever in place.

Wolfe said, “Speak to Mr. Liggett.”

“Yes, sir.” Saul’s eyes fastened on the target instantly. “How do you do, Mr. Liggett.”

Liggett didn’t turn. “Bah. It’s a damned farce.”

Wolfe shrugged. “We haven’t much time, Saul. Confine yourself to the essentials. Did Mr. Liggett play golf Tuesday afternoon?”

“No, sir.” Saul was husky and he cleared his throat. “On Tuesday at 1:55 p.m. he boarded a plane of Interstate Airways at the Newark Airport. I was on the same plane to-day, with the same hostess, and showed her Liggett’s picture. He left the plane at Charleston when it stopped there at 6:18-and so did I, to-day. About half past six he appeared at Little’s Garage on Marlin Street and hired a car, a 1936 Studebaker, leaving a deposit of $200 in twenty-dollar bills. I drove the same car here this evening; it’s out in front now. I inquired at a few places on the way, but I couldn’t find where he stopped on the way back to wash the black off his face-I had to hurry because you told me to get here before eleven o’clock. He showed up again at Little’s Garage about a quarter after one Tuesday night and had to pay ten dollars for a fender he had dented. He walked away from the garage and on Laurel Street took a taxi, license C3428, driver Al Bissell, to the Charleston airport. There he took the night express of Interstate Airways, which landed him at Newark at 5:34 Wednesday morning. From there I don’t know, but he went to New York, because he was in his apartment a few minutes before eight, when a telephone call was put through to him from Albert Malfi. At half past eight he phoned Newark to charter a plane to take him and Malfi to Kanawha Spa, and at 9:52-”

“That’s enough, Saul. By then his movements were overt. You say you drove here this evening in the same car that Liggett hired Tuesday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well. That’s rubbing it in. And you had pictures of Liggett with you to show all those people-the hostess, the garage man, the taxi driver-”

“Yes, sir. He was white when he left the garage.”

“No doubt he stopped for alterations on the way. It isn’t as difficult as you might think; we blacked a man in my room this afternoon. Cleaning it off is harder. I don’t suppose remnants of it were noticed by the man at the garage or the taxi driver?”

“No, sir. I tried that.”

“Yes. You would. Of course they wouldn’t examine his ears. You didn’t mention luggage.”

“He had a medium sized suitcase, dark tan cowhide, with brass fastenings and no straps.”

“At all appearances?”

“Yes, sir. Coming and going both.”

“Good. Satisfactory. I think that will do. Take that chair over by the wall.”

Wolfe surveyed the faces, and though he had kept their attention with his speech on cookery, he was keeping it better now. You could have heard a pin swishing through the air before it lit. He said, “Now we’re getting somewhere. You understand why I said that such details as Liggett’s mention of Sauce Printemps are no longer of much importance. It is obvious that he treated so fatal a crime as murder with incredible levity, but we should remember two things: first, that he supposed that his absence from Kanawha Spa would never be questioned, and second, he was actually not sentient. He was drugged. He had drunk of the cup which Mrs. Laszio had filled for him. As far as Liggett is concerned, we seem to be done; there appears to be nothing left but for Mr. Tolman to arrest him, prepare the case, try him, and convict him. Have you any remarks on that, Mr. Liggett? I wouldn’t advise any.”

“I’m not saying anything.” Liggett’s voice was as good as ever. “Except that if Tolman swallows this and acts on it the way you’ve framed it, he’ll be damn near as sorry as you’re going to be.” Liggett’s chin went up a little. “I know you, Wolfe. I’ve heard about you. God knows why you’ve picked on me for this, but I’m going to know before I get through with you.”

Wolfe gravely inclined his head. “Your only possible attitude. Of course. But I’m through with you, sir. I turn you over. Your biggest mistake was shooting at me. when I had become merely a bystander. Look here.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the script and unfolded it. “That’s where your bullet went, right through my speech, before it struck me.-Mr. Tolman, do you have women on murder juries in your state?”

“No. Men only.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe directed his gaze at Mrs. Laszio; he hadn’t looked at her since beginning on Liggett. “That’s a piece of luck for you, madam. It’ll be a job to persuade twelve men to pronounce your doom.” Back to Tolman: “Are you prepared to charge Liggett with the murder of Laszio?”

Tolman’s voice was clear: “I am.”

“Well, sir? You didn’t hesitate with Mr. Berin.”

Tolman got up. He had only four paces to walk. He put his hand on Liggett’s shoulder and said in a loud tone, “I arrest you, Raymond Liggett. A formal charge of murder will be laid to-morrow morning.” He turned and spoke sharply to Moulton: “The sheriff is out front. Tell him to come in.”

Liggett twisted his head around to get Tolman’s eye. “This will ruin you, young man.”

Wolfe, stopping Moulton with a gesture, appealed to Tolman, “Let the sheriff wait a little. If you don’t mind? I don’t like him.” He put his eyes at Mrs. Laszio again. “Besides, madam, we still have you to consider. As far as Liggett is concerned, well… you see…” He moved a hand to indicate Tolman standing at Liggett’s shoulder. “Now about you. You’re not arrested yet. Have you got anything to say?”

The swamp-woman looked sick. I suppose she was good enough at make-up so that ordinarily only an expert would have noticed the extent of it, but it wasn’t calculated to handle emergencies like this. Her face was spotty. Her lower lip didn’t match the upper, on account of having been chewed on. Her shoulders were humped up and her chest pulled in. She said in a thin tone, not her rich swampy voice at all, “I didn’t… only… only what I said, it’s lies. Lies!”

“Do you mean what I’ve said about Liggett is lies? And what Saul Panzer has said? I warn you, madam, things that can be proven are not lies. You say lies. What?”

“It’s all lies… about me.”

“And about Liggett?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Indeed. But about you. You did turn on the radio. Didn’t you?”

She nodded without speaking. Wolfe snapped. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And whether by accident or design, you did detain Vukcic and dance with him while your husband was being murdered?”

“Yes.”

“And Tuesday evening after dinner you were absent from the gathering here nearly an hour?”

“Yes.”

“And since your husband is dead… if it were not for the unfortunate circumstance that Liggett will soon be dead too, you would expect to marry him, wouldn’t you?”

“I…” Her mouth twisted. “No! You can’t say… no!”

“Please, Mrs. Laszio. Keep your nerve. You need it.” Wolfe’s tone suddenly got gentle. “I don’t want to bully you. I am perfectly aware that as regards you the facts permit of two vastly different constructions. One something like this: You and Mr. Liggett wanted each other-at least he wanted you, and you wanted his name and position and wealth. But your husband was the sort of man who hangs on to his possessions, and that made it difficult. The time finally arrived when the desire was so great, and the obstacle so stubborn, that you and Liggett decided on a desperate course. It appeared that the meeting of Les Quinze Maitres offered a good opportunity for the removal of your husband, for there would be three persons present who hated him-plenty of targets for suspicion. So Liggett came to Charleston by airplane and on here by car, and met you somewhere outside, as previously arranged, at half past nine Tuesday evening. It was only then that the arrangements were perfected in detail, for Liggett could not previously have known about the wager between Servan and Keith and the test of Sauce Printemps that was being prepared to decide it. Liggett posted himself in the shrubbery. You returned to the parlor, and turned on the radio at the proper time, and delayed Vukcic by dancing with him in order to give Liggett the opportunity to enter the dining room and kill your husband. Confound it, madam, don’t stare at me like that! As I say, that is one possible interpretation of your actions.”

“But it’s wrong. It’s lies! I didn’t-”

“Permit me. Don’t deny too much. I confess there may be lies in it, for there’s another possible construction. But understand this, and consider it well.” Wolfe aimed a finger at her, and pointed his tone. “It is going to be proven that Liggett came here, and was told by someone about the test of the sauces, and that he knew precisely the moment when he could safely enter this room to kill Laszio without danger of interruption; that he knew that Vukcic would not enter to disturb him before the deed was done. Otherwise his proceeding as he did was senseless. That’s why I say don’t deny too much. If you try to maintain that you didn’t meet Liggett outdoors, that you made no arrangement with him, that your turning on the radio when you did was coincidence, that your keeping Vukcic from the dining room during those fatal minutes was also coincidence-then I fear for you. Even a jury of twelve men, and even looking at you on the stand-I’m afraid they wouldn’t swallow it. I believe, to put it brutally, I believe you would be convicted of murder.

“But I haven’t said you’re a murderer.” Wolfe’s tone was almost soothing. “Since the crime was committed you have unquestionably, at least by silence, tried to shield Liggett, but a woman’s heart being what it is…” He shrugged. “No jury would convict you for that. And no jury would convict you at all, you wouldn’t even be in jeopardy, if it could be shown that the arrangement you entered into with Liggett Tuesday evening, when you met him outdoors there, was on your part an innocent one. Merely as a hypothesis, let’s say, for example, that you understood that Liggett was engaged in nothing more harmful than a practical joke. No matter what; I couldn’t guess at the details even as a hypothesis, for I’m not a practical joker. But the joke required that he have a few minutes alone with Laszio before the entrance of Vukcic. That of course would explain everything-your turning on the radio, your detaining Vukcic-everything you did, without involving you in guilt. You understand, Mrs. Laszio, I’m not suggesting this as a retreat for you. I am only saying that while you can’t deny what happened, you may possibly have an explanation for it that will save you. In that case, it would be quixotic to try to save Liggett too. You can’t do it. And if there is such an explanation, I wouldn’t wait too long… until it’s too late…”

It was too much for Liggett. Slowly his head turned, irresistibly as if gripped in enormous pliers, square around, until he faced Dina Laszio. She didn’t look at him. She was chewing at her lip again, and her eyes were on Wolfe, fixed and fascinated. You could almost see her chewing her brain too. That lasted a full half a minute, and then by God she smiled. It was a funny one, but it was a smile; and then I saw that her eyes had shifted to Liggett and the smile was supposed to be one of polite apology. She said in a low tone but without anything shaky in it, “I’m sorry, Ray. Oh, I’m sorry, but…”

She faltered. Liggett’s eyes were boring at her.

She moved her gaze to Wolfe and said firmly, “You’re right. Of course you’re right and I can’t help it. When I met him outdoors after dinner as we had arranged-”

“Dina! Dina, for God’s sake-”

Tolman, the blue-eyed athlete, jerked Liggett back in his chair. The swamp-woman was going on:

“He had told me what he was going to do, and I believed him, I thought it was a joke. Then afterwards he told me that Phillip had attacked him, had struck at him-”

Wolfe said sharply, “You know what you’re doing, madam. You’re helping to send a man to his death.”

“I know. I can’t help it! How can I go on lying for him? He killed my husband. When I met him out there and he told me what he had planned-”

“You tricky bastard!” Liggett broke training completely. He jerked from Tolman’s grasp, plunged across Mondor’s legs, knocked Blanc and his chair to the floor, trying to get at Wolfe. I was on my way, but by the time I got there Berin had stopped him, with both arms around him, and Liggett was kicking and yelling like a lunatic.

Dina Laszio, of course, had stopped trying to talk, with all the noise and confusion. She sat quietly looking on with her long sleepy eyes.