Too Many Cooks/Champagne for One (49 page)

A growl came from the door to the hall. Sergeant Purley Stebbins was standing there on the sill, his big frame half filling the rectangle. “I don’t know about a conclusion,” he said, “but I noticed that he carried the glasses the same every time. The one in his right hand, his thumb and two fingers were on the bowl, and the one in his left hand, he held that lower down, by the stem. And he kept the one in his right hand and handed them the one in his left hand. Every time.”

I had never before seen Wolfe look at Purley with unqualified admiration. “Thank you, Mr. Stebbins,” he said. “You not only have eyes but know what they’re for. Will anyone corroborate him?”

“I will,” Saul Panzer said. “I do.” He was still holding the glass Cecil had handed him.

“Will you, Mr. Cramer?”

“I reserve it.” Cramer’s eyes were narrowed at him. “What’s your conclusion?”

“Surely that’s obvious.” Wolfe turned a hand over. “What I hoped to get was ground for a conclusion that anyone who was sufficiently familiar with Mr. Grantham’s habits, and who saw him pick up the glasses and start off with them, would know which one he would hand to Miss Usher. And I got it, and I have two competent witnesses, Mr. Stebbins and Mr. Panzer.” His head turned. “That is all, ladies and gentlemen. I wish to continue, but only to Mrs. Robilotti, Mr. Byne, and Mr. Laidlaw—and Mr. Robilotti by courtesy, if he chooses to stay. The rest of you may go. I needed your help for this demonstration and I thank you for coming. It would be a pleasure to serve you champagne on some happier occasion.”

“You mean we have to go?” Rose Tuttle piped. “I want to stay.”

Judging from the expressions on most of the faces, the others did too, except Helen Yarmis, who was standing by the bar with Laidlaw. She said, “Come on, Ethel,” to Ethel Varr, who was standing by my desk, and they headed for the door. Cecil emptied his glass and put it on Wolfe’s desk and announced that he was staying, and Celia said she was too. Beverly Kent, the diplomat, showed that he had picked the right career by handling Rose Tuttle, who was seated beside him. She let him escort her out. Paul Schuster approached to listen a moment to the twins arguing with Wolfe, and then turned and went. Seeing Cramer cross to Mrs. Robilotti, at the bar with her husband, I noted that Hackett wasn’t there and then found that he wasn’t anywhere. He had gone without my knowing
it, one more proof that a detective is no match for a butler.

It was Mrs. Robilotti who settled the issue with the twins. She came to Wolfe’s desk, followed by Cramer and her husband, and told them to go, and then turned to her husband and told him to go too. Her pale gray eyes, back under her angled brows, were little circles of tinted ice. It was Celia she looked at.

“This man needs a lesson,” she said, “and I’ll give it to him. I never have needed you, and I don’t need you now. You’re being absurd. I do things better alone, and I’ll do this alone.”

Celia opened her mouth, closed it again, turned to look at Laidlaw, and went, and Cecil followed. Robilotti started to speak, met the pale gray eyes, shrugged like a polished and civilized Italian, and quit. When her eyes had seen him to the door, she walked to the chair Cramer had placed for her when she arrived, sat, aimed the eyes at Wolfe, and spoke.

“You said you wished to continue. Well?”

He was polite. “In a moment, madam. Another person is expected. If you gentlemen will be seated? Archie?”

Saul was already seated, still in Faith Usher’s place, sipping champagne. Leaving it to the other four, Laidlaw, Byne, Cramer, and Stebbins to do their own seating, I went to the hall, mounted the two flights to the South Room, knocked on the door, was told to come in, and did so.

Elaine Usher, in a chair by a window with sections of the Sunday paper scattered on the floor, had a mean look ready for me.

“Okay,” I said. “Your cue.”

“It’s about time.” She kicked the papers away from her feet and got up. “Who’s there?”

“As expected. Mr. Wolfe. Byne, Laidlaw, Panzer. Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins. Mrs. Robilotti. She sent her husband home. I take you straight to her.”

“I know. I’ll enjoy that, I really will, no matter what happens. My hair’s a mess. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

She went to the bathroom and closed the door. I wasn’t impatient, since Wolfe would use the time to get Mrs. Robilotti into a proper mood. Mrs. Usher used it too. When she emerged her hair was very nice and her lips were the color that excites a bull. I asked her if she preferred the elevator, and she said no, and I followed her down the two flights. As we entered the office I was at her elbow.

It came out so perfect that you might have thought it had been rehearsed. I crossed with her, passing between Cramer and Byne, turned so we were facing Mrs. Robilotti, right in front of her, and said, “Mrs. Robilotti, let me present Mrs. Usher, the mother of Faith Usher.” Mrs. Usher bent at the waist, put out a hand, and said, “It’s a pleasure, a great pleasure.” Mrs. Robilotti stared a second, shot a hand out, and slapped Mrs. Usher’s face. Perfect.

Your guess is as good as mine, whether Wolfe would have been able to crash through anyway if the confrontation stunt hadn’t worked—if Mrs. Robilotti had been quick enough and tough enough to take Mrs. Usher’s offered hand and respond according to protocol. He maintains that he would have, but that the question is academic, since with Mrs. Robilotti’s nerves already on edge the sudden appearance of that woman, without warning, bending to her and offering a hand, was sure to break her.

I didn’t pull Mrs. Usher back in time to dodge the slap, though I might have, but after it landed I acted. After all she was a house guest, and a kick on the chin by the host and a smack in the face by another guest were no credit to our hospitality; and besides, she might try to return the compliment. So I gripped her arm and pulled her back out of range, bumping into Cramer, who had bounced out of his chair. Mrs. Robilotti had jerked back and sat stiff, her teeth pinning her lower lip.

“It might be well,” Wolfe told me, “to seat Mrs.

Usher near you. Madam, I regret the indignity you have suffered under my roof.” He gestured. “That is Mr. Laidlaw. Mr. Cramer, of the police. Mr. Stebbins, also of the police. You know Mr. Byne.”

As I was convoying her to the chair Saul had brought, putting her between Laidlaw and me, Cramer was saying, “You stage it and then you regret it.” To his right: “I do regret it, Mrs. Robilotti. I had no hand in it.” Back to Wolfe: “All right, let’s hear it.”

“You have seen it,” Wolfe told him. “Certainly I staged it. You heard me deliberately bait Mrs. Robilotti, to ensure the desired reaction to Mrs. Usher’s appearance. Before commenting on that reaction, I must explain Mr. Laidlaw’s presence. I asked him to stay because he has a legitimate concern. As you know, someone sent an anonymous communication making certain statements about him, and that entitles him to hear disclosure of the truth. Why Mr. Byne is here will soon be apparent. It was something he said last evening that informed me that Mrs. Robilotti had known that her former husband, Albert Grantham, was the father of Faith Usher. However—”

“That’s a lie,” Byne said. “That’s a damn lie.”

Wolfe’s tone sharpened. “I choose my words, Mr. Byne. I didn’t say you told me that, but that something you said informed me. Speaking of the people invited to that gathering, you said, ‘Of course, my aunt could cross Faith off and tell Mrs. Irwin’—and stopped, realizing that you had slipped. When I let it pass, you thought I had missed it, but I hadn’t. It was merely that if I had tried to pin you down you would have wriggled out by denying the implication. Now that—”

“There was no implication!”

“Nonsense. Why should your aunt ‘cross Faith off’? Why should she refuse to have Miss Usher in her house? Granting that there were many possible explanations, there was one suggested by the known facts: that she would not receive as a guest the natural daughter of her former husband. And I had just learned that Faith Usher was Albert Grantham’s natural daughter, and that you were aware of it. So I had the implication, and I arranged to test it. If Mrs. Robilotti, suddenly confronted by Faith Usher’s mother extending a friendly hand, took the hand and betrayed no reluctance, the implication would be discredited. I expected her to shrink from it, and I was wrong. I may learn someday that what a woman will do is beyond conjecture. Instead of shrinking, she struck. I repeat, Mrs. Usher, I regret it. I did not foresee it.”

“You can’t have it both ways,” Byne said. “You say my aunt wouldn’t have Faith Usher in her house because she knew she was her former husband’s natural daughter. But she did have her in her house. She knew she had been invited, and she let her come.”

Wolfe nodded. “I know. That’s the point. That’s my main reason for assuming that your aunt killed her. There are other—”

“Hold it,” Cramer snapped. His head turned. “Mrs. Robilotti, I want you to know that this is as shocking to me as it is to you.”

Her pale gray eyes were on Wolfe and she didn’t move them. “I doubt it,” she said. “I didn’t know any man could go as low as
this
. This is incredible.”

“I agree,” Wolfe told her. “Murder is always incredible. I have now committed myself, madam, before
witnesses, and if I am wrong I shall be at your mercy. I wouldn’t like that. Mr. Cramer. You are shocked. I can expound, or you can attack. Which do you prefer?”

“Neither one.” Cramer’s fists were on his knees. “I just want to know. What evidence have you that Faith Usher was Albert Grantham’s daughter?”

“Well.” Wolfe cocked his head. “That is a ticklish point. My sole concern in this is the murder of Faith Usher, and I have no desire to make unnecessary trouble for people not implicated in it. For example, I know where you can find evidence that the death of Faith Usher meant substantial financial profit for a certain man, but since he wasn’t there and couldn’t have killed her, I’ll tell you about it only if it becomes requisite. To answer your question: I have statements of two people, Mrs. Elaine Usher and Mr. Austin Byne.” His eyes moved. “And, Mr. Byne, you have trimmed long enough. Did your aunt know that Faith Usher was the daughter of Albert Grantham?”

Dinky’s jaw worked. He looked left, at Mrs. Usher, but not right, at his aunt. Wolfe had made it plain: if he came through, Wolfe would not tell Cramer about the agreement and where it was. Probably what decided him was the fact that Mrs. Robilotti had already given it away by slapping Mrs. Usher.

“Yes,” he said. “I told her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“Why?”

“Because—something she said. She had said it before, that I was a parasite because I was living on money my uncle had given me before he died. When she said it again that day I lost my temper and told
her that my uncle had given me the money so I could provide for his illegitimate daughter. She wouldn’t believe me, and I told her the name of the daughter and her mother. Afterwards I was sorry I had told her, and I told her so—”

A noise, an explosive noise, came from his aunt. “You liar,” she said, a glint of hate in the pale gray eyes. “You sit there and lie. You told me so you could blackmail me, to get more millions out of me. The millions Albert had given you weren’t enough. You weren’t satisfied—”

“Stop it!” Wolfe’s voice was a whip. He was scowling at her. “You are in mortal peril, madam. I have put you there, so I have a responsibility, and I advise you to hold your tongue. Mr. Cramer. Do you want more from Mr. Byne, or more from me?”

“You.” Cramer was so shocked he was hoarse. “You say that Mrs. Robilotti deliberately let Faith Usher come to that party so she could kill her. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And that her motive was that she knew that Faith Usher was the illegitimate child of Albert Grantham?”

“It could have been. With her character and temperament that could have been sufficient motive. But she has herself just suggested an additional one. Her nephew may have been using Faith Usher as a fulcrum to pry a fortune out of her. You will explore that.”

“I certainly will. That show you put on. You say that proved that Mrs. Robilotti could have done it?”

“Yes. You saw it. She could have dropped the poison into the glass that had been standing there for
three or four minutes. She stayed there at the bar. If someone else had started to take that glass she could have said it was hers. When her son came and picked up the two glasses, if he had taken the poisoned one in his right hand, which would have meant—to her, since she knew his habits—that he would drink it himself, again she could have said it was hers and told him to get another one. Or she could even have handed it to him, have seen to it that he took the poisoned one in his left hand; but you can’t hope to establish that, since neither she nor her son would admit it. The moment he left the bar with the poisoned glass in his left hand Faith Usher was doomed; and the risk was slight, since an ample supply of cyanide was there on a chair in Miss Usher’s bag. It would unquestionably be assumed that she had committed suicide; indeed, it was assumed, and the assumption would have prevailed if Mr. Goodwin hadn’t been there and kept his eyes open.”

“Who told Mrs. Robilotti that Miss Usher had the poison? And when?”

“I don’t know.” Wolfe gestured. “Confound it, must I shine your shoes for you?”

“No, I’ll manage. You’ve shined enough. You say the risk was slight. It wasn’t slight when she got Miss Usher’s bag and took out the bottle and took some of the poison.”

“I doubt if she did that. I doubt if she ever went near that bag. If she knew that the poison Miss Usher carried around was cyanide, and several people did, she probably got some somewhere else, which isn’t difficult, and had it at hand. I suggest that that is worth inquiry, whether she recently had access to a supply of cyanide. You might even find that she had
actually procured some.” Wolfe gestured again. “I do not pretend that I am showing you a ripened fruit which you need only to pick. I undertook merely to satisfy myself whether Mr. Goodwin was right or wrong. I am satisfied. Are you?”

Cramer never said. Mrs. Robilotti was on her feet. I had the idea then that what moved her was Wolfe’s mentioning the possibility that she had got hold of cyanide somewhere else, and learned a few days later that I had been right, when Purley Stebbins told me that they had found out where she got it, and could prove it. Anyhow, she was on her feet, and moving, but had taken only three steps when she had to stop. Cramer and Purley were both there blocking the way, and together they weigh four hundred pounds and are over four feet wide.