“You have explained the purpose of this gathering, Mr Cramer?”
“Yes. You’re going to prove that Goodwin is either wrong or right.”
“I didn’t say ‘prove’. I said I intend to satisfy myself and deal with him accordingly.” He surveyed the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen. I will not keep you long—at least, not most of you. I have no exhortation for you and no questions to ask. To form an opinion of Mr Goodwin’s competence as an eye-witness, I need to see, not what he saw, since these quarters are too cramped for that, but an approximation of it. You cannot take your positions precisely as they were last Tuesday evening, or re-enact the scene with complete fidelity, but we’ll do the best we can. Archie?”
I left my chair to stage-manage. Thinking that Mrs Robilotti and her Robert were the most likely to baulk, I left them till the last. First I put Hackett behind the table, which was the bar, and Laidlaw and Helen Yarmis at one end of it. Then Rose Tuttle and Beverly Kent, on chairs over where the globe had stood. Then Celia Grantham and Paul Schuster by the wall to the right of Wolfe’s desk, with her sitting and him standing. Then I put Saul Panzer on a chair near the door to the hall, and told the audience, “Mr Panzer here is Faith Usher. The distance is wrong and so are the others, but the relative positions are about right.” Then I put an ashtray on a chair to the right of the safe, and told them, “This is Faith Usher’s bag, containing the bottle of poison.” With all that arranged, I didn’t think Mrs Robilotti would protest when I asked her and her husband to take their places in front of the bar, and she didn’t.
That was all, except for Ethel Varr and me, and I got her and stood with her at a corner of my desk, and told Wolfe, “All set.”
“Miss Tuttle and I were much farther away,” Beverly Kent objected.
“Yes, sir,” Wolfe agreed.” It is not presumed that this is identical. Now.” His eyes went to the group at the bar. “Mr Hackett, I understand that when Mr Grantham went to the bar for champagne for himself and Miss Usher, two glasses were there in readiness. You had poured one of them a few minutes previously, and the other just before he arrived. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” Hackett had fully recovered from our brush in the hall and was back in character.” I have stated to the police that one of the glasses had been standing there three or four minutes.”
“Please pour a glass now and put it in place.”
The bottles in the cooler on the table were champagne, and good champagne 5 Wolfe had insisted on it. Fritz had opened two of them. Pouring champagne is always nice to watch, but I doubt if any pourer ever had as attentive an audience as Hackett had, as he took a bottle from the cooler and filled a glass.
“Keep the bottle in your hand,” Wolfe directed him.” I’ll explain what I’m after and then you may proceed. I want to see it from various angles. You will pour another glass, and Mr Grantham will come and get the two glasses and go with them to Mr Panzer—that is to say, to Miss Usher. He will hand him one, and Mr Goodwin will be there and take the other one. Meanwhile you will be pouring two more glasses, and Mr Grantham will come and get them and go with them to Miss Tuttle, and hand her one, and again Mr Goodwin will be there and take the other one. You will do the same with Miss Varr and Miss Grantham. Not with Miss Yarmis and Mrs Robilotti, since they are there at the bar. That way I shall see it from all sides. Is that clear, Mr Hackett?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s not clear to me,” Cecil said. “What’s the idea? I didn’t do that. All I did was get two glasses and take one to Miss Usher.”
“I’m aware of that,” Wolfe told him. “As I said, I want to get various angles on it. If you prefer, Mr Panzer can move to the different positions, but this is simpler. I only request your cooperation. Do you find my request unreasonable?”
“I find it pretty damn nutty. But it’s all nutty, in my opinion, so a little more won’t hurt, if I can keep a glass for myself when I’ve performed.” He moved, then turned.” What’s the order again?”
“The order is unimportant. After Mr Panzer, Misses Tuttle, Varr, and Grantham, in any order you please.”
“Right. Start pouring, Hackett. Here I come.”
The show started. It did seem fairly nutty, at that, especially my part. Hackett pouring, and Cecil carrying, and the girls taking—there was nothing odd about that; but me racing around, taking the second glass, deciding what to do with it, doing it, and getting to the next one in time to be there waiting when Cecil arrived—of all the miscellaneous chores I had performed at Wolfe’s direction over the years, that took the prize. At the fourth and last one, for Celia Grantham, by the wall to the right of Wolfe’s desk, Cecil cheated. After he had handed his sister hers he ignored my out-stretched hand, raised his glass, said, “Here’s to crime,” and took a mouthful of the bubbles. He lowered the glass and told Wolfe, “I hope that didn’t spoil it.”
“It was in bad taste,” Celia said.
“I meant it to be,” he retorted.” This whole thing has been in bad taste from the beginning.”
Wolfe, who had straightened up to watch the performance, let his shoulders down. “You didn’t spoil it,” he said. His eyes went around. “I invite comment. Did anyone notice anything worthy of remark?”
“I don’t know whether it’s worthy of remark or not,” Paul Schuster, the lawyer, said, “but this exhibition can’t possibly be made the basis for any conclusion. The conditions were not the same at all.”
“I must disagree,” Wolfe disagreed. “I did get a basis for a conclusion, and for the specific conclusion I had hoped for. I need support for it, but would rather not suggest it. I appeal to all of you: did anything about Mr Grantham’s performance strike your eye?”
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 m 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 grey 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 grey 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 nights 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 colour 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 Grantham3 was the father of Faith Usher. However—”