Tucker said, "Who's upstairs right now?"
The cook stopped rubbing his head and said, "Mr. Baglio, Henry Deffer, Louise and Martin Halverson-and Miss Loraine."
"Deffer is the chauffeur?"
"Yes."
"Who are the Halversons?"
"Maid and handyman."
"How old?"
"Fifties?" the cook asked, questioning himself. He nodded, grabbed his neck as the pain forced him to stop nodding, said, "Yes, in their fifties somewhere."
"He pack a gun?"
"Halverson?" the cook asked, incredulous.
"Yes, Halverson."
"Of course not!" The cook chuckled. "Did you ever see Halverson?"
"No."
"Well, then-"
"Who is this Miss Loraine?" Tucker asked.
The cook actually blushed and, for a moment, forgot about his wounds. The blush carried over from his face and stained the top of his gleaming skull. He said, "She is a very nice young lady, a very pleasant girl. She's Mr. Baglio's-uh, his-well, his lady."
"They sleep together?"
"Yes."
"Is she a big blonde, well built, tall?" Tucker asked, remembering the girl who had climbed out of the demolished Cadillac.
The cook continued to blush and looked at the other two men as if they might tell him he didn't have to answer that. He looked as if he had never heard much about sex and had certainly never tried it himself. Neither Harris nor Shirillo, of course, told him he was free not to answer. Reluctantly he said, "That's her."
Tucker smiled. "Now, if you'd tell me the location of each of their rooms, I'd appreciate it immensely."
Keesey said, "What are you going to do with them?"
"That's not your concern."
"It is. I might find myself without a job." He put one hand on his stomach, as if to illustrate the deprivations he might have to face if he were out of his job. "Will you kill Mr. Baglio?"
Tucker said, "No. Not unless he forces us into it."
Keesey looked at them again, one at a time, reached some sort of judgment about them, nodded and, briefly, explained the layout of the rooms on the second floor. Deffer and Halverson and Halverson's wife were all directly overhead, while Baglio and his woman were all alone in the largest wing of the house, on the far side of the main staircase.
"Now, what about the man who was hurt in the wreck?" Tucker said, still smiling, not smiling inwardly, the Lüger ready for another slash at Keesey's head. This time he would use the side of the barrel with the sight on it and tear a little of the cook's skin.
"I don't know anything about him," Keesey said.
"Sure you do."
"No."
"You cooked for him?"
Keesey shook his head back and forth. "He's only been allowed to take liquids."
"He's upstairs?"
"No."
"You just implied he was when you mentioned his restricted diet."
"They moved him this morning," the cook said.
"Alive?"
Keesey squirmed and looked as if he had been insulted. "Well, of course," he said. "Alive, of course."
"Where did they take him?"
More rubbing of his head. Scratching of his mustache. "I don't know anything about that."
"You didn't ask?"
"I never ask Mr. Baglio anything."
Tucker nodded, watched the pudgy man for a moment, sighed and motioned to Shirillo. "Tie and gag him."
Shirillo completed the job in less than five minutes and joined Harris and Tucker where they waited in the corridor. He said, "Do we still go upstairs?"
"Why not?"
"If Bachman isn't there-"
"He's there. I'm sure he is," Tucker said. "That little sonofabitch Keesey was lying."
Shirillo said, "You sure?"
Tucker's smile was broad, visible even in that dim light. "Don't you think Keesey's capable of trying to mislead us?"