Champange for One

I ignored the dig. “Anyway,” I said, “even if the comments showed that you stretched a point to pick Faith Usher, that wouldn’t cross any Ts, since you skipped the party. Did anyone happen to be with you when you were making the selections? Someone who said something like, ‘there’s one with a nice name, Faith Usher, a nice unusual name, why don’t you ask her?’ ”

“No one was with me. I was alone.” He pointed. “At that desk.”

“Then that’s out.” I was disappointed. “If you don’t mind my asking, a little point occurred to me as I was driving back from Grantham House—that you were interested enough to take the trouble to pick the girls to be invited, but not enough to go to the party. You even went to a lot of trouble to stay away. That seemed a little inconsistent, but I suppose you can explain it.”

“To you? Why should I?”

“Well, explain it to yourself and I’ll listen.”

“There’s nothing to explain. I picked the girls because my aunt asked me to. I did it last year too. I told you last night why I skipped the party.” He cocked his head, making the skin even tighter on his cheekbone. “What the hell are you driving at, anyhow? Do you know what I think?”

“No, but I’d like to. Tell me.”

He hesitated. “I don’t mean that, exactly, what I think. I mean what my aunt thinks—or I’ll put it this way, an idea she’s got in her mind. I guess she hasn’t forgotten that remark you made once that she resented. Also she feels that Wolfe overcharged her for that job he did. The idea is that if you have sold the police and the District Attorney on your murder theory, and if they make things unpleasant enough for her and her guests you and Wolfe might figure that she would be willing to make a big contribution to have it stopped. A contribution that would make you remember something that would change their minds. What do you think of that?”

“It is an idea,” I conceded, “but it has a flaw. If I remembered something now that I didn’t put in my statement, no contribution from your aunt would replace my hide that the cops and the D.A. would peel off. Tell your aunt that I appreciate the compliment and her generous offer, but I can’t—”

“I didn’t say she made an offer. You keep harping on your damn statement. What’s in it?”

That was what was biting him, naturally, as it had bit Celia Grantham and Edwin Laidlaw, and probably all of them. For ten minutes he did the harping on it. He didn’t go so far as to make a cash offer, either on his own or on behalf of his aunt, but he appealed to everything from my herd instinct to my better nature. I would have let him go on as long as his breath lasted, on the chance that he might drop a word with a spark of light in it, if I hadn’t known that company was expected at the office at six o’clock and I wanted to be there when they arrived. When I left he was so frustrated he didn’t even go to the hall with me.

I had shaved it pretty close, and that was the worst time of day for uptown traffic, so I didn’t quite make it. It was six-five when I climbed out of the taxi and headed for the stoop. If you think I was straining my nerves more than necessary, you don’t know Wolfe as I do. I have seen him get up and march out and take to his elevator merely because a woman has burst into tears or started screaming at him, and the expected company, he had told me, was three females, Helen Yarmis, Ethel Varr, and Rose Tuttle, and there was no telling what shape they might be in after the sessions they had been having with various officers of the law.

Therefore I was relieved when I entered the office and found that everything was peaceful, with Wolfe at his desk, the girls in a row facing him, and Orrie in my chair. As I greeted the guests Orrie moved to the couch, and when I was where I belonged Wolfe addressed me.

“We have only exchanged civilities, Archie. Have you anything that should be reported?”

“Nothing that won’t wait, no, sir. He is still afraid of a woman.”

He went to the company. “As I was saying, ladies, I thank you for coming. You were under no obligation. Mr Gather, asking you to come, explained that Mr Goodwin’s opinion, expressed in your hearing Tuesday evening, that Faith Usher was murdered, has produced some complications that are of concern to me, and that I wished to consult with you. Mr Goodwin still believes—”

“I told him,” Rose Tuttle blurted, “that Faith might take the poison right there, and he said he would see that nothing happened, but it did.” Her blue eyes and round face weren’t as cheerful as they had been at the party, in fact they weren’t cheerful at all, but her curves were all in place and her pony tail made its jaunty arc.

Wolfe nodded.” He has told me of that. But he thinks that what happened was not what you feared. He still believes that someone else poisoned Miss Usher’s champagne. Do you disagree with him, Miss Tuttle?”

“I don’t know. I thought she might do it, but I didn’t see her. I’ve answered so many questions about it that now I don’t know what I think.”

“Miss Varr?”

You may remember my remark that I would have picked Ethel Varr if I had been shopping. Since she was facing Wolfe and I had her in profile, and she was in daylight from the windows, her face wasn’t ringing any of the changes in its repertory, but that was a good angle for it, and the way she carried her head would never change. Her lips parted and closed again before she answered.

“I don’t think,” she said in a voice that wanted to tremble but she wouldn’t let it, “that Faith killed herself.”

“You don’t, Miss Varr? Why?”

“Because I was looking at her. When she took the champagne and drank it. I was standing talking with Mr Goodwin, only just then we weren’t saying anything because Rose had told me that she had told him about Faith having the poison, and he was watching Faith so I was watching her too, and I’m sure she didn’t put anything in the champagne because I would have seen her. The police have been trying to get me to say that Mr Goodwin told me to say that, but I keep telling them that he couldn’t because he hasn’t said anything to me at all. He hasn’t had a chance to.” Her head turned, changing her face, of course, as I had it straight on. “Have you, Mr Goodwin?”

I wanted to go and give her a hug and a kiss, and then go and shoot Cramer and a few assistant district attorneys. Cramer hadn’t seen fit to mention that my statement had had corroboration; in fact, he had said that if it wasn’t for me suicide would be a reasonable assumption. The damn liar. After I shot him I would sue him for damages.

“Of course not,” I told her. “If I may make a personal remark, you told me at the di

“It is,” he acknowledged. “Indeed, Miss Varr, quite satisfactory.” That, if she had only known it, was a triumph. He gave me a satisfactory only when I hatched a masterpiece. His eyes moved. “Miss Yarmis?”

Helen Yarmis still had her dignity, but the corners of her wide, curved mouth were apparently down for good, and since that was her best feature she looked pretty hopeless. “All I can do,” she said stiffly, “is say what I think. I think Faith killed herself. I told her it was dumb to take that poison along to a party where we were supposed to have a good time, but I saw it there in her bag. Why would she take it along to a party like that if she wasn’t going to use it?”

Wolfe’s understanding of women has some big gaps, but at least he knows enough not to try using logic on them. He merely ignored her appeal to unreason. “When,” he asked, “did you tell her not to take the poison along?”

“When we were dressing to go to the party. We lived in an apartment together. Just a big bedroom with a kitchenette, and the bathroom down the hall, but I guess that’s an apartment.”