Champange for One

“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 begi

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 a

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