Too Many Cooks/Champagne for One (6 page)

She asked him, “Would you like to dance, dear?”

“You know I wouldn’t. You weren’t dancing.”

“But what—” She laughed. “They call it dancing, don’t they?”

“They may. But you weren’t dancing.” He smiled—that is, technically; it looked more like a smile to end smiles.

Vallenko came up. He stopped close to them, looked from his face to hers and back again, and all at once burst out laughing. “Ah, Laszio!” He slapped him on the back, not gently. “Ah, my friend!” He bowed to Dina. “Thank you, madame.” He strode off.

She said to her husband, “Phillip dear, if you don’t want me to dance with your colleagues you might have said so. I don’t find it so great a pleasure—”

It didn’t seem likely that they would need me to help out, so I went back out to the dining room and sat down. For half an hour I sat there and watched the zoo. Lawrence Coyne came in from the small parlor, rubbing his eyes and trying to comb his white whiskers with his fingers. He looked around and called “Lio!” in a roar that shook the windows, and his Chinese wife came trotting from the other room, got him in a chair and perched on his knee. Leon Blanc entered, immediately got into an argument with Berin and Rossi, and suddenly disappeared with them into the kitchen. It was nearly six o’clock when Constanza blew in. She had changed from her riding things. She looked around and offered a few greetings which nobody paid much attention to, then saw Vukcic and me and came over to us and asked where her father was. I told her, in the kitchen fighting about lemon juice. In the daylight the dark purple eyes were all and more than I had feared.

I observed, “I saw you and the horses a couple of hours ago. Will you have a glass of ginger ale?”

“No, thanks.” She smiled as to an indulgent uncle. “It was very nice of you to tell father that Mr. Tolman is your friend.”

“Don’t mention it. I could see you were young and helpless, and thought I might as well lend a hand. Are things beginning to shape up?”

“Shape up?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I waved a hand. “As long as you’re happy.”

“Certainly I’m happy. I
love
America. I believe I’ll have some ginger ale after all. No, don’t move, I’ll get it.” She moved around the table toward a button.

I don’t believe Vukcic, right next to me, heard any of it, because he had his eyes on his former wife as she sat with Laszio and Servan talking to Wolfe. I had noticed that tendency in him during lunch. I had also noticed that Leon Blanc unobtrusively avoided Laszio and had not once spoken to him who, according to Berin, had stolen Blanc’s job at the Hotel Churchill; whereas Berin himself was inclined to find opportunities for glaring at Laszio at close quarters, but also without speaking. There was undoubtedly a little atmosphere around, what with Mamma Mondor’s sniffs at Lisette Putti and a general air of comradely jealousy and arguments about lettuce and vinegar and the thumbs down clique on Laszio, and last but not least, the sultry mist that seemed to float around Dina Laszio. I have always had a belief that the swamp-woman—the kind who can move her eyelids slowly three times and you’re stuck in a marsh and might as well give up—is never any better than a come-on for suckers; but I could see that if Dina Laszio once got you alone and she had her mind on her work and it was raining outdoors, it would take more than a sense of humor to laugh it off. She was way beyond the stage of spilling ginger ale on lawyers.

I watched the show and waited for Wolfe to display signs of motion. A little after six he made it to his feet, and I followed him onto the terrace and along the path to Upshur. Considering the terrible hardships of the train, he was navigating fine. In Suite 60 there had been a chambermaid around, for the bed was smoothed out again and the blanket folded up and put away. I went to my room, and a little later rejoined Wolfe in his. He was in a chair by the window which was almost big enough for him, leaning back with his eyes closed and a furrow in his brow, with his fingers meeting at the center of his paunch. It was a pathetic sight. No Fritz, no atlas to look at, no orchids to tend to, no bottle caps to count! I was sorry that the dinner was to be informal, since three or four of the masters were cooking it, because the job of getting into dinner clothes would have made him so mad that it would have taken his mind off of other things and really been a relief to him. As I stood and surveyed him he heaved a long deep
shuddering sigh, and to keep the tears from coming to my eyes I spoke.

“I understand Berin is going to make saucisse minuit for lunch to-morrow. Huh?”

No score. I said, “How would you like to go back in an airplane? They have a landing field right here. Special service, on call, sixty bucks to New York, less than four hours.”

Nothing doing. I said, “They had a train wreck over in Ohio last night. Freight. Over a hundred pigs killed.”

He opened his eyes and started to sit up, but his hand slipped on the arm of the foreign chair and he slid back again. He declared, “You are dismissed from your job, to take effect upon our arrival at my house in New York. I
think
you are. It can be discussed after we get home.”

That was more like it. I grinned at him. “That will suit me fine. I’m thinking of getting married anyhow. The little Berin girl. What do you think of her?”

“Pfui.”

“Go on and phooey. I suppose you think living with you for ten years has destroyed all my sentiment. I suppose you think I am no longer subject—”

“Pfui!”

“Very well. But last night in the club car it came to me. I don’t suppose you realize what a pippin she is, because you seem to be immune. And of course I haven’t spoken to her yet, because I couldn’t very well ask her to marry a—well, a detective. But I think if I can get into some other line of work and prove that I can make myself worthy of her—”

“Archie.” He was sitting up now, and his tone was a menacing murmur. “You are lying. Look at me.”

I gave him as good a gaze as I could manage, and I thought I had him. But then I saw his lids begin to droop, and I knew it was all off. So the best I could do was grin at him.

“Confound you!” But he sounded relieved at that. “Do you realize what marriage means? Ninety percent of men over thirty are married, and look at them! Do you realize that if you had a wife she would insist on cooking for you? Do you know that all women believe that the function of food begins when it reaches the stomach? Have you any idea that a woman can ever—what’s that?”

The knocking on the outer door of the suite had sounded
twice, the first time faintly, and I had ignored it because I didn’t want to interrupt him. Now I went out and through the inner hall and opened up. Whereupon I, who am seldom surprised, was close to astonished. There stood Dina Laszio.

Her eyes looked larger than ever, but not quite so sleepy. She asked in a low voice, “May I come in? I wish to see Mr. Wolfe.”

I stood back, she went past, and I shut the door. I indicated Wolfe’s room, “In there, please,” and she preceded me. The only perceptible expression on Wolfe’s face as he became aware of her was recognition.

He inclined his head. “I am honored, madam. Forgive me for not rising; I permit myself that discourtesy. That chair around, Archie?”

She was nervous. She looked around. “May I see you alone, Mr. Wolfe?”

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant.”

“But I …” She stayed on her feet. “It is hard to tell even you …”

“Well, madam, if it is too hard …” Wolfe let it hang in the air.

She swallowed, looked at me again, and took a step toward him. “But it would be harder … I must tell someone. I have heard much of you, of course … in the old days, from Marko … and I must tell someone, and there is no one but you to tell. Somebody is trying to poison my husband.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Be seated. Please. It’s easier to talk sitting down, don’t you think, Mrs. Laszio?”

The swamp-woman lowered it into the chair I had placed. Needless to say, I leaned against the bedpost not as nonchalant as I looked. It sounded as if this might possibly be something that would help to pass the time, and justify my foresight in chucking my pistol and a couple of notebooks into my bag when I had packed.

She said, “Of course … I know you are an old friend of
Marko’s. You probably think I wronged him when I … left him. But I count on your sense of justice … your humanity.…”

“Weak supports, madam.” Wolfe was brusque. “Few of us have enough wisdom for justice, or enough leisure for humanity. Why do you mention Marko? Do you suggest that he is poisoning Mr. Laszio?”

“Oh, no!” Her hand fluttered from her lap and came to rest on the arm of her chair. “Only I am sorry if you are prejudiced against my husband and me, for I have decided that I must tell someone, and there is no one but you to tell.…”

“Have you informed your husband that he is being poisoned?”

She shook her head, with a little twist on her lips. “He informed me. To-day. You know, of course, that for luncheon several of them prepared dishes, and Phillip did the salad, and he had announced that he was going to make Meadowbrook dressing, which he originated. They all know that he mixes the sugar and lemon juice and sour cream an hour ahead of time, and that he always tastes in spoonfuls. He had the things ready, all together on a corner table in the kitchen, lemons, bowl of cream, sugar shaker. At noon he started to mix. From habit he shook sugar on to the palm of his hand and put his tongue to it, and it seemed gritty and weak. He shook some on to a pan of water, and little particles stayed on top, and when he stirred it some still stayed. He put sherry in a glass and stirred some of it into that, and only a small portion of it would dissolve. If he had mixed the dressing and tasted a spoonful or two, as he always does, it would have killed him. The sugar was mostly arsenic.”

Wolfe grunted. “Or flour.”

“My husband said arsenic. There was no taste of flour.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Easily determined, with a little hydrochloric acid and a piece of copper wire. You do not appear to have the sugar shaker with you. Where is it?”

“I suppose, in the kitchen.”

Wolfe’s eyes opened wide. “Being used for our dinner, madam? You spoke of humanity—”

“No. Phillip emptied it down the sink and had it refilled by one of the Negroes. It was sugar, that time.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe settled, and his eyes were again half shut. “Remarkable. Though he was sure it was arsenic? He didn’t turn it over to Servan? Or report it to anyone but you? Or preserve it as evidence? Remarkable.”

“My husband is a remarkable man.” A ray of the setting sun came through the window to her face, and she moved a little. “He told me that he didn’t want to make things difficult for his friend, Louis Servan. He forbade me to mention it. He is a strong man and he is very contemptuous. That is his nature. He thinks he is too strong and competent and shrewd to be injured by anyone.” She leaned forward and put out a hand, palm up. “I come to you, Mr. Wolfe! I am afraid!”

“What do you want me to do? Find out who put the arsenic in the sugar shaker?”

“Yes.” Then she shook her head. “No. I suppose you couldn’t, and even if you did, the arsenic is gone. I want to protect my husband.”

“My dear madam.” Wolfe grunted. “If anyone not a moron has determined to kill your husband, he will be killed. Nothing is simpler than to kill a man; the difficulties arise in attempting to avoid the consequences. I’m afraid I have nothing to suggest to you. It is doubly difficult to save a man’s life against his will. Do you think you know who poisoned the sugar?”

“No. Surely there is something—”

“Does your husband think he knows?”

“No. Surely you can—”

“Marko? I can ask Marko if he did it?”

“No! Not Marko! You promised me you wouldn’t mention—”

“I promised nothing of the sort. Nothing whatever. I am sorry, Mrs. Laszio, if I seem rude, but the fact is that I hate to be taken for an idiot. If you think your husband may be poisoned, what you need is a food taster, and that is not my profession. If you fear bodily violence for him, the best thing is a bodyguard, and I am not that either. Before he gets into an automobile, every bolt and nut and connection must be thoroughly tested. When he walks the street, windows and tops of buildings must be guarded, and passersby kept at a distance. Should he attend the theater—”

The swamp-woman got up. “You make a joke of it. I’m sorry.”

“It was you who started the joke—”

But she wasn’t staying for it. I moved to open the door, but she had the knob before I got to it, and since she felt that way about it I let her go on and do the outside one too. I saw that it was closed behind her, and then returned to Wolfe’s room
and put on a fake frown for him which was wasted, because he had his eyes shut. I told his big round face:

“That’s a fine way to treat a lady client who comes to you with a nice straight open-and-shut proposition like that. All we would have to do would be go down to the river where the sewer empties and swim around until we tasted arsenic—”

“Arsenic has no taste.”

“Okay.” I sat down. “Is she fixing up to poison him herself and preparing a line of negative presumptions in advance? Or is she on the level and just poking around trying to protect her man? Or is Laszio making up tales to show her how cute he is? You should have seen him looking at her when she was dancing with Vallenko. I suppose you’ve observed Vukcic lamping her with the expression of a moth in a cage surrounded by klieg lights. Or was someone really gump enough to endanger all our lives by putting arsenic in the sugar shaker? Incidentally, it’ll be dinnertime in ten minutes, and if you intend to comb your hair and tuck your shirt in—did you know that you can have one of these greenjackets for a valet for an extra five bucks per diem? I swear to God I think I’ll try it for half a day. I’d be a different person if I took proper care of myself.”

I stopped to yawn. Insufficient sleep and outdoor sunshine had got me. Wolfe was silent. But presently he spoke:

“Archie. Have you heard of the arrangement for this evening?”