I was shaking my head. No, sir. Youve got it wrong. I let you finish just to hear it. If that were the purpose, giving the girls a chance to meet prospects, I would say hooray for Mrs Robilotti, and I wouldnt go. But thats the hell of it, thats not it at all. The men are from her own social circle, the kind that wear black ties six. nights a week, and theres not a chance. The idea is that it will buck the girls up, be good for their morale, to spend an evening with the cream and get a taste of caviar and sit on a chair made by Congreve. Of course
Congreve didnt make chairs.
I know he didnt, but I needed a name and that one popped in. Of course thats a lot of hooey, but I wont be perpetrating a fraud. And dont be too sure I wont meet my doom. Its a scientific fact that some girls are more beautiful, more spiritual, more fascinating, after they have had a baby. Also it would be an advantage to have the family already started.
Pfui. Then youre going.
Yes, sir. Ive told Fritz I wont be here for dinner. I left my chair. I have to see to something. If you want to answer letters before lunch Ill be down in a couple of minutes.
I had remembered that Saturday evening at the Flamingo someone had spilled something on die sleeve of my dinner jacket, and I had used cleaner on it when I got home, and hadnt examined it since. Mounting the two flights to my room, I took a look and found it was okay.
Chapter 2
Hackett, admitting me, did fine. Formerly his manner with me as a hired detective had been absolutely perfect; now that
I was an invited guest in uniform he made the switch without batting an eye. I suppose a man working up to butler could be taught all the ins and outs of handling the hat-and-coat problem with different grades of people, but its so darned tricky that probably it has to be born in him. The way he told me good evening, compared with the way he had formerly greeted me, was a lesson in fine points.
I decided to upset him. When he had my hat and coat I inquired with my nose up, Hows it go, Mr Hackett?
It didnt faze him. That man had nerves of iron. He merely said, Very well, thank you, Mr Goodwin, Mrs Robilotti is in the drawing-room.
You win, Hackett. Congratulations. I crossed the reception hall, which took ten paces, and passed through the arch.
The drawing-room had a twenty-foot ceiling and could dance fifty couples easily, with an alcove for the orchestra as big as my bedroom. The three crystal chandeliers that had been installed by Albert Granthams mother were still there, and so were thirty-seven chairsI had counted them one dayof all shapes and sizes, not made by Congreve, I admit, but not made in Grand Rapids either. Of all the rooms I had seen, and I had seen a lot, that was about the last one I would pick as the place for a quartet of unwed mothers to meet a bunch of strangers and relax. Entering and casting a glance around, I took a walkit amounted to thatacross to where Mrs Robilotti was standing with a group near a portable bar. As I approached she turned to me and offered a hand.
Mr Goodwin. So nice to see you.
She didnt handle the switch as perfectly as Hackett had, but it was good enough. After all, I had been imposed on her. Her pale grey eyes, which were set in so far that her brows had sharp angles, didnt light up with welcome, but it was a question whether they ever had lit up for anyone or anything. The angles were not confined to the brows. Whoever had designed her had preferred angles to curves and missed no opportunities, and the passing years, now adding up to close to sixty, had made no alterations. At least they were covered below the chin, since her dress, pale grey like her eyes, had sleeves above the elbows and reached up to the base of her corrugated neck. During the jewellery business I had twice seen her exposed for the evening, and it had been no treat. The only jewellery tonight was a string of pearls and a couple of rings.
I was introduced around and was served a champagne cocktail. The first sip of the cocktail told me something was wrong, and I worked closer to the bar to find out what. Cecil Grantham, the son of the first husband, who was mixing, was committing worse than murder. I saw him. Holding a glass behind and below the bar top, he put in a half-lump of sugar, a drop or two of bitters, and a twist of lemon peel, filled it half full of soda water, set it on the bar, and filled it nearly to the top from a bottle of Cordon Rouge. Killing good champagne with junk like sugar and bitters and lemon peel is of course a common crime, but the soda water was adding horror to homicide. The motive was pure, reducing the voltage to protect the guests of honour, but faced with temptation and given my choice of self-control or soda water in champagne, I set my jaw. I was going to keep an eye on Cecil to see if he did to himself as he was doing to others, but another guest arrived and I had to go to be introduced. He made up the dozen.
By the time our hostess led the way through the arch and up the broad marble stairs to the dining-room on the floor above, I had them sorted out, with names fitted to faces. Of course I had previously met Robilotti and the twins, Cecil and Celia. Paul Schuster was the one with the thin nose and quick dark eyes. Beverly Kent was the one with the long narrow face and big ears. Edwin Laidlaw was the little guy who hadnt combed his hair, or if he had, it refused to oblige.