I was there, retrieving the bowl. The water wouldn’t hurt the rug. Taking her arm firmly, I escorted her across to the table by the big globe, which Fritz and I had outfitted, and told her to name it. She said Scotch on the rocks, and I made it ample. The others, invited, stated their preferences, and Carol Berk came to help me. Rackell, who had been between Delia and Fifi, decided to move and went to Carol’s chair, so when we had finished serving she took his.
Throughout the interlude two had neither moved nor spoken — Mrs. Rackell and Wolfe. Now Wolfe sent his eyes from left to right and back again.
“I trust,” he said sourly, “that Miss Goheen has completed her impromptu performance. I was trying to make it clear that you five people are in a fix. I’m not going to pester you about your positions and movements at the restaurant that evening, what you saw or didn’t see; if there was anything in that to point or eliminate the police would have already acted on it and I’m too far behind. I might spend a few hours digging at you, trying to find a reason why one or more of you wanted Arthur Rackell dead, but the police have had four days on that too, and I doubt if I could catch up. Since you were good enough to come here at Mrs. Rackell’s request, I suppose you would be willing to answer some questions, but there doesn’t seem to be any worth asking. Have you people been together at any time since Saturday evening?”
Glances were exchanged. Leddegard inquired, “Do you mean all five of us?”
“Yes.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“Then I should think you would want to talk. Go ahead. I’ll drink some beer and eavesdrop. Of course at least one of you will be on guard, but the others can speak freely. You might say something useful.”
Carol Berk, now nearer me, let out a little snort. Fritz had brought a tray, and Wolfe opened a bottle, poured, waited for the foam to reach the right level, and drank. Nobody said a word.
Leddegard spoke. “It doesn’t seem to work. Did you expect it to?”
“We ought to make it work,” Fifi declared. “I think he’s damn considerate even if he is fat, and we should help.” Her head turned. “Carol, let’s talk.”
“Glad to,” Carol agreed. “You start. Shoot.”
“Well, how’s this? We all knew Arthur was practically a commissar, I always called him comrade, and we knew his aunt and uncle hated it, and he was afraid he might lose his job and have to go on relief but he was so damn brave and honest he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. We all knew that?”
“Of course.”
“Did you know this too? He told me — a week ago today, I think it was. His aunt put it to him, reform or out on the street, and he told her he was secretly working for the FBI, spying on the Commies, but he wasn’t. He thought the FBI was practically the Gestapo. I told him he shouldn’t—”
“That’s a lie!”
Mrs. Rackell didn’t shout but she put lots of feeling in it. All eyes went to her. Her husband got up and put a hand on her shoulder. There were murmurs.
“That’s an infamous lie,” she said. “My nephew was a patriotic American. More than you are, all of you. All of you!” She left her chair. “I’ve had enough of this. I shouldn’t have come. Come, Ben, we’re going.”
She marched out. Rackell muttered to Wolfe, “A shock for her — a real shock — I’ll phone you—” and trotted after her. I went to the hall to let them out, but she had already opened the door and was on the stoop, and Rackell followed. I shut the door and went back to the office.
They were buzzing. Fifi had started them talking, all right. Wolfe was refilling his glass, watching the foam rise. I crossed to Fifi and took her glass and went to the table to replenish it, thinking she had earned a little service. She was the center of the buzzing, supplying the details of her revelation. She was sure Arthur had not been stringing her; he had told her in strict confidence, at a place and time she declined to specify, that he had told his aunt a barefaced lie — that he was working for the FBI and it must not be known. No, she hadn’t told the police. She didn’t like the police, especially a Lieutenant Rowcliff, who had questioned her three times and was a lout.
I looked and listened and tried to decide if Fifi was putting on an act. She was hard to tag. Was one of the others covering, and if so which one? I reached no conclusion and had no hunch. They were all interested and inquisitive, even Delia Devlin, though she didn’t address Fifi directly.
The only one who knew I was there was Carol Berk, who sent me a slanting glance and saw me catch it. I raised a brow at her. “What is it, a pitchout?”
“You name it.” She smiled, the way she might smile at a panhandler, humane but superior. “Why, who’s on base?”
I decided it right then, she was worth looking at, if for nothing else, to find out what she was keeping back. “They’re loaded,” I told her. “Five of you. It’s against the rules. The umpire won’t allow it. Mr. Wolfe is the umpire.”
“He looks to me more like the backstop,” she said indifferently.
I saw that it might be necessary, if events permitted, to find an opportunity to spend enough time with her to make it clear that I didn’t like her.
All of a sudden Fifi Goheen let fly again. Returning from the bar with her second refill, she brought the bottle of Scotch along and poured a good three fingers in Wolfe’s beer glass. She put the bottle on his desk, leaned over to stretch an arm and pat him on top of the head, straightened up, and grinned at him.
“Get high,” she said urgently.
He glared at her.
“Do a flip,” she commanded.
He glared.
“It’s a damn shame,” she declared. “The cops aren’t speaking to you, and here you’re buying the drinks and we’re not even sociable. Why shouldn’t we tell you what the cops have already found out? If they’re any good they have. Take Miss Devlin here.” She waved a hand. “Dozens of people will tell you that she would have got Hank Heath to make it legal long ago if Arthur hadn’t told him something about her, God knows what. Any woman would kill a man for that. And—”
“Shut up, Fee!” Leddegard barked at her.
“Let her rave,” Delia Devlin said, white-faced.
Fifi ignored them. “And Mr. Leddegard, who is a dear friend of mine, with him it’s a question of his wife — don’t be a fool, Leddy. Everybody knows it.” Back to Wolfe. “She went to South America with Arthur a couple of years ago and caught a disease and died there. I have no idea why Mr. Leddegard waited so long to kill him.”
She drained her glass and put it on the desk. “This Arthur Rackell,” she said, “was quite a guy, of his kind. Carol Berk and I discovered only a month ago that he was driving double, by a little mischance I’d rather not describe. It was quite embarrasing. I don’t know how she felt about it, you can ask her, but I know about me. All I needed was the poison, and all you need is to find out how I got it. I understand that potassium cyanide is used for a lot of things and is easy to get if you really want it. Then there’s Hank Heath. He thought Arthur had me taped, which was true in a way, but would a man kill another man just to get a woman, even one as pure and beautiful as me? You can ask him. No, I’ll ask him.”
She wheeled. “Would you, Hank?” She wheeled again to Wolfe. “As you see, that was quite a dinner party Arthur got up, but he doesn’t deserve all the credit. I dared him to. I wanted a good audience, one that would appreciate — hey, that hurts!”