And there was no hesitation in his manner as he rang the front doorbell of the big house. Charlie Boston had the good grace to hang back a bit.
“They got company, Ollie,” he protested. “Listen to the music.”
Quade had already heard the music, recognized it, too. Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. That and the several cars outside told him what it was. A wedding rehearsal. Evidently the scene in the restaurant hadn’t been allowed to interfere with the Lanyards’ plans.
The door opened and a liveried butler looked questioningly at Quade.
“Mr. Lanyard,” Quade said.
“Which Mr. Lanyard?”
“Senior. Tell him it’s Mr. Oliver Quade.”
“Very well, I’ll see if he’s at home.” The butler closed the door.
“It’s the suit,” Quade said. “I’ll have to get a new one. Can’t go around society homes with the checkerboard pattern.”
The door opened again and a dignified, gray-haired man with a short clipped mustache held out his hand to Quade. “Come in, Mr. Quade. I’ve heard about you. Glad you dropped out.”
Quade winked triumphantly at Boston.
“This way,” Guy Lanyard said, leading the way to a room on the right side of the foyer. Quade looked to the left where the organ was playing, but followed Lois’ father to the right.
In the library, Guy Lanyard said, “Have a seat, won’t you? I presume you want to talk to me about that affair this afternoon. Pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
“It was. This is Charles Boston, my friend.”
“Ah, yes, how are you, Mr. Boston? You were there too?”
“Me, I found the body,” Boston said proudly.
Guy Lanyard winced. “The children have told me about it. And our chief of police left me only a few minutes ago. He’s considerably disturbed about the matter. I’m glad to have this chance of talking it over with you, Mr. Quade. From what Lois and Bob told me about you, I gather that you’re a man of some — ah, perspicacity.”
Quade grinned at the blank look on Boston’s face. “Forsaking modesty for the moment, Mr. Lanyard, I’m probably the smartest person in this State. I’m the Human Encyclopedia.”
Guy Lanyard didn’t seem to know just how to take that, but finally he grinned. “Maybe I’m saying the wrong thing, but if so, forgive me, because I’ve never met a Human Encyclopedia before. But as I have this opportunity now I’d like to take advantage of it. Can you tell me if Mid-City Service is a good buy right now?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Quade replied. “I’m not a fortune teller. I impart only knowledge, and the devil himself couldn’t tell you if Mid-City Service is a good or bad buy right now. I can tell you that it was a good buy a year ago. That’s a matter of knowledge. Anything else I could help you on?”
Guy Lanyard’s eyes snapped. “Yes. Who killed Wesley Peters?”
Fortunately Quade was spared answering the question. Lois Lanyard burst into the room. “Dad!” she cried and then came to a stop when she saw Quade.
“Hello,” she said.
“I didn’t know you were having a dress rehearsal,” Quade apologized. “I wouldn’t have come out.”
“Quite all right,” replied Lois. “We’re finished now. Dad, the reason I burst in — don’t you think Honolulu would be more interesting than Europe?”
“Borneo is charming at this season,” Quade volunteered.
Lois Lanyard sighed. “We’re at it again. Well, let’s entertain the others, too. Come along, Mr. Quade.”
Guy Lanyard frowned but Quade was willing. “Fine, I’d like another chance to talk with Freddie Bartlett.”
Lois passed him in the doorway. She whispered fiercely, “Don’t start any more trouble. I’ve had enough for one day.”
The large living-room was full of people; a half-dozen girls, the minister and several well-dressed young men. And Mrs. Lanyard, an older edition of Lois, who still retained most of her youthful beauty. The years had endowed her with added warmth and charm.
Bob Lanyard was walking in and out of the crowd, his ascetic face strained in a frown. His beautiful wife, Jessie, seemed to have quite recovered from the afternoon, for she was chatting gaily, surrounded by several young men.
Freddie Bartlett was in an expansive mood. With most of the girls around him he was expounding on the merits of different honeymoon spots. “Honolulu,” he was saying, “has become too common. Singapore is the place today. A month there, then Yokohama in cherry-blossom time.”
“How about the county jail?” Quade asked. “I’ve been told that it’s charming at this season.”
Freddie Bartlett scowled. “Ah, it’s you, Mr. Shade. Always clowning. How’s the — what do you call it in the vernacular — the pitching business?”
“Fair to middling,” Quade shrugged. “I’ve forsaken it for the nonce. I’m in the detecting business now.”
“Then you’ll be interested to know you’ll have some competition tomorrow. Bob has engaged a famous sleuth — Christopher Buck.”
Quade’s eyelids lowered thoughtfully. Christopher Buck had a reputation that was more than local. He had a good press agent too, for there was seldom a week that some mention of him didn’t appear in the newspapers.
Quade drifted over to Bob Lanyard. “I understand you’ve hired Christopher Buck to do some investigating for you,” he remarked casually.
Annoyance came into young Lanyard’s eyes. “Yes, with all due respect to Chief Costello, I don’t believe he knows what it’s all about and I don’t believe he’ll ever find out who killed this — this Wesley Peters, do you?”
“Not unless the murderer confesses voluntarily.”
Bob Lanyard winced.
“I’m sorry,” Quade apologized quickly. “I forgot.”
“It’s all right. But that’s just why I phoned to the city and engaged Mr. Buck. Unless the case is solved beyond a shadow of a doubt a few people will still have ideas — and I don’t want any reflection to hang over Jessie.”
Jessie must have heard her name mentioned for she suddenly excused herself from her circle of admirers and came over.
“Oh, Mr. Quade, I’m so glad you dropped in. You know I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, you know I was in the show business before I married Bob. Your little spiel out at the dog show this afternoon; have you ever thought of going on the stage?”
Quade’s lips peeled back in a wide smile, too wide. “No, and I’m sorry to say that no Hollywood scout has approached me either.”
Jessie Lanyard didn’t catch the sarcasm. “Why that act — you know that question and answer stuff — that’s great. Properly handled it should be a wow on the stage. I’ve a friend in Mr. Kent’s office and, if you like, I’ll give you a note to him.”
“Jessie,” said Bob Lanyard, “perhaps Mr. Quade doesn’t want to go on the stage.”
“Why not? With his personality and that gift of gab? Say, I’ve seen hoofers with less than he’s got make good on the big time.”
Quade pursed his lips. “You mean I’d have to take up dancing?”
That was a bit too strong. Even Jessie Lanyard caught the sarcasm. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t know I was being funny.” She put her pretty nose into the air and went back to her covey of admirers.
“At it again,” said Lois Lanyard.
Quade walked to one side with her. “What’s this I hear about your brother employing a private detective?”
Lois frowned. “Bob seemed to think Jessie’s reputation has been besmirched and he’s determined to clear it. Well, she did throw quite a scene today.”
“When’s Buck coming?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ve heard he’s a very astute man-hunter. He comes high, at any rate.”
“Hmm. You’re really going through with your marriage?”