As far as I am concerned, if, when everything impossible has been eliminated and what remains is supernatural, then someone is lying. If that be treason, make the most of it.
7.The Pointing Finger
It was a rather quiet Black Widowers banquet until Rubin and Trumbull had their nose-to-nose confrontation.
Mario Gonzalo had been first to arrive, subdued and with the shadow of trouble upon him.
Henry was still setting up the table when Gonzalo arrived. He stopped and asked, "How are you, sir?" in quiet and unobtrusive concern.
Gonzalo shrugged. "All right, I guess. Sorry I missed the last meeting, but I finally decided to go to the police and I wasn't up to much for a while. I don't know if they can do anything, but it's up to them now. I almost wish you hadn't told me."
"Perhaps I ought not to have done so."
Gonzalo shrugged. "Listen, Henry," he said. "I called each of the guys and told him the story."
"Was that necessary, sir?"
"I had to. I'd feel constrained if I didn't. Besides, I didn't want them to think you had failed."
"Not an important consideration, sir."
The others came one by one, and each greeted Gonzalo with a hearty welcome that ostentatiously ignored a murdered sister, and each then subsided into a kind of uneasy quiet.
Avalon, who was hosting the occasion, seemed, as always, to add the dignity of that office to his natural solemnity. He sipped at his first drink and introduced his guest, a young man with a pleasant face, thinning black hair, and an amazingly thick mustache which seemed to be waiting only for the necessary change in fashion to be waxed at the end.
"This is Simon Levy," said Avalon. "A science writer and a splendid fellow."
Emmanuel Rubin promptly said, "Didn't you write a book on the laser, Light in Step?"
"Yes," said Levy with the energetic delight of an author greeting unexpected recognition. "Have you read it?"
Rubin, who was carrying, as he always did, the self-conscious soul of a six-footer in his five-foot-four body, looked solemnly at the other through his thick glasses and said, "I did, and found it quite good."
Levy's smile weakened, as though he considered a judgment of "quite good" no good at all.
Avalon said, "Roger Halsted won't be with us today. He's out of town on something or other. Sends his regrets and says to say hello to Mario if he shows up."
Trumbull said with his mouth down-curved in a sneer, "We're spared a limerick."
"I missed last month's," said Gonzalo. "Was it any good?"
"You wouldn't have understood it, Mario," said Avalon gravely.
"That good, eh?"
And then things quieted down to a near whisper until somehow the Act of Union came up. Afterward, neither Rubin nor Trumbull could remember exactly how.
Trumbull said, in what was considerably more than an ordinary speaking voice, "The Act of Union forming the United Kingdom of England, Wales, and Scotland was made law at the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713."
"No, it wasn't," said Rubin, his straw-colored and straggly beard wagging indignantly. "The Act was passed in 1707."
"Are you trying to tell me, you dumb jackass, that the Treaty of Utrecht was signed in 1707?"
"No, I'm not," shouted Rubin, his surprisingly loud voice reaching a bellow. "The Treaty of Utrecht was signed in 1713. You guessed that part right, though God only knows how."
"If the Treaty was signed in 1713, then that settles the Act of Union."
"No, it doesn't, because the Treaty had nothing to do with the Act of Union, which was 1707."
"Damn you, five dollars says you don't know the Act of Union from a union suit."
"Here's my five dollars. Where's yours? Or can you spare a week's pay at that two-bit job you've got?"
They were standing up now, leaning toward each other over James Drake, who philosophically added a fresh dollop of sour cream and chives to the last of his baked potato, and finished it.
Drake said, "No use shouting back and forth, my fellow jackasses. Look it up."
"Henry!" roared Trumbull.
There was the smallest of delays and then Henry was at hand with the third edition of the Columbia Encyclopedia.
"Host's privilege," said Avalon. "I'll check, as an impartial observer."
He turned the pages of the fat volume, muttering, "Union, union, union, ah, Act of." He then said, almost at once, "1707. Manny wins. Pay up, Tom."
"What?" cried Trumbull, outraged. "Let's see that."
Rubin quietly picked up the two five-dollar bills which had been lying on the table and said in a ruminating voice, "A good reference book, the Columbia Encyclopedia. Best one-volume all-round reference in the world and more useful than the Britannica, even if it does waste an entry on Isaac Asimov."
"On whom?" asked Gonzalo.
"Asimov. Friend of mine. Science fiction writer and pathologically conceited. He carries a copy of the Encyclopedia to parties and says, 'Talking of concrete, the Columbia Encyclopedia has an excellent article on it only 249 pages after their article on me. Let me show you.' Then he shows them the article on himself."
Gonzalo laughed. "Sounds a lot like you, Manny."
"Tell him that and he'll kill you-if I don't first."
Simon Levy turned to Avalon and said, "Are there arguments like that all the time here, Jeff?"
"Many arguments," said Avalon, "but they generally don't get to the wager and reference book stage. When it does happen, Henry's prepared. We have not only the Columbia Encyclopedia, but copies of the Bible, both the King James and the New English; Webster's unabridged -second edition, of course; Webster's Biographical Dictionary; Webster's Geographical Dictionary; The Guinness Book of Records; Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable; and The Complete Works of Shakespeare. It's the Black Widowers' library and Henry is the custodian. It usually settles all arguments."
"I'm sorry I asked," said Levy.
"Why?"
"You mentioned Shakespeare and I react to that, right now, with nausea."
"To Shakespeare?" Avalon gazed down at his guest with lofty disapproval.
"You bet. I've been living with him for two months, reading him backward and forward till one more 'Why, marry' or 'fretful porpentine' and I'll throw up."
"Really? Well, wait… Henry, is dessert coming up?"
"Directly, sir. Coupe aux marrons."
"Good!… Simon, wait till dessert's finished and we'll carry on."
Ten minutes later, Avalon placed spoon to water glass and tinkled the assemblage to silence. "Host's privilege," he said. "It is time for the usual inquisition, but our honored guest has let it slip that for two months past he has been studying Shakespeare with great concentration, and I think this ought to be investigated. Tom, will you do the honors?"
Trumbull said indignantly, "Shakespeare? Who the hell wants to talk about Shakespeare?" His disposition had not been improved by the loss of five dollars and by the look of unearthly virtue upon Rubin's face.
"Host's privilege," said Avalon firmly.
"Humph. All right. Mr. Levy, as a science writer, what is your connection with Shakespeare?"
"None, as a science writer." He spoke with a distinct Brooklyn accent. "It's just that I'm after three thousand dollars."
"In Shakespeare?"
"Somewhere in Shakespeare. Can't say I've had any luck, though."
"You speak in riddles, Levy. What do you mean three thousand dollars somewhere in Shakespeare that you can't find?"
"Oh, well, it's a complicated story."
"Well, tell it. That's what we're here for. It's a longstanding rule that nothing that is said or done in this room is ever repeated outside under any circumstances, so speak freely. If you get boring, we'll stop you. Don't worry about that."