Qwilleran dialed the press room at police headquarters, and while he waited for the Fluxion night man to com eon the line, he summed up his deductions. The Living Glaze was Joy's creation; he had seen Dan copying formulas from her loose-leaf notebook into a ledge. That being true, everything else fell into lace: Dan's refusal to let her show her work prior to the exhibition; the broken ceramics in the river in shapes typical of Joy's handiwork; the consensus among exhibition visitors that the glaze was too good for the clay forms beneath. Yet Dan was brazenly taking credit for the Living Glaze. Would he dare take credit if he knew Joy was alive?
Lodge Kendall barked into the press room phone.
"Sorry to bother you again, Lodge," said Qwilleran. "Remember what I asked you about last week? I'm still interested in anything they find in the river. Where do bodies usually wash up? . . . How far is that? . . . How long does it take before they drift down to the island? It wouldn't hurt to alert the police, although I have no definite proof at this time. How about bringing Lieutenant Hames to the Press Club tomorrow? . . . Fine! See what you can do. Better still, bring him to the Golden Lamb Chop, and I'll buy . . . Yes,I am desperate!"
Koko was still crouched on the desktop, watching the red thing suspiciously. The small blue planter had the same fantastic glaze, yet Koko ignored it.
Cats can't distinguish colors, Qwileran remembered. Joy had told him so. There was something lese about the red urn that bothered the small animal. On the other hand, the red library book also had offended Koko; twice he had pushed it from the bookshelf to the floor.
Qwilleran found the red volume where he had wedged it between two larger books for security. It was quite a definitive book on ceramics, and Qwilleran settled down in his chair to browse through chapters on wedging clay, using the wheel, pulling a lip, beveling a foot, formulating a glaze, packing a kiln, firing a load. It ended with a chatty chapter on the history and legend of the ceramic art.
Halfway through the last chapter Qwilleran felt nauseated. Then the blood rushed to his face, and he gripped the arms of the chair. In anger he jumped up, strode across the room, and swung the book at the red pottery urn, sweeping it off the desk. The cats fled in alarm as the urn shattered on the ceramic floor tiles.
Still gripping the book, Qwilleran lunged out of the apartment and around the balcony to Number One. Robert Maus came to the door, tying the belt of a flannel robe.
"Got to talk to you!" Qwilleran said abruptly.
"Certainly. Certainly. Please come in. I presume you have heard the midnight newscast: a bomb scare at the Golden Lamb Chop. . . My dear fellow,a re you ill? You are shaking!"
"You've got a madman in the house!" Qwilleran blurted.
"Sit down. Sit down. Calm yourself. Would you accept a glass of sherry?"
Qwilleran shook his head impatiently.
"Some black coffee?"
"Dan has murdered his wife! I know it, I know it!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"And probably William, too. And I think Joy's cat was the first victim. I think the cat was an experiment."
"One moment, I beg of you," said Maus. "What is this incoherent outburst? Will you repeat it? Slowly, please. And kindly sit down."
Qwilleran sat down as if his knees had collapsed. "I'll take that black coffee."
"It will require only a moment to filter a fresh cup."
The attorney stepped into his kitchenette, and Qwilleran gathered his thoughts. He was in better control when Maus returned with the coffee. He repeated his suspicions: "First, the Grahams' cat disappeared; then Joy disappeared; then William. I say he has murdered them all. We've got to do something!"
"This is a preposterous accusation! Where is your proof, if I may ask?"
"There's no tangible proof, but I know!" Qwilleran touched his mustache nervously; he thought it better not to mention Koko's behavior. "In face," he said, "I'm going to see a homicide detective tomorrow."
Maus raised a hand. "One moment! Let us consider the consequences before you speak to the authorities."
"Consequences? You mean adverse publicity? I'm sorry, Maus, but publicity is inevitable now."
"But pray what brings you to the . . . . monstrous conclusion that Graham has . . . has — "
"Everything points to it. For years Joy has been outshining her husband. Now she formulates a spectacular glaze that will allow her to eclipse him completely. The man has a sizable ego. He desperately wants attention and acclaim. The solution is simple: Why not get rid of his wife, apply her glaze to his own pottery, and take the credit? The marriage is falling apart anyway. So why not? . . . I tell you it's true! And once Joy was out of the way, Dan took the precaution of destroying all her pottery that carried the new glaze. We found the stuff — "
"You must pardon me if I say," the attorney interrupted, "that this . . . this wild scenario sounds like a figment of an overwrought imagination."
Qwilleran ignored the remark. "meanwhile, Dan discovers that William suspects him, and so the houseboy must be silenced. You have to admit that William ahs been conspicuously absent."
The attorney stared in disbelief.
"Furthermore," the newsman went on, "Dan is preparing to leave the country. We've got to act fast!"
"One question, if you please. Can you produce the prime evidence?"
"The bodies? No one will ever find them. At first I thought he'd dumped then in the river. Then I found a sickening fact in a book — in this book." Qwilleran shook the red volume at his incredulous listener. "In ancient China they used to throw the bodies of unwanted babies into the pottery kilns."
Maus made no move. He looked stunned.
"Those kilns downstairs can heat up to twenty-three hundred degrees! I repeat: The bodies will never be found."
"Ghastly!" the attorney said in whisper.
"You remember, Maus, that the tennis club complained about the smoke last weekend. And William knew something was wrong. Rdinarily pots take twenty-four hours for firing and twenty-four hours for cooling. If you speed it up, they explode! William told me Dan was firing too fast. The pottery door was locked, but William knew about the tiny window in Number Six, overlooking the kiln room . . . Do you know about the peephole?"
Maus nodded.
"And there's another story in this book," Qwilleran said. "It happened centuries ago in China. A barnyard animal wandered into a kiln while it was being loaded. The animal was cremated, and the clay pots emerged in a glorious shade of red!"
The attorney looked acutely uncomfortable.
"Joy's cat was probably the first experiment," Qwilleran added.
Maus said, "I feel unwell. Let us discuss this in the morning. I must think."
That night Qwilleran found it impossible to sleep. He was up, he was down, he tried to read, he walked back and forth in the apartment. Koko was also awake and alert, watching the man with concern. For one brief moment Qwilleran considered a knockout shot of whiskey, but he caught Koko's eye and desisted. Eventually some cough syrup in the medicine cabinet. It contained a strong sedative. He took a double dose.
Soon he was sleeping too deeply to dream. The foghorn continued to moan, and the boats hooted their continual warnings, but he heard nothing.
Suddenly he catapulted out the depths of his drugged sleep and found himself sitting up in the dark. In his groggy state he thought there had been an explosion. He shook his head, remembered where he was. A kiln! That's what it was, he told himself. A kiln had exploded. He switched on the bed lamp.
There had been no explosion — only the fall of a body, the crash of a chair, the crack of a head hitting the ceramic tile floor, the shattering of a window. On the floor, his head bloodied, lay Dan Graham, his legs sprawled across a tangle of gray yarn. The room was crisscrossed with yards and yards of gray strands, like a giant spiderweb.