"Just a little ginger ale." Dan made himself at home in the big chair. "My first wife was a humdinger of a cook."
"You were married before you met Joy?"
"Yep. It didn't work out. But she sure could cook! That woman could make chicken taste like roast beef!"
Qwilleran served Dan his drink, poured ginger ale for himself, and made a cordial toast to the success of the potter's exhibition. Then he looked around for the cats; he always noted their reaction to visitors, and often he was influenced by their attitudes. The cats had retired behind the books on the bookshelf. He could see three inches of tail curling around a volume of English history, but it was not a tail in repose. The tip lifted in regular rhythm, tapping the shelf lightly. It meant Koko was listening. Qwilleran knew the tail belonged to Koko; Yum Yum's tail had a kink in the tip.
After Dan had quoted with relish all the compliments he had received at the champagne party, Qwilleran made a wry face and said, "I don't know whether to believe you or not."
"Whatcha say?"
"Sometimes I think you're the world's champion liar." Qwilleran used his most genial tone. "I think you're pulling my leg half the time."
"What do you mean?" Dan clearly did not know whether to grin or scowl.
"Just for example, you told me you threw the switch when Joy's hair caught in the wheel, and you saved her life. But you know and I know she never used the electric wheel. I think you just wanted to play the big hero. Come on, now. Confess!" Qwilleran's eyes were gently mocking.
"No, you've got me all wrong! Cripes! The kick-wheel was on the blink that night, and she was rushing to finish some pots for the next firing, so she used the power wheel. There's no law against that, is there?"
"And then you told Bunsen and me there were rats in the basement; we all know that Maus had the exterminator in last month. What is this guff you're handing me?"
"Well, I'll tell you," Dan said, relaxing as he came to the conclusion that the newsman was ribbing him. "You fellows were off the track. You were trying too hard to squeeze a story out of that broken-down clay room. The real story was the Living Glaze. Am I right? No use wasting your time on stuff that isn't interesting. I know how valuable your time is. I just wanted to get you into the kiln room, that's all. Can't guy use a little psychology, if you know what I mean?"
Qwilleran concentrated on lighting his pipe, as if it ere his primary concern. "All right" — puff, puff — I'll buy that" — puff, puff — "but how about that cock-and-bull story that Joy is in Miami for" — puff, puff — "rest and relaxation? She hates Florida."
"I know she's always saying that, but dammit, that's where she went. This guy Hamilton is down there. I think she traipsed off to see him. They had a little thing going, you know. Joy's no saint, if you know what I mean."
"Then why didn't you ship her clothes" — puff, puff — "the way she asked? How come you burned them?" Qwilleran examined his pipe critically. There's something wrong with this tobacco." To himself he said, Watch it, Qwill. You're on thin ice.
"So help me, they were some rags she didn't want," an said. "You can burn cloth in a kiln to give the pots a special hazy effect. You can pull all kinds of tricks by controlling the burning gases. . . How did you know, anyway?" Dan's eyes grew steely for a moment.
"You know how reporters are, Dan. We're always looping around. Occupational disease," the newsman explained amiably. "Have some cheese? It's good Roquefort."
"No, I'm stuffed. Man, you nag just like my wife. You're like a dog with a bone."
"Don't let it burn you. I'm playing games, that's alI. Shall I refill your glass?" Qwilleran poured Dan another drink. "Okay, try this on for size: You said you weren't taking a trip, but according to the grapevine you're heading for Paris."
"Well, I'll be jiggered! You're a nosy bugger." Dan scratched his cheek. "I suppose that nutty Hixie's been blabbing. I had to tell her something to get her off my neck. That kid's man-hungry, I'm telling you."
"But are you really planning to leave? I have a friend who might take over the pottery if you're giving it up."
"Just between you and me and the gatepost," the potter said, lowering his voice, "I can't warm up to this neck of the woods. I'd go back to California if I could break my contract with Maus, but I don't want to spill the beans till I know for sure."
"Is that why you broke all those pots and dumped them in the river?"
Dan's mouth fell open. "What?"
"All those blue and green pots. You can see them down there, shining right through the mud. Must be the Living Glaze."
"Oh, those!" Dan took a long swallow of bourbon and ginger ale. "Those were rejects. When I got the notion for the new glaze, I tried it out on some bisque that had sagged in the kiln. Those pots were early experiments. No point in keeping them."
"Why'd you dump them in the river?"
"Are you kidding? To save a little dough, man. The city charges by the bushel for collecting rubbish, and Maus — that old pinch-penny — makes me pay for my own trash removal."
"But why in the middle of the night?"
Dan shrugged. "Day or night, I don't know the difference. Before a show you work twenty-four hours a day. When you're firing, you check the kiln every couple of hours around the clock. . . Say, what are you? Some kind of policeman?"
"Old habit of mine," Qwilleran said; the ice was getting thinner. "When I see something that doesn't add up, I have to check it out. . . such as . . . when I write a check for seven hundred and fifty dollars and someone ups it a thousand dollars." He regarded the potter calmly but steadily.
"What do you mean?"
"That check I gave Joy, so she could take a vacation. You cashed it. You should know what I mean." Qwilleran loosened his tie.
"Sure, I cashed it," Dan said, "but it was made out for seventeen-fifty. Joy left in a hurry, I guess, and forgot to take it with her. She'd forget her head it if wasn't fastened on. She called me from Miami and said she'd left a check for seventeen hundred and fifty dollars in the loft, and I should endorse it for her and wire her half of the money. She told me to use the rest for a big swing-ding for the opening."
"This afternoon you told me the champagne party was financed by the Los Angeles deal."
Dan looked apologetic. "Didn't want you to know she'd handed me half of your dough. Didn't want to rile you up . . . Are you sure you didn't make out that check for seventeen fifty? How could anybody add a thousand bucks to a check?"
"Easy," Qwilleran said. "Put a one in front of the numeral and add teen to the end of the word seven."
"Well, that's what she did, then, because it sure as hell wasn't me. I told you she's no saint. If you'd been married to her for fifteen years, you'd find out." Dan shifted impatiently in his chair. "Jeez! You're an ornery cuss. If I wasn't so good-natured, I'd punch you in the kisser. But just to prove there's no hard feelings, I'm going to give you a present." He pushed himself out of the deep chair. "I'll be right back, and if you want to sweeten my drink while I'm gone, that's okay with me."
That was when Qwilleran felt a tremor of uncertainty. That check he had given Joy — he had written it without his glasses and in a state of emotion. Perhaps he had made a mistake himself. He paced the floor, waiting for Dan's return.
"Koko, what are you hiding for?" he mumbled in the direction of the bookcase. "Get out here and give me some moral support!"
There was no reply, but the length of brown tail that was visible slapped the shelf vehemently.
Shortly Dan returned with two pieces of pottery: a large square urn with a footed base and a small rectangular planter. The large piece was in the rare red glaze.