“Meanwhile, Kane stood over me paying no attention whatever. It was a cold-blooded display, and the restaurant had fallen silent — that horrible public silence which undresses you and leaves you no place to hide.
“Claudel said nervously, ‘Monsieur, I spoke hastily, perhaps. But you must realize, Monsieur — you have not been presented—’
“And, without looking up at him, Kane said, ‘Present me.’
“Whereupon, even paler, Prince Claudel did so.”
“Since this is a romance,” grinned Ellery, “I suppose you slapped his face and swept out of the restaurant.”
“No,” said Karla dreamily, “for this was a realistic romance. I knew the source of our family’s support and I had undergone too much privation during the war to jeopardize it over a breach of etiquette. Besides, he was so handsome. And his breach had, after all, been committed over me... But then he made it very difficult for me to remain flattered.”
“What did he do?” asked the Inspector.
“He ordered all non-red-haired women out of the restaurant.”
“He what?”
“He passed a law, Inspector Queen. Only red-haired women, he decreed in a penetrating voice, should be allowed. And he summoned the maître and ordered the poor man to escort all brunette, blonde, and gray-haired ladies from the premises. The maître wrung his hands and hurried off, while Kane stood by my chair with perfect calmness. The restaurant, of course, was in an uproar.
“I was furious with him. I was about to rise and leave when the Baroness dug her claws into my arm and hissed at me, whispering something about the Prince. I glanced at my cousin and I could see that he was about to do something suicidally heroic. Poor Claudel! He’s had such a hard time of it. So I had to pretend to be amused, and I smiled up at the tall author of the scene and acted as if I were enjoying myself. As, secretly, I was.”
Karla laughed again, from deep in her throat. “The maître returned with the manager. The manager wrung his hands, too. Monsieur was obviously jesting... it was of a truth impossible... these distinguished personages... But Monsieur very calmly said that he was not jesting in the least. There was room in the planetary system, he said, for only one sun, which at its most beautiful, he reminded the manager, was of the color red. All non-red-haired women must leave at once.
“The manager threw up his hands and sent for the owner of the restaurant. The owner came and he was adamant. It could not be done, the owner said with respect but firmness. Such an act would be not merely immoral and unprecedented, it would be commercial suicide. He would instantly lose the patronage of the most elevated diners in Paris. He would be sued, wrecked, ruined...
“At this point Kane looked over at Abel, and Abel, who had been quietly listening, rose from their table and came to his brother. They conferred for a moment, then Abel took the owner aside and there was another inaudible conference. While this was going on, Kane said to me soothingly, ‘A thousand apologies for this annoyance. It will be over in a moment.’ I had to smile up at him again to keep Claudel in hand...
“Then the owner rejoined us, and he was paler than my cousin. If Monsieur Bendigo and his guests would be so gracious as to retire to a private suite, for a few moments only... Monsieur Bendigo smiled and said that would be agreeable to him — if I joined his party.”
“And you did?”
“I had to, Mr. Queen, or Prince Claudel would have assaulted him where he stood. I went to Claudel and whispered that I was being most terribly diverted — leaving Claudel speechless — and then I permitted Kane to escort me from the room. The last thing I remember,” laughed Karla, “was Baroness Herblay’s open mouth.
“Fifteen minutes later the owner of the restaurant presented himself to Kane in the private suite, informed him that all ladies who were not so fortunate as to possess red hair had been ‘removed from the premises,’ and bowed himself out again. At this Kane nodded gravely, and he said to me, ‘I am reasonably sure you were the only red-haired woman present, but if we find that I’ve made a mistake, I will take appropriate action on some other ground. Will you do me the honor of dining with me and my friends?’ And we went back into the restaurant, and not a woman was there — just a few men who had remained out of curiosity. Needless to say, Claudel, the Herblays, and the others had all left.”
“But what on earth made the owner change his tune?” asked Ellery. “I assume he was well paid for it, but it seems to me no amount of money, after a stunt like that, would keep his business solvent.”
“It was no longer his, Mr. Queen,” said Karla. “You see, on the spot, on Kane’s instructions, Abel had purchased the restaurant!”
Four days later — four of the most exciting days in her life, Karla said — they were married. They spent a prolonged honeymoon on the continent, to the despair of Abel. But Karla was overwhelmingly in love, and it was not until two months later that her husband brought her in state to Bendigo Island.
“Where you’ve been ever since?” asked the Inspector. “Must get pretty lonely for a woman like you, Mrs. Bendigo.”
“Oh, no,” protested Karla. “I could never be lonely with Kane.”
“But doesn’t he work very hard?” murmured Ellery. “Late hours, and all that? From what I’ve gathered, you don’t see much of your husband.”
Karla sighed. “I have never felt that a woman should stand between her husband and his work. It is probably my European training... We do have our interludes, however. I often accompany Kane on business trips, which take him all over the world. We spent most of last month, for example, in Buenos Aires, and Kane says we will be going to London and Paris soon.” She refilled their brandy glasses, her hand shaking slightly. “You must not feel sorry for me,” she said in a light tone. “It is true, I sometimes miss the company of women of my own class, but one must sacrifice something for being married to a phenomenon... Did you know that my husband was a famous athlete in his day?”
It was all rather pathetic, and when Karla insisted on showing them her husband’s trophy room they followed her like tourists into what looked like a museum. The room was sternly Greek in spirit, an affair of pure-line marble and slender columns, and it was full of athletic trophies won, Karla Bendigo said, by her extraordinary husband in his youth.
“This is a phase of the great man that never gets into the magazine articles,” remarked Ellery, glancing about at the plaques and scrolls and cabinets containing memorial footballs, baseballs, skis, statuettes, cups, lacrosse sticks, foils, boxing gloves, and a hundred other testimonials to athletic prowess. “Did Mr. Bendigo actually win all these?”
“We rather discourage magazine writers, Mr. Queen,” said Karla. “Yes, these were all won by Kane at school. I don’t think there’s a sport he didn’t excel in.”
Ellery paused to study one silver cup for water polo, on whose surface the name Kane appeared brighter than the other engraving.
“That one,” observed the Inspector over Ellery’s shoulder, “looks as if the name Kane’s been re-engraved.”
Karla looked, too, and nodded. “Yes, it has. I asked Kane about that myself when I first saw it.”
“Abel. Judah.” Ellery turned suddenly, “I wondered why the Biblical influence didn’t extend to the other brother. It did, didn’t it, Mrs. Bendigo? Kane — K-a-n-e — isn’t his name, either. It was...”
“C-a-i-n. That is right, Mr. Queen.”