“How very sweet,” said Nikki.
“Mr. Troy, I think, Nikki,” said Ellery, “detects a dry bouquet.”
“Mr. Queen, I yield to no man in lovingkindness,” said Mr. Troy earnestly, “and I’m not saying this because the fellow comes from Europe—some of my best friends are Europeans—but I tell you this particular individual isn’t to be trusted. He’d be dangerous if he were a one hundred per cent American. I consider myself a judge of character, and I saw his face when he heard that Helen was going to marry Henry Yates. There was murder there!”
“Clarence Darrow once remarked that he’d never killed anyone, but he frequently got satisfaction reading the obituary notices,” murmured Ellery. “However. You distrust this man—”
“I know his kind!”
“—and he’s to be at your daughter’s wedding—”
“He’s not only going to be at it,” howled Mr. Troy, “he’s going to be the best man!”
There was a silence.
“Oh, dear,” said Nikki. “How did he get to be that?”
“He’s stuck close to Henry ever since the fight in my library,” said Mr. Troy wildly, “and apparently he’s made Henry feel that the only way Henry can show there are no hard feelings is to let him be best man at the wedding. I’ve appealed to Helen, but she’s walking on clouds these days and she thinks it’s simply too romantic! I tell you, it’s enough to—”
“When and where is the wedding, Mr. Troy?” asked Ellery thoughtfully. “And what kind of wedding will it be?”
“Quiet, Mr. Queen, very quiet. My wife died recently and of course a big church wedding is out of the question. I wanted Helen to wait a few months, but June starts on Friday, and she insists on a June wedding—June weddings are lucky, of course—and she won’t wait another year till next June. So it’s to be at home, with a small, select guest list—immediate family and a few friends—this coming Saturday... I’d have gone to the police, Mr. Queen,” said Mr. Troy glumly, “except that... Would you consider coming to the wedding to sort of keep an eye on things?”
“I really don’t think you have much to worry about, Mr. Troy,” said Ellery with a smile, “but if it will ease your mind—”
“Thank you!”
“But wouldn’t this man Luz,” asked Nikki, “be suspicious of the presence of a complete stranger?”
“Let him!” said Mr. Troy violently.
“Mr. Troy’s right, Nikki. If Luz knows he’s being watched, he’s much less likely to try anything. If, of course,” added Ellery indulgently, “he has any such intention.”
Indulgent or not, Ellery did not wait for Saturday to make the acquaintance of Victor Luz. He set about getting to know him immediately, by remote control. In addition, Ellery confided in Inspector Queen, and the Inspector assigned Sergeant Thomas Velie of his staff to special duty, which consisted in following Mr. Luz conspicuously wherever he went. The Sergeant executed his assignment as ordered, grumbling at the affront to his professional pride. As a result, by the day of the Troy-Yates nuptials, Ellery had an approximate knowledge of Mr. Luz’s life and habits, and Mr. Luz had the certain knowledge that he was being shadowed. As for the dossier on Luz, Ellery found nothing in it of interest beyond repeated evidence that Luz had a beastly temper and went berserk occasionally, and that he came from a long line of European noblemen with a history of elegant sadism and, in the older days, refined savagery toward peasants, pour le sport. For the rest, Luz lived well and honorably on his father’s money, and his personal life was neither more nor less questionable than that of any other young Park Avenue bachelor.
Nevertheless, because he was thorough, Ellery arranged with Richard K. Troy for Sergeant Velie to attend the wedding, too.
“Acting the part of a detective,” Ellery explained.
“What d’ye mean, acting?” growled the Sergeant.
“Private detective, Sergeant, ostensibly watching the wedding presents.”
“Oh,” said Sergeant Velie; but he went to the wedding unmollified.
The June day was as rare as any bride could have yearned for. It was a garden wedding, with the high Troy walls invisible under thousands of roses and the river invisible beyond the walls. The bride’s gown was by Mainbocher, the floral decorations and bouquets were by Max Schling, the catering was by the Ritz, the presiding clergyman was a bishop, and there were no more than five dozen wedding guests. And Juno Regina smiled down from the battlements of heaven.
As far as Ellery could see, he was merely wasting an afternoon healthily. He and Velie, in striped trousers, had arrived early and they had elaborately searched the house and grounds, making sure that Mr. Luz saw them at their labors. Mr. Luz had paled slightly on seeing the heroic figure of Sergeant Velie, and he had made some remark to the bride’s father.
“Oh, detectives,” growled Mr. Troy, trying to sound careless.
Luz had bitten his lip and then, impeccable in his cutaway, he had gone upstairs to the rooms set aside for the groom. When he found Ellery at his heels, he ground his teeth. Ellery waited patiently outside the door. When Luz, after a long time, emerged with Henry Yates, Ellery followed them downstairs.
“Who the devil is that?” he heard Yates ask Luz.
“A detective, Mr. Troy said.”
“What on earth for?”
In the crowded room downstairs Ellery nodded to Sergeant Velie, and Sergeant Velie collided with Luz.
“Here, fellow! What are you doing?” cried Luz angrily.
“Pardon,” said the Sergeant; and he reported to Ellery that their man was not heeled.
Neither man took his eyes off Luz for an instant.
When the ceremony began, Ellery was in the front row of chairs, directly behind Luz. Sergeant Velie was in the doorway of the reception room off the terrace, one hand tucked under his coat in Napoleon’s classic pose.
Ellery concentrated on the best man, letting the bishop’s murmur trickle over him. It had all long since begun to seem unreal and silly. Luz stood a little behind and to the side of the groom, looking properly solemn, and quite conscious of the watchful stranger behind him. Yates’s big body was between him and Helen Troy; he could not possibly have reached her without interception. And the bride was too beautiful in her wedding gown to give credence to thoughts of death—far more beautiful than any woman there, in particular her maid of honor, who was her sister Euphemia and seemed precariously on the verge of tears. And Mr. Troy, to the side of the bride, kept his beetled glance directly on the best man, as if challenging him to violate the loveliness of the moment by so much as a thought.
Too silly for words...
“And now the ring, if you please,” the bishop was saying.
The groom turned to the best man, and the best man’s fingers automatically went to the lefthand lower pocket of his vest. They probed. They probed deeper. They stopped probing, paralyzed. A horrified titter ran through the garden. Victor Luz began to search frantically through all his pockets. The bishop glanced heavenward.
“For... for God’s sake, Victor,” whispered Henry Yates. “This is no time to gag!”
“Gag!” choked Luz. “I assure you... I could have sworn...”
“Maybe you left it in your topcoat!”
“Yes. Yes! But where...?”
Effie Troy stretched her skinny neck their way and hissed, “Your topcoat’s in the clothes closet in the upstairs hall, Victor. I put it there myself when you got here.”
“Hurry up,” groaned the groom. “Of all the idiot... Darling, I’m so sorry... Bishop, please forgive...”
“It’s quite all right, young man,” sighed the bishop.