Tait fell flat on his face." Qwilleran displayed his bandaged hand. "He must have hurled the spike as he fell." Arch Riker said, "Tell them how your cat tripped him up." Qwilleran took time to light his pipe, while his audience waited for the inside story: "Koko was on a long leash, and he flew around in circles so fast — all I could see was a smoke ring in midair. And when Tait crashed to the floor, his legs were neatly trussed up in twelve feet of cord." "Crazy!" said the photographer. "Wish I'd been there with a movie camera." "I picked up the jade spike and kept Tait down on the floor while I called the police on that gold-plated French phone." "When you go, you go first class," Bunsen said. Then Lodge Kendall arrived from Headquarters. "Qwill was right all along," he told everyone. "The houseboy was innocent. Tait has told the police that he staked Paolo to a one-way fare to Mexico, then transferred the jade to the wardrobe cabinet and threw one piece behind Paolo's bed. And you remember the missing luggage? He'd given it to the boy himself." "Was it the insurance money he was after?" "Chiefly. Tait wasn't an astute businessman.
He'd lost the family fortune, and he needed a large sum of cash to invest in another harebrained scheme…. But there was something else, too. He hates the Fluxion. Ever since they played up his role in a paternity case." "I'd like to know why he didn't settle that claim out of court," Qwilleran said.
"He tried, but he was up against dirty politics, he claims. It seems there was another Tait, a cousin of George Verning, who was running for Congress that year, and the paternity claim was timed accordingly. Somebody figured the voters wouldn't know one Tait from another, and apparently it was true. The guy lost the election." Qwilleran said, "Did Tait tell the police anything about his proposed trip to Denmark?" "Nobody mentioned it at Headquarters." "Well," said Riker, "I'll tune in tomorrow for the next installment. I'm going home to dinner." "I'm going home to feed Koko a filet mignon," said Qwilleran. "After all, he saved my neck." "Don't kid yourself," Bunsen said. "He was chasing that female cat." "I dropped her off at the pet hospital," Qwilleran said. "She had an infected wound in her side. That guy probably gave her a kick when he threw her out." Qwilleran had floated high on excitement all. afternoon, but when he arrived home he succumbed to exhaustion.
Koko reacted the same way. The cat lay on his side, legs stiffly extended, one ear bent under his head — to all appearances a dead cat except for a thoughtful look in half-open eyes. He ignored his dinner. Qwilleran went to bed early, and his dreams were pertinent and convincing. He dreamed that Percy was saying, "Qwill, you and Koko have done such a good job on the Tait case, we want you to find David Lyke's murderer," and Qwilleran said, "The investigation may take us to Japan, Chief," and Percy said, "Go right ahead! You can have an unlimited expense account." Qwilleran's moustache twitched in his sleep. So did the cat's whiskers. Koko was dreaming, too.
Early Saturday morning, while Qwilleran was snoring gently and his subconscious was wrestling with the Lyke mystery, the telephone began ringing insistently. When it succeeded in shaking him awake, he reached groggily toward the bedside table, found the receiver, and heard the operator say: "This is Aarhus, Denmark. I have a call for Mr. James Qwilleran." "Speaking," Qwilleran croaked in his early- morning voice.
"Qwill, this is Harry," came a transatlantic shout. "We just heard the news!" "You did? In Denmark?" "It came over the radio." "It's a big shame. He was a nice guy." "I don't know about him," said Noyton. "I only knew her. He must have cracked up." "Who cracked up?" "What's the matter? Aren't you awake yet?" "I'm awake," said Qwilleran. "What are you talking about?" "Is this Qwill? This is Qwilleran, isn't it?" "I think so. I'm a little groggy. Are you talking about the murder?" "Murder!" shouted Noyton.
"What murder?" Qwilleran paused. "Aren't you talking about David Lyke?" "I'm talking about G. Verning Tait! What's happened to David?" "He's dead. He was shot last Monday night." "David dead! My God! Who did it?" "They don't know. It happened in his apartment. In the middle of the evening." "Somebody break in?" "It doesn't appear so." "Why would anyone want to kill David? He was a fantastic guy!" "What was it you heard on the radio over there?" Qwilleran asked.
"About Tait's arrest. Mrs. Tait's family couldn't believe it when they heard the news." Qwilleran sat up straight. "You know her family?" "Just met them. Fine people. Her brother's working with me on the hush-hush deal I told you about. Don't forget: I promised you the Fluxion will get the scoop!" "What's the nature of it?" "I'm financing a fantastic manufacturing process. Qwill, I'm going to be the richest man in the world!" "Is it a new invention?" "A scientific discovery," Noyton said. "While he rest of the world is fooling around with outer space, the Danes are doing something for man-kind here and now." "Sounds great!" "Until I got over here, I didn't know what it was all about. I just took her word that it was something world-shaking." "Whose word?" "Mrs. Tait's." "She tipped you off to her brother's discovery?" "Well, you see, Dr. Thorvaldson needed financing, and she knew her husband couldn't swing it. She'd heard about me and thought I could handle it. Of course, she wanted a kickback — under the able, so to speak." Noyton paused.
"This is all off-the-record, of course." Qwilleran said: "Tait was heading for Denmark. He probably expected to invest the insurance money." There was some interference on the line. "Are you still there?" Qwilleran said.
Noyton's voice had faded. "Listen, I'll call you tomorrow — can you hear me? — as soon as everything's sewed up legally…. This is a lousy connection…. Hope they nab David's killer. So long! Call you within twenty-four hours." It was Saturday, but Qwilleran went into the office to work ahead on the next issue of Gracious Abodes. He was determined, now, that Fran Unger should not get the magazine away from him. He hoped also to see Percy and say "I told you so," but the managing editor was attending a publishers' conference in New York. During the day Qwilleran made two important phone calls — one to the hospital to inquire about the cat, and one to the Middy Studio to make a dinner date with Cokey.
When he went home in the late afternoon to feed Koko, he found a scene of frantic activity. Koko was careening drunkenly around the apartment. He was playing with his homemade mouse — a game related to hockey, basketball, and tennis, with elements of wrestling. The cat skidded the small gray thing over the polished floor, pounced on it, tossed it in the air, batted it across the room, pursued it, made a flying tackle, clutched it in his forepaws, and rolled back and forth in ecstasy until the mouse slipped from his grasp, and the chase began again. With an audience Koko was inclined to vaunt his prowess. As Qwilleran watched, the cat dribbled the mouse the length of the living room, gave it a well-aimed whack, and scored a goal — directly under the old Spanish chest. Then he trotted after it, peered under the low chest, and raised his head in a long, demanding howl.