The James trio arrived together and were so punctual, right on the dot at nine o’clock, that Wolfe and I hadn’t yet finished our after-dinner coffee in the office. I was so curious to have a look that I went to answer the door instead of leaving it to Fritz, the chef and house overseer who helps to make Wolfe’s days and years a joy forever almost as much as I do. The first thing that impressed me was that the baritone took the lead crossing the threshold, letting his daughter and his lawyer tag along behind. Since I have occasionally let Lily Rowan share her pair of opera seats with me, James’ six feet and broad shoulders and cocky strut were nothing new, but I was surprised that he looked so young, since he must have been close to fifty. He handed me his hat as if taking care of his hat on Monday evening, August 15, was the one and only thing I had been born for. Unfortunately I let it drop.
Clara made up for it by looking at me. That alone showed she was unusually observant, since one never looks at the flunkey who lets one in, but she saw me drop her father’s hat and gave me a glance, and then prolonged the glance until it practically said, “What are you, in disguise? See you later.” That made me feel friendly, but with reserve. Not only was she pale and tense, as Peggy Mion had said, but her blue eyes glistened, and a girl her age shouldn’t glisten like that. Nevertheless, I gave her a grin to show that I appreciated the prolonged glance.
Meanwhile the lawyer, Judge Henry Arnold, had hung up his own hat. During the day I had of course made inquiries on all of them, and had learned that he rated the “Judge” only because he had once been a city magistrate. Even so, that’s what they called him, so the sight of him was a let-down. He was a little sawed-off squirt with a bald head so flat on top you could have kept an ashtray on it, and his nose was pushed in. He must have been better arranged inside than out, since he had quite a list of clients among the higher levels on Broadway.
Taking them to the office and introducing them to Wolfe, I undertook to assign them to some of the yellow chairs, but the baritone spied the red leather one and copped it. I was helping Fritz fill their orders for drinks when the buzzer sounded and I went back to the front.
It was Dr. Nicholas Lloyd. He had no hat, so that point wasn’t raised, and I decided that the searching look he aimed at me was merely professional and automatic, to see if I was anemic or diabetic or what. With his lined handsome face and worried dark eyes he looked every inch a doctor and even surgeon, fully up to the classy reputation my inquiries had disclosed. When I ushered him to the office his eyes lighted up at sight of the refreshment table, and he was the best customer — bourbon and water with mint — all evening.
The last two came together — at least they were on the stoop together when I opened the door. I would probably have given Adele Bosley the red leather chair if James hadn’t already copped it. She shook hands and said she had been wanting to meet Archie Goodwin for years, but that was just public relations and went out the other ear. The point is that from my desk I get most of a party profile or three-quarters, but the one in the red leather chair fullface, and I like a view. Not that Adele Bosley was a pin-up, and she must have been in the fifth or sixth grade when Clara James was born, but her smooth tanned skin and pretty mouth without too much lipstick and nice brown eyes were good scenery.
Rupert Grove didn’t shake hands, which didn’t upset me. He may have been a good manager for Alberto Mion’s affairs, but not for his own physique. A man can be fat and still have integrity, as for instance Falstaff or Nero Wolfe, but that bird had lost all sense of proportion. His legs were short, and it was all in the middle third of him. If you wanted to be polite and look at his face you had to concentrate. I did so, since I needed to size them all up, and saw nothing worthy of recording but a pair of shrewd shifty black eyes.
When these two were seated and provided with liquid, Wolfe fired the starting gun. He said he was sorry it had been necessary to ask them to exert themselves on a hot evening, but that the question at issue could be answered fairly and equitably only if all concerned had a voice in it. The responding murmurs went all the way from acquiescence to extreme irritation. Judge Arnold said belligerently that there was no question at legal issue because Albert Mion was dead.
“Nonsense,” Wolfe said curtly. “If that were true, you, a lawyer, wouldn’t have bothered to come. Anyway, the purpose of this meeting is to keep it from becoming a legal issue. Four of you telephoned Mrs. Mion today to ask if I am acting for her, and were told that I am. On her behalf I want to collect the facts. I may as well tell you, without prejudice to her, that she will accept my recommendation. Should I decide that a large sum is due her you may of course contest; but if I form the opinion that she has no claim she will bow to it. Under that responsibility I need all the facts. Therefore—”
“You’re not a court,” Arnold snapped.
“No, sir, I’m not. If you prefer it in a court you’ll get it.” Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Miss Bosley, would your employers welcome that kind of publicity? Dr. Lloyd, would you rather appear as an expert on the witness-stand or talk it over here? Mr. Grove, how would your client feel about it if he were alive? Mr. James, what do you think? You wouldn’t relish the publicity either, would you? Particularly since your daughter’s name would appear?”
“Why would her name appear?” James demanded in his trained baritone.
Wolfe turned up a palm. “It would be evidence. It would be established that just before you struck Mr. Mion you said to him, ‘You let my daughter alone, you bastard.’”
I put my hand in my pocket. I have a rule, justified by experience, that whenever a killer is among those present, or may be, a gun must be handy. Not regarding the back of the third drawer of my desk, where they are kept, as handy enough, the routine is to transfer one to my pocket before guests gather. That was the pocket I put my hand in, knowing how cocky James was. But he didn’t leave his chair. He merely blurted, “That’s a lie!”
Wolfe grunted. “Ten people heard you say it. That would indeed be publicity, if you denied it under oath and all ten of them, subpoenaed to testify, contradicted you. I honestly think it would be better to discuss it with me.”
“What do you want to know?” Judge Arnold demanded.
“The facts. First, the one already moot. When I lie I like to know it. Mr. Grove, you were present when that famous blow was struck. Have I quoted Mr. James correctly?”
“Yes.” Grove’s voice was a high tenor, which pleased me.
“You heard him say that?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Bosley. Did you?”
She looked uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t it be better to—”
“Please. You’re not under oath, but I’m merely collecting facts, and I was told I lied. Did you hear him say that?”
“Yes, I did.” Adele’s eyes went to James. “I’m sorry, Gif.”
“But it’s not true!” Clara James cried.
Wolfe rasped at her, “We’re all lying?”
I could have warned her, when she gave me that glance in the hall, to look out for him. Not only was she a sophisticated young woman, and not only did she glisten, but her slimness was the kind that comes from not eating enough, and Wolfe absolutely cannot stand people who don’t eat enough. I knew he would be down on her from the go.
But she came back at him. “I don’t mean that,” she said scornfully. “Don’t be so touchy! I mean I had lied to my father. What he thought about Alberto and me wasn’t true. I was just bragging to him because — it doesn’t matter why. Anyway, what I told him wasn’t true, and I told him so that night!”
“Which night?”
“When we got home — from the stage party after Rigoletto. That was where my father knocked Alberto down, you know, right there on the stage. When we got home I told him that what I had said about Alberto and me wasn’t true.”