Benjamin surveyed the room, noticed the "grandees" table at the front. He saw Arthur Terrill there, and on his left Edith Gadenhower. On Arthur's right was an extremely well-tanned gentleman with thick, shining, impeccably styled silver hair.
"Who's that?" Benjamin asked, pointing.
Wolfe turned, looked, chuckled. "Ah. That particularly well-preserved monument is George 'Former' Montrose."
"Former?"
"Former secretary of state, former chief of staff, former director of the CIA… From what I understand, he's a genial idiot, but with first-class connections. Montrose is the Foundation's front man for this new contract."
"Contract? You mean that 'paycheck' you mentioned in Arthur's office?"
Wolfe didn't seem to hear him. He was scanning the room as it filled with people, everyone standing around sipping their cocktails and chatting before dinner began.
Suddenly Wolfe started out through the crowd, saying to Benjamin, "Let's try this direction, shall we."
Stepping between the chairs and groups of people-Wolfe nodded to one or two but kept Benjamin moving forward-they arrived at a mismatched couple: a very tall woman and a very short man.
Benjamin couldn't help but stare at the woman. She was a striking blonde with her hair up in a French twist and dressed formally in a low-cut black evening dress. She smiled when she saw Wolfe, as though she knew him; her smile was brilliant, cool, enticing-almost fierce. Benjamin hardly noticed the man she was with.
"Dr. Gudrun Soderbergh," Wolfe said, making introductions, "this is Benjamin Wainwright." She nodded at him as she raised a cocktail-something clear and with ice-to her lips. She kept her eyes on Benjamin even as she drank, and Benjamin had to pull his gaze from her as Wolfe continued the introductions.
"And here we have Dr. Edward Stoltz." He indicated the short, very well-dressed man in his midfifties with black hair and a small, well-trimmed mustache. Stoltz nodded and said, "Greetings."
Benjamin gave Wolfe a quizzical look.
"Yes, I called them," Wolfe said. "I thought we might save some time."
"So, Benjamin," said Gudrun, "you're Mr. Wolfe's protege?"
"Not at all, Dr. Soderbergh," Wolfe replied for him. "Dr. Wainwright is a gentleman and scholar in his own right. I've merely commandeered his talents for the duration."
"The duration of what?" asked Dr. Stoltz. He was drinking a cocktail in a frosted glass with sprig of mint in it.
"Their investigation, of course," said Gudrun. "Of Jeremy's unfortunate demise. Isn't that why you asked us to dine with you?"
"Well, that and the stellar company," said Wolfe. He saluted Gudrun with his empty cocktail glass-which he immediately held up, looking to catch a waiter's eye for a refill. "You see, I believe you were among the last people to see Dr. Fletcher alive."
"And how do you know," Stoltz said with a certain irritation, "that we were the last people to see Dr. Fletcher alive?"
"Well…," began Wolfe. Then he saw a waiter passing, said "Excuse me," and hurried off in pursuit.
"I think what Mr. Wolfe meant," said Benjamin uncomfortably, "is that you were his last appointments. He met with you this week."
Gudrun shook her head. "Not with me," she said.
"No, no," Benjamin said hurriedly, "but he wanted to. I mean, he'd scheduled you for Friday, yes?"
Again Gudrun shook her head. "Not that I know of," then said, "I hope that doesn't mean you don't want to speak with me."
"Oh," was all Benjamin could think to say.
"With you, Dr. Soderbergh, most of all," said Wolfe, returning, his glass full again. "Gudrun," he said thoughtfully. "Wasn't that the name of some Norse Amazon in the tale of Sigurd? The one he spurned, and who then enacted terrible revenge upon him?"
Gudrun didn't flinch. "Amazon," she replied coolly, "is really just a word for a strong woman. And strong women tend to make men… uncomfortable. So they make up terrible stories about them."
Wolfe smiled but didn't respond. Benjamin couldn't see how any of this was serving as an interview and decided to take the lead.
"So, Dr. Stoltz, you did speak with Jeremy, yes?"
Stoltz looked at him as though he were a slow child. "Yes," he said, "and a most interesting conversation it was." Wolfe used that moment to steer Gudrun a few feet away and begin a conversation with her, Benjamin couldn't quite hear about what, but Stoltz was going on.
"But first tell me, Mr. Wainwright, what do you think so far of our little community?"
Benjamin wasn't sure whether Stoltz was referring to the Foundation or its people, so he decided to assume the former, as it was easier to categorize.
"It's beautiful. The buildings and grounds… and that extraordinary mural, in the manse?"
"Ah," said Stoltz, nodding. "The Bayne panorama. Odd you should bring that up. That was what brought Dr. Fletcher to me."
"Really?" said Benjamin, trying to conceal his surprise. "And what did you tell him?"
"Well, I began by telling him that it's from the late 1920s. It isn't quite a Gropper, he was too busy doing post offices and banks, that sort of public welfare thing. But I told him it's an excellent representation of Gropper's style: the heroic poses, the slick surfaces, complete lack of corners, even in the faces. And the enormous scale. It's no Man at the Crossroads, of course, but it's quite interesting."
"I haven't had time to really study it yet."
"Oh, you should," enthused Stoltz. "Some of the scenes date back to the 1600s, back to when this whole area was part of the Quincy Homestead, one of the first-"
" Edmund Quincy's homestead?" Benjamin interrupted.
Stoltz looked surprised. "You know of him?"
Benjamin tried to recover some of his disinterested manner. "Wasn't he a partner with a… Henry Coddington? I seem to remember that one of their investments had to do with a Puritan compound, something called the… the Bainbridge Plantation?"
Stoltz beamed. "Then you know all about that sordid little chapter of our past?"
"Sordid?"
"Well," began Stoltz, "what with the Quincy Homestead, and then the Bainbridge Plantation practically on top of that ancient Indian burial ground, and then the Foundation's various predecessors-"
"Excuse me?" Benjamin couldn't contain himself. "This… plantation, it was here? I mean, exactly… here?"
Stoltz smiled. "We're practically eating over Bainbridge's grave."
"Really?" Benjamin took a sip of his drink to give himself time to calm down.
"Indeed. Our august institution occupies the very same plot of land as the Coddington Estate. Which was, before that, the Bainbridge Plantation. You see, the plantation was wiped out, by Indians, back in the 1600s. Burned to the ground, not a stick left, everyone massacred."
"Then how," Benjamin said, keeping his tone calm, "could they know that the plantation was here? There were no… I mean, I would imagine there were no surviving records or anything?"
"Well, yes, they never actually found Bainbridge's body, that's true. But when they discovered his diary here during the excavations in the twenties-"
"Diary?" This time Benjamin couldn't keep his voice from rising.
"Yes. The late twenties were when the Foundation first became The Foundation-as one of those populist institutions for good government, or something dreadfully idealistic like that-and they were digging to expand the manse, when they came across this small stone crypt. Inside that, they found a sealed lead box. And inside that, they found this diary." He paused for a moment, took a long drink of his wine. "Remarkable story, though it rather got lost amongst the more… commanding events of that year. It was, after all, 1929. In fact, about this very time of year. October."
"Extraordinary coincidence," said Wolfe.
Stoltz smiled broadly. "Odd you should call it that," he said. "That's exactly how Dr. Fletcher reacted when I told him the same story."
Benjamin could feel himself holding his breath. "Did Dr. Fletcher know any of this before you spoke with him?"