Too Many Cooks

“Confound it!” Wolfe had to make it almost a shout. He wiggled a finger at Servan. “Apparently, sir, Marko has informed you of my rapacity. He was correct; I need lots of money and ordinarily my clients get soaked. But he could have told you that I am also an incurable romantic. To me the relationship of host and guest is sacred. The guest is a jewel resting on the cushion of hospitality. The host is king, in his parlor and his kitchen, and should not condescend to a lesser role. So we won’t discuss—”

“Damn all the words!” Vukcic gestured impatiently. “What do you mean, Nero, you won’t do anything about Berin?”

“No. I mean we won’t discuss purses and fees. Certainly I shall do something about Berin, I had already decided to before you came, but I won’t take money from my hosts for it. And there is no time to lose, and I want to be alone here to consider the matter. But since you are here—” His eyes moved to Constanza. “Miss Berin. You seem to be convinced that your father didn’t kill Mr. Laszio. Why?”

Her eyes widened at him. “Why … you’re convinced too. You said so. My father wouldn’t.”

“Never mind about me. Speaking to the law, which is what we’re dealing with, what evidence have you? Any?”

“Why … only … it’s absurd! Anyone—”

“I see. You haven’t any. Have you any notion, or any evidence, as to who did kill Laszio?”

“No! And I don’t care! Only anyone would know—”

“Please, Miss Berin. I warn you, we have a difficult task and little time for it. I suggest that on leaving here you go to your room, compose your emotions, and in your mind thoroughly recapitulate—go back over—all you have seen and heard, everything, since your arrival at Kanawha Spa. Do it thoroughly. Write down anything that appears to have the faintest significance. Remember this is a job, and the only one you can perform that offers any chance of helping your father.”

He moved his eyes again. “Mr. Servan. First, the same questions as Miss Berin. Proof of Berin’s innocence, or surmise or evidence of another’s guilt. Have you any?”

Servan slowly shook his head.

“That’s too bad. I must warn you, sir, that it will probably develop that the only way of clearing Berin is to find where the guilt belongs and fasten it there. We can’t clear everybody; after all, Laszio’s dead. If you know of anything that would throw suspicion elsewhere, and withhold it, you can’t pretend to be helping Berin.”

The dean of the masters shook his head again. “I know of nothing that would implicate anybody.”

“Very well. About Berin’s list of the sauces. He handed it to you himself?”

“Yes, immediately on leaving the dining room.”

“It bore his signature?”

“Yes. I looked at each one before putting it in my pocket, to be sure they could be identified.”

“How sure are you that no one had a chance to change Berin’s list after he handed it to you, before you gave it to Mr. Tolman?”

“Positive. Absolutely. The lists were in my inside breast pocket every moment. Of course, I showed them to no one.”

Wolfe regarded him a little, sighed, and turned to Vukcic. “You, Marko. What do you know?”

“I don’t know a damned thing.”

“Did you ask Mrs. Laszio to dance with you?”

“I … what’s that got to do with it?”

Wolfe eyed him and murmured, “Now, Marko. At the moment I haven’t the faintest idea how I shall discover what must be discovered, and I must be permitted any question short of insult. Did you ask Mrs. Laszio to dance, or did she ask you?”

Vukcic wrinkled his forehead and sat. Finally he growled, “I think she suggested it. I might have if she didn’t.”

“Did you ask her to turn on the radio?”

“No.”

“Then the radio and the dancing at that particular moment were her ideas?”

“Damn it.” Vukcic was scowling at his old friend. “I swear I don’t see, Nero—”

“Of course you don’t. Neither do I. But sometimes it’s astonishing how the end of a tangled knot gets buried. It is said that two sure ways to lose a friend are to lend him money and to question the purity of a woman’s gesture to him. I wouldn’t lose your friendship. It is quite likely that Mrs. Laszio found the desire to dance with you irresistible.—No, Marko, please; I mean no flippancy. And now, if you don’t mind … Miss Berin? Mr. Servan? I must consider this business.”

They got up. Servan tried, delicately, to mention the purse again, but Wolfe brushed it aside. Constanza went over and took Wolfe’s hand and looked at him with an expression that may or may not have been pure but certainly had appeal in it. Vukcic hadn’t quite erased his scowl, but joined the others in their thanks and seemed to mean it. I went to the foyer with them to open the door.