Too Many Cooks

“If by blackbirds you mean men with dark skin, yes.”

“I mean Africans.” I stood up again. “Listen, boss. You’ve lost your sense of direction, honest you have. Africans or blackbirds or whatever you like, they can’t be handled this way. They don’t intend to tell anything or they would have told that squint-eyed sheriff when he questioned them. Are you expecting me to use a carpetbeater on the whole bunch? The only thing is to get Tolman and the sheriff here first thing in the morning to hear Mrs. Coyne’s tale, and let them go on from there.”

Wolfe grunted. “They arrive at eight o’clock. They hear her story and they believe it or they don’t—after all, she is Chinese. They question her at length, and even if they believe her they do not immediately release Berin, for her story doesn’t explain the errors on his list. At noon they begin with the Negroes, singly. God knows what they do or how much time they take, but the chances are that Thursday midnight, when our train leaves for New York, they will not have finished with the Negroes, and they may have discovered nothing.”

“They’re more apt to than you are. I’m warning you, you’ll see. These smokes can take it, they’re used to it. Do you believe Mrs. Coyne’s tale?”

“Certainly, it was obvious.”

“Would you mind telling me how you knew she had hurt her finger in the dining room door?”

“I didn’t. I knew she had told Tolman that she had gone directly outside, had stayed outside, and had returned directly to the parlor; and I knew that she had hurt her finger in a door. When she told me she had caught her finger in the main entrance door, which I knew to be untrue, I knew she was concealing something, and I proceeded to make use of the evidence we had prepared.”

“I had prepared.” I sat down. “Some day you’ll try to bluff the trees out of their leaves. Would you mind telling me now what motive one of these smokes had for bumping off Laszio?”

“I suppose he was hired.” Wolfe grimaced. “I don’t like murderers, though I make my living through them. But I particularly dislike murderers who buy the death they seek. One who kills at least keeps the blood on his own hands. One who pays for killing—pfui! That is worse than repugnant, it is dishonorable. I presume the colored man was hired. Naturally, that’s an annoying complication for us.”

“Not so terrible.” I waved a hand. “They’ll be here pretty soon. I’ll arrange them for you in a row. Then you’ll give them a little talk on citizenship and the Ten Commandments, and explain how illegal it is to croak a guy for money even if you get paid in advance, and then you’ll ask whoever stabbed Laszio to raise his hand and his hand will shoot up, and then all you’ll have to do is ask who paid him and how much—”

“That will do, Archie.” He sighed. “It’s amazing how patiently and with what forbearance I have tolerated—but there they are. Let them in.”

That was an instance when Wolfe himself jumped to an unwarranted conclusion, which was a crime he often accused me of. For when I made it through the foyer and opened the door to the hall, it wasn’t Africans I found waiting there, but Dina Laszio. I stared at her a second, adjusting myself to the surprise. She put her long sleepy eyes on me and said:

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, but—may I see Mr. Wolfe?”

I told her to wait and returned to the inner chamber.

“Not men with dark skin, but a woman. Mrs. Phillip Laszio wants to see you.”

“What? Her?”

“Yes, sir. In a dark cloak and no hat.”

Wolfe grimaced. “Confound that woman! Bring her in here.”

9

I SAT AND WATCHED and listened and felt cynical. Wolfe rubbed his cheek with the tip of his forefinger, slowly and rhythmically, which meant he was irritated but attentive. Dina Laszio was on a chair facing him, with her cloak thrown back, her smooth neck showing above a plain black dress with no collar, her body at ease, her eyes dark in shadow.

Wolfe said, “No apology is needed, madam. Just tell me about it. I’m expecting callers and am pressed for time.”

“It’s about Marko,” she said.

“Indeed. What about Marko?”

“You’re so brusque.” She smiled a little, and the smile clung to the corners of her mouth. “You should know that you can’t expect a woman to be direct like that. We don’t take the road, we wind around. You know that. Only I wonder how much you know about women like me.”

“I couldn’t say. Are you a special kind?”

She nodded. “I think I am. Yes, I know I am. Not because I want to be or try to be, but …” She made a little gesture. “It has made my life exciting, but not very comfortable. It will end … I don’t know how it will end. Right now I am worried about Marko, because he thinks you suspect him of killing my husband.”

Wolfe stopped rubbing his cheek. He told her, “Nonsense.”

“No, it isn’t. He thinks that.”

“Why? Did you tell him so?”