Too Many Cooks

“No.” Vukcic ran his fingers through his hair. “It fell to me, more or less, to stand by Berin’s daughter, and when she wanted to drive to Quinby—that’s the town where the jail is—it was up to me to take her. Then they wouldn’t let her see him. If I had known you had already found evidence to clear him …” He shook himself. “By the way, what’s the evidence? If it isn’t a secret.”

“I don’t know whether it’s a secret or not. It doesn’t belong to me any more; I’ve handed it over to the authorities, and I suppose they should be permitted to decide about divulging it. I can tell you one thing that’s no secret: I didn’t get to bed last night.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

Vukcic grunted. “You don’t look done up.” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Listen, Nero. I’d like to ask you something. Dina came to see you last night. Didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“What did she have to say? That is, if it’s proper to tell me.”

“You can judge of the propriety. She told me that she is a special kind of woman and that she thought that you thought that I suspected you of killing Laszio.” Wolfe grimaced. “And she patted me on the shoulder.”

Vukcic said angrily, “She’s a damned fool.”

“I suppose so. But a very dangerous fool. Of course, a hole in the ice offers peril only to those who go skating. This is none of my business, Marko, but you brought it up.”

“I know I did. What the devil made her think that I thought you suspected me of murdering Laszio?”

“Didn’t you tell her so?”

“No. Did she say I did?”

Wolfe shook his head. “She wasn’t on the road, she was winding around. She did say, however, that you told her of my questions about the radio and the dancing.”

Vukcic nodded gloomily, and was silent. At length he shook himself. “Yes, I had a talk with her. Two talks. There’s no doubt about her being dangerous. She gets … you must realize that she was my wife for five years. Again yesterday I had her close to me, I had her in my arms. It isn’t her tricks, I’m on to all her tricks, its the mere fact of what she is. You wouldn’t see that, Nero, or feel it, it wouldn’t have any effect on you, because you’ve put yourself behind a barricade. As you say, a hole in the ice is dangerous only to those who go skating. But damn it, what does life consist of if you’re afraid to take—”

“Marko!” Wolfe sounded peevish. “I’ve often told you that’s your worst habit. When you argue with yourself, do it inside your head; don’t pretend it’s me you’re persuading and shout platitudes at me. You know very well what life consists of, it consists of the humanities, and among them is a decent and intelligent control of the appetites which we share with dogs. A man doesn’t wolf a carcass or howl on a hillside from dark to dawn; he eats well-cooked food, when he can get it, in judicious quantities; and he suits his ardor to his wise convenience.”

Vukcic was standing up. He frowned and growled down at his old friend: “So I’m howling, am I?”

“You are and you know it.”

“Well. I’m sorry. I’m damned sorry.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

I got up and went to the window to retrieve a curtain that had been whipped out by the draft from the opened door. In the thick shrubbery just outside a bird was singing, and I startled it. Then I went and planted myself in front of Wolfe. He had his eyes closed, and as I gazed at him his massive form went up with the leverage of a deep sigh, and down again.

I yawned and said, “Anyhow, thank the Lord they all made a quick exit. It’s moving along for ten o’clock, and you need sleep, not to mention me.”

He opened his eyes. “Archie. I have affection for Marko Vukcic. I hunted dragonflies with him in the mountains. Do you realize that that fool is going to let that fool make a fool of him again?”

I yawned. “Listen to you. If I did a sentence like that you’d send me from the room. You’re in bad shape. I tell you, we both need sleep. Did you mean it when you told Tolman that as far as this murder is concerned you’re not playing any more?”

“Certainly. Mr. Berin is cleared. We are no longer interested. We leave here to-night.”

“Okay. Then for God’s sake let’s go to bed.”

He closed his eyes and sighed again. It appeared that he wanted to sit and worry about Vukcic a while, and I couldn’t help him any with that, so I turned and started out, intending not only to display the DO NOT DISTURB but also to leave positive instructions with the greenjacket, in the main hall. But just as I had my hand on the knob his voice stopped me.

“Archie. You’ve had more sleep than I have. I was about to say, we haven’t gone over that speech since we got here. I intended to rehearse it at least twice. Do you know which bag it’s in? Get it, please.”

If we had been in New York I would have quit the job.

13

AT TEN O’CLOCK I sat on a chair by the open window and yawned, with my eyes on the typescript, my own handiwork. We had worked through it to page 9.