Rex Stout: Poison à la Carte

Zoltan slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s no good, Mr. Wolfe. I could try to think, but I couldn’t be sure.” He moved his eyes right to left and back again, at the girls. “I tell you, I wasn’t looking at their faces.” He extended his hands, palms up. “You will consider, Mr. Wolfe, I was not thinking of poison. I was only seeing that the plates were carried properly. Was I thinking which one has got arsenic? No.”

“I took the first plate,” a girl blurted — another whose name I didn’t know. “I took it in and gave it to the man in my chair, the one at the left corner at the other side of the table, and I stayed there. I never left the dining room.”

“Your name, please?”

“Marjorie Quinn.”

“Thank you. Now the second plate. Who took it?”

Apparently nobody. Wolfe gave them ten seconds, his eyes moving to take them all in, his lips tight. “I advise you,” he said, “to jog your memories, in case it becomes necessary to establish the order in which you took the plates by dragging it out of you. I hope it won’t come to that.” His head turned. “Felix, I have neglected you purposely, to give you time to reflect. You were in the dining room. My expectation was that after I had learned who had served the first course to Mr. Pyle you would corroborate it, but now that there is nothing for you to corroborate I must look to you for the fact itself. I must ask you to point her out.”

In a way Wolfe was Felix’s boss. When Wolfe’s oldest and dearest friend, Marko Vukcic, who had owned Rusterman’s restaurant, had died, his will had left the restaurant to members of the staff in trust, with Wolfe as the trustee, and Felix was the maître d’hôtel. With that job at the best restaurant in New York, naturally Felix was both bland and commanding, but now he was neither. If he felt the way he looked, he was miserable.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Pfui! You, trained as you are to see everything?”

“That is true, Mr. Wolfe. I knew you would ask me this, but I can’t. I can only explain. The young woman who just spoke, Marjorie Quinn, was the first one in with a plate, as she said. She did not say that as she served it one of the blinis slid off onto the table, but it did. As I sprang toward her she was actually about to pick it up with her fingers, and I jerked her away and put it back on the plate with a fork, and I gave her a look. Anyway, I was not myself. Having women as waiters was bad enough, and not only that, they were without experience. When I recovered command of myself I saw the red-headed one, Choate, standing back of Mr. Pyle, to whom she had been assigned, with a plate in her hand, and I saw that he had already been served. As I moved forward she stepped to the right and served the plate to you. The operation was completely upset, and I was helpless. The dark-skinned one, Iacono, who was assigned to you, served Mr. Kreis, and the—”

“If you please.” Wolfe was curt. “I have heard them, and so have you. I have always found you worthy of trust, but it’s possible that in your exalted position, maître d’hôtel at Rusterman’s, you would rather dodge than get involved in a poisoning. Are you dodging, Felix?”

“Good God, Mr. Wolfe, I am involved!”

“Very well. I saw that woman spill the blini and start her fingers for it, and I saw you retrieve it. Yes, you’re involved, but not as I am.” He turned to me. “Archie. You are commonly my first resort, but now you are my last. You sat next to Mr. Pyle. Who put that plate before him?”

Of course I knew that was coming, but I hadn’t been beating my brain because there was no use. I said merely but positively, “No.” He glared at me and I added, “That’s all, just no, but like Felix I can explain. First, I would have had to turn around to see her face, and that’s bad table manners. Second, I was watching Felix rescue the blini. Third, there was an argument going on about flowers with spots and streaks, and I was listening to it and so were you. I didn’t even see her arm.”

Wolfe stood and breathed. He shut his eyes and opened them again, and breathed some more. “Incredible,” he muttered. “The wretch has incredible luck.”

“I’m going home,” Fern Faber said. “I’m tired.”

“So am I,” another one said, and was moving, but Wolfe’s eyes pinned her. “I advise you not to,” he said. “It is true that Miss Faber is eliminated as the culprit, and also Miss Quinn, since she was under surveillance by Felix while Mr. Pyle was being served, but I advise even them to stay. When Mr. Pyle dies the doctors will certainly summon the police, and it would be well for all of you to be here when they arrive. I had hoped to be able to present them with an exposed murderer. Confound it! There is still a chance. Archie, come with me. Fritz, Felix, Zoltan, remain with these women. If one or more of them insist on leaving do not detain them by force, but have the names and the times of departure. If they want to eat feed them. I’ll be—”

“I’m going home,” Fern Faber said stubbornly.

“Very well, go. You’ll be got out of bed by a policeman before the night’s out. I’ll be in the dining room, Fritz. Come, Archie.”

He went and I followed, along the pantry corridor and through the two-way door. On the way I glanced at my wrist watch: ten past eleven. I rather expected to find the dining room empty, but it wasn’t. Eight of them were still there, the only ones missing being Schriver and Hewitt, who were probably upstairs. The air was heavy with cigar smoke. All of them but Adrian Dart were at the table with their chairs pushed back at various angles, with brandy glasses and cigars. Dart was standing with his back to a picture of honkers on the wing, holding forth. As we entered he stopped and heads turned.

Emil Kreis spoke. “Oh, there you are. I was coming to the kitchen but didn’t want to butt in. Schriver asked me to apologize to Fritz Brenner. Our custom is to ask the chef to join us with champagne, which is barbarous but gay, but of course in the circumstances...” He let it hang, and added, “Shall I explain to him? Or will you?”

“I will.” Wolfe went to the end of the table and sat. He had been on his feet for nearly two hours — all very well for his twice-a-day sessions in the plant rooms, but not elsewhere. He looked around. “Mr. Pyle is still alive?”

“We hope so,” one said. “We sincerely hope so.”

“I ought to be home in bed,” another one said. “I have a hard day tomorrow. But it doesn’t seem...” He took a puff on his cigar.

Emil Kreis reached for the brandy bottle. “There’s been no word since I came down.” He looked at his wrist watch. “Nearly an hour ago. I suppose I should go up. It’s so damned unpleasant.” He poured brandy.

“Terrible,” one said. “Absolutely terrible. I understand you were asking which one of the girls brought him the caviar. Kreis says you asked him.”

Wolfe nodded. “I also asked Mr. Schriver and Mr. Hewitt. And Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Brenner, and the two men who came to help at my request. And the women themselves. After more than an hour with them I am still at fault. I have discovered the artifice the culprit used, but not her identity.”

“Aren’t you a bit premature?” Leacraft, the lawyer, asked. “There may be no culprit. An acute and severe gastric disturbance may be caused—”

“Nonsense. I am too provoked for civility, Mr. Leacraft. The symptoms are typical of arsenic, and you heard Mr. Pyle complain of sand, but that’s not all. I said I have discovered the artifice. None of them will admit serving him the first course. The one assigned to him found he had already been served and served me instead. There is indeed a culprit. She put arsenic in the cream en passant , served it to Mr. Pyle, returned to the kitchen for another portion, and came and served it to someone else. That is established.”