Rex Stout - Champange for One

She nodded. “The professional with his secrets. I have them too; I have a medical degree. Did Mrs Robilotti send you here?”

That decision wasn’t hard to make. Grantham House wasn’t dependent on Mrs Robilotti, since it had been provided for by Albert Grantham’s will, and it was ten to one that I knew what Mrs Irwin thought of Mrs Robilotti. So I didn’t hesitate.

“Good heavens, no. To have a suicide in her drawing-room was bad enough. If she knew I was here looking for support for my belief that it was murder she’d have a fit.”

“Mrs Robilotti doesn’t have fits, Mr Goodwin.”

“Well, you know her better than I do. If she ever did have a fit this would call for one. Of course, I may be sticking my neck out. If you prefer suicide to murder as much as she does I’ve wasted a lot of gas driving up here.”

She looked at me, sizing me up.” I don’t,” she said bluntly.

“Good for you,” I said.

She lifted her chin. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t tell you what I have told the police. Of course, it’s possible that Faith did kill herself, but I doubt it. I get to know my girls pretty well, and she was here nearly five months, and I doubt it. I knew about the bottle of poison she had—she didn’t tell me, but one of the other girls did—and that was a problem, whether to get it away from her. I decided not to, because it would have been dangerous. As long as she had it and went on showing it and talking about using it, that was her outlet for her nerves, and if I took it away she would have to get some other outlet, and there was no telling what it might be. One reason I doubt if she killed herself is that she still had that bottle of poison.”

I smiled. “The police would love that.”

“They didn’t, naturally. Another reason is that if she had finally decided to use the poison she wouldn’t have done it there at that party, with all those people. She would have done it somewhere alone, in the dark, and she would have left a note for me. She knew how I felt about my girls, and she would have known it would hurt me, and she would have left a note. Still another reason is the fact that she was actually pretty tough. That bottle of poison was merely the enemy that she intended to defeat somehow—it was death, and she was going to conquer it. The spirit she had, down deep, showed sometimes in a flash in her eyes. You should have seen that flash.”

“I did, Tuesday evening when I was dancing with her.”

“Then she still had it, and she didn’t kill herself. But how are you going to prove it?”

“I can’t. I can’t prove a negative. I would have to prove an affirmative, or at least open one up. If she didn’t poison her champagne someone else did. Who? That’s the target.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Good heavens! That’s obvious, certainly, but if you’ll believe me, Mr Goodwin, it hadn’t occurred to me. My only thought was that Faith had not killed herself. My mind had stopped there.” Her lips tightened. She shook her head. “I can’t help it,” she said emphatically. “I wish you success, anyhow. I would help you if I could.”

“You already have,” I assured her, “and maybe you can more. If you don’t mind a few questions. Since you’ve read the paper, you know who was there Tuesday evening. About the three girls—Helen Yarmis, Ethel Varr, and Rose Tutde—they were all here at the time Faith Usher was, weren’t they?”

“Yes. That is, the times overlapped. Helen and Ethel left a month before Faith did. Rose came six weeks before Faith left.”

“Had any of them known her before?”

“No. I didn’t ask them—I ask the girls as few questions as possible about their past—but there was no indication that they had, and there isn’t much going on here that I don’t know about.”

“Did any trouble develop between any of them and her?”

She smiled. “Now, Mr Goodwin. I said I would help you if I could, but this is ridiculous. My girls have their squabbles and their peeves, naturally, but I assure you that nothing that happened here put murder into the heart of Helen or Ethel or Rose. If it had I would have known it, and I would have dealt with it.”

“Okay. If it wasn’t one of them I’ll have to look elsewhere. Take the three male guests—Edwin Laidlaw, Paul Schuster, and Beverly Kent. Do you know any of them?”

“No. I had never heard their names before.”

“You know nothing about them?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“What about Cecil Grantham?”

“I haven’t seen him for several years. His father brought him twice—no, three times—to our summer picnic, when Cecil was in his middle teens. After his father died he was on our Board of Directors for a year, but he resigned.”

“You know of no possible connection between him and Faith Usher?”

“No.”

“What about Robert Robilotti?”

“I have seen him only once, more than two years ago, when he came to our Thanksgiving dinner with Mrs Robilotti. He played the piano for the girls and had them singing songs, and when Mrs Robilotti was ready to leave, the girls didn’t want him to go. My feelings were mixed.”

“I’ll bet they were. Faith Usher wasn’t here then?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re all out of men. Celia Grantham?”

“I knew Celia fairly well at one time. For a year or so after she finished college she came here frequently, three or four times a month, to teach the girls things and talk with them; then suddenly she quit. She was a real help and the girls liked her. She has fine qualities, or had, but she is headstrong. I haven’t seen her for four years. I am tempted to add something.”

“Go ahead.”

“I wouldn’t if I thought you would misunderstand. You are looking for a murderer, and Celia would be quite capable of murder if she thought the occasion demanded it. The only discipline she recognizes is her own. But I can’t imagine an occasion that would have led her to kill Faith Usher. I haven’t seen her for four years.”

“Then if she had had contact with Faith Usher you wouldn’t know about it. Least but not last, Mrs Robilotti.”

“Well.” She smiled.” She is Mrs Robilotti.”

I smiled back.” I agree. You certainly have known her. She was Mrs Albert Grantham. I am tempted to add something.”

“You may.”

“I wouldn’t if I thought you would misunderstand. I feel that if you knew anything that would indicate that Mrs Robilotti might have killed Faith Usher you would think it was your duty to tell me about it. So I can simply ask, do you?”

“That’s rather cheeky, Mr Goodwin. But I simply answer, I do not. Ever since Mr Grantham died Mrs Robilotti has been coming here about once a month except when she was travelling, but she has never been at ease with the girls, nor they with her. Of course she came while Faith was here, but as far as I know she never spoke with her except as one of a group. So my answer to your question is no.”

“Who picks the girls to be invited to the annual dinner on Grantham’s birthday?”

“When Mr Grantham was alive, I did. The first few years after he died, Mrs Grantham did, on information I supplied. The last two years she has left it to Mr Byne, and he consults me.”

“Is that so? Dinky didn’t mention that.”

“ ‘Dinky’? ”

“Mr Byne. We call him that. I’ll ask him about it. But if you don’t mind telling me, how does he do it? Does he suggest names and ask you about them?”

“No, I make a list, chiefly of girls who have been here in the past year, with information and comments, and he chooses from that. I make the list with care. Some of my girls would not be comfortable in those surroundings. On what basis Mr Byne makes his selections, I don’t know.”