Rex Stout - Too Many Cooks

She was nervous. She looked around. “May I see you alone, Mr. Wolfe?”

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant.”

“But I…” She stayed on her feet. “It is hard to tell even you…”

“Well, madam, if it is too hard…” Wolfe let it hang in the air.

She swallowed, looked at me again, and took a step toward him. “But it would be harder… I must tell someone. I have heard much of you, of course… in the old days, from Marko… and I must tell someone, and there is no one but you to tell. Somebody is trying to poison my husband.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Be seated. Please. It’s easier to talk sitting down, don’t you think, Mrs. Laszio?”

3

THE SWAMP-WOMAN lowered it into the chair I had placed. Needless to say, I leaned against the bedpost not as nonchalant as I looked. It sounded as if this might possibly be something that would help to pass the time, and justify my foresight in chucking my pistol and a couple of notebooks into my bag when I had packed.

She said, “Of course… I know you are an old friend of Marko’s. You probably think I wronged him when I… left him. But I count on your sense of justice… your humanity…”

“Weak supports, madam.” Wolfe was brusque. “Few of us have enough wisdom for justice, or enough leisure for humanity. Why do you mention Marko? Do you suggest that he is poisoning Mr. Laszio?”

“Oh, no!” Her hand fluttered from her lap and came to rest on the arm of her chair. “Only I am sorry if you are prejudiced against my husband and me, for I have decided that I must tell someone, and there is no one but you to tell…”

“Have you informed your husband that he is being poisoned?”

She shook her head, with a little twist on her lips. “He informed me. To-day. You know, of course, that for luncheon several of them prepared dishes, and Phillip did the salad, and he had announced that he was going to make Meadowbrook dressing, which he originated. They all know that he mixes the sugar and lemon juice and sour cream an hour ahead of time, and that he always tastes in spoonfuls. He had the things ready, all together on a corner table in the kitchen, lemons, bowl of cream, sugar shaker. At noon he started to mix. From habit he shook sugar on to the palm of his hand and put his tongue to it, and it seemed gritty and weak. He shook some on to a pan of water, and little particles stayed on top, and when he stirred it some still stayed. He put sherry in a glass and stirred some of it into that, and only a small portion of it would dissolve. If he had mixed the dressing and tasted a spoonful or two, as he always does, it would have killed him. The sugar was mostly arsenic.”

Wolfe grunted. “Or flour.”

“My husband said arsenic. There was no taste of flour.”

Wolfe shrugged. “Easily determined, with a little hydrochloric acid and a piece of copper wire. You do not appear to have the sugar shaker with you. Where is it?”

“I suppose, in the kitchen.”

Wolfe’s eyes opened wide. “Being used for our dinner, madam? You spoke of humanity-”

“No. Phillip emptied it down the sink and had it refilled by one of the Negroes. It was sugar, that time.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe settled, and his eyes were again half shut. “Remarkable. Though he was sure it was arsenic? He didn’t turn it over to Servan? Or report it to anyone but you? Or preserve it as evidence? Remarkable.”

“My husband is a remarkable man.” A ray of the setting sun came through the window to her face, and she moved a little. “He told me that he didn’t want to make things difficult for his friend, Louis Servan. He forbade me to mention it. He is a strong man and he is very contemptuous. That is his nature. He thinks he is too strong and competent and shrewd to be injured by anyone.” She leaned forward and put out a hand, palm up. “I come to you, Mr. Wolfe! I am afraid!”

“What do you want me to do? Find out who put the arsenic in the sugar shaker?”

“Yes.” Then she shook her head. “No. I suppose you couldn’t, and even if you did, the arsenic is gone. I want to protect my husband.”

“My dear madam.” Wolfe grunted. “If anyone not a moron has determined to kill your husband, he will be killed. Nothing is simpler than to kill a man; the difficulties arise in attempting to avoid the consequences. I’m afraid I have nothing to suggest to you. It is doubly difficult to save a man’s life against his will. Do you think you know who poisoned the sugar?”

“No. Surely there is something-”

“Does your husband think he knows?”

“No. Surely you can-”

“Marko? I can ask Marko if he did it?”

“No! Not Marko! You promised me you wouldn’t mention-”

“I promised nothing of the sort. Nothing whatever. I am sorry, Mrs. Laszio, if I seem rude, but the fact is that I hate to be taken for an idiot. If you think your husband may be poisoned, what you need is a food taster, and that is not my profession. If you fear bodily violence for him, the best thing is a bodyguard, and I am not that either. Before he gets into an automobile, every bolt and nut and connection must be thoroughly tested. When he walks the street, windows and tops of buildings must be guarded, and passersby kept at a distance. Should he attend the theater-”

The swamp-woman got up. “You make a joke of it. I’m sorry.”

“It was you who started the joke-”

But she wasn’t staying for it. I moved to open the door, but she had the knob before I got to it, and since she felt that way about it I let her go on and do the outside one too. I saw that it was closed behind her, and then returned to Wolfe’s room and put on a fake frown for him which was wasted, because he had his eyes shut. I told his big round face:

“That’s a fine way to treat a lady client who comes to you with a nice straight open-and-shut proposition like that. All we would have to do would be go down to the river where the sewer empties and swim around until we tasted arsenic-”

“Arsenic has no taste.”

“Okay.” I sat down. “Is she fixing up to poison him herself and preparing a line of negative presumptions in advance? Or is she on the level and just poking around trying to protect her man? Or is Laszio making up tales to show her how cute he is? You should have seen him looking at her when she was dancing with Vallenko. I suppose you’ve observed Vukcic lamping her with the expression of a moth in a cage surrounded by klieg lights. Or was someone really gump enough to endanger all our lives by putting arsenic in the sugar shaker? Incidentally, it’ll be dinnertime in ten minutes, and if you intend to comb your hair and tuck your shirt in-did you know that you can have one of these greenjackets for a valet for an extra five bucks per diem? I swear to God I think I’ll try it for half a day. I’d be a different person if I took proper care of myself.”

I stopped to yawn. Insufficient sleep and outdoor sunshine had got me. Wolfe was silent. But presently he spoke:

“Archie. Have you heard of the arrangement for this evening?”

“No. Anything special?”