hand with deep respect. She is a doll. May I ask, have you made some progress?'
'No, Woody, I haven't. Are you still with us?'
'I am. Forever and a day. If Mr Greve shot that man like a coward I am a bow-legged coyote. I have told you I had the pleasure of meeting him when he was two years old. I was sixteen. His mother bought four blankets from my father that day and two dozen handkerchiefs. You have made no progress?'
'Not a smell. Have you?'
He shook his head, slow, his lips pursed. 'I must confess I haven't. Of course during the week I don't see many people. Tonight there will be much talk and I'll keep my ears open, and with some I can ask questions. You will stay?'
I said sure, that I had already asked questions of everybody who might have answers, but I would listen to the talk. A pair of dudes had entered and were approaching to speak with the famous Woody, and I went back to the paperbacks, picked one entitled The Greek Way, by Edith Hamilton, which I had heard mentioned by both Lily and Nero Wolfe, and went to a bench with it.
At 9:19 a man in a pink shirt, working Levi's, cowboy boots, and a yellow neck rag, arrived, opened the door at the right, and set up his equipment, supplied by Woody, just outside the door-a till and a box of door checks on a little table. The gun at his belt was for looks only; Woody always checked it to make sure it wasn't loaded. At 9:24 the musicians came-having met at Vawter's probably, at Henrietta's possibly-dressed fully as properly as the doorman, with a violin, an accordion, and a sax. Local talent. The piano, which Lily said was as good as hers, was on the platform inside. At 9:28 the first patrons showed, and at 9:33 the door at the left opened and the movie audience poured out, most of them across to the other door; and the fun started. The next four hours was what brought people of all ages from Timberburg, and both natives and dudes from as far away as Flat Bank. When the rush at the door had let up a little I paid my two bucks and went in. The band was playing 'Horsey, Keep Your Tail Up,' and fifty couples were already on the floor, twisting and hopping. One of them was Woody and Flora Eaton, a big-boned widow out of luck who did the laundry and housework at the Bar JR. Many a dudine had tried to snare Woody for that first dance, but he always picked a native.
I said this is a sample, and I mustn't drag it out. In those four hours at the hall I heard much and saw much, but left around one-thirty no wiser.
I heard a girl in a cherry-coloured shirt call across to Sam Peacock, one of the two wranglers at Farnham's, who came late, 'Get a haircut, Sam, you look awful,' and his reply, 'I ain't so bad now. You should have seen me when I was a yearling, they had to tie my mother up before she'd let me suck.'
I saw Johnny Vawter and Woody bounce a couple of boiled dudes who were trying to take the accordion away from the musician. The hooch that had inspired them had been brought by them, which was customary. At the bar in a corner the only items available were fizz-water, ice, paper cups, soft stuff, and aspirin.
I heard more beats and off-beats, and saw more steps and off-steps, than I had heard and seen at all the New York spots I was acquainted with.
I heard a middle-aged woman with ample apples yell at a man about the same age, 'Like hell they're milk-fake!' and saw her slap him hard enough to bend him.
I heard a dude in a dinner jacket tell a woman in a dress nearly to her ankles, 'A sheet-snapper is not a prostitute. It's a girl or a woman who makes beds.' I heard Gil Haight say to another kid, 'Of course she's not here. She's got a baby to look after.' I saw about eight dozen people, all kinds and sizes, look the other way, or stop talking, or give me the fish-eye, when I came near.
So back at the cabin, in bed under two blankets for the cold of the night, there was nothing for my mind to work on and it turned me loose for sleep.
That's the sample, but before skipping to Wednesday evening I must report an incident that occurred at the cabin late Tuesday afternoon. I had just got back from somewhere and was with Lily on what we called the morning terrace, the other one being the creek terrace, when a car came up the lane-a Dodge Coronet hardtop I had seen before-with two men in the front seat, and Lily said, 'There they are. I was just going to tell you, Dawson phoned they wanted to see me. He didn't say why.'
The car was there, at the edge of the lodgepoles, and Luther Dawson and Thomas R. Jessup were getting out. Seeing those two, I was so impressed that I didn't remember my manners and leave my chair until they were nearly to us. The defence counsel and the county attorney coming together to see the owner of the ranch Harvey Greve ran had to mean that something had busted wide open, and when I did get up I had to control my face to keep it from beaming. Their faces were not beaming as they exchanged greetings with us and took the chairs I moved up for them, but of course the county attorney's wouldn't be if something had happened that was messing up a murder case for him. Lily said their throats were probably dry and dusty after their drive and asked what they would like to drink, but they declined with thanks.
'It may strike you as a little irregular, our coming together,' Dawson said, 'but Mr Jessup wanted to ask you something and we agreed that it would be more in order for me to do the asking, in his presence.' Lily nodded. 'Of course. Law and order.' Dawson looked at Jessup. They were both Montana-born-and-bred, but one looked it and the other didn't. Dawson, around sixty, in a striped blue-and-green shirt with rolled-up sleeves, no tie, and khaki pants, was big and brawny and leathery, while the county attorney, some twenty years younger, was slim and trim in a dark gray suit, white shirt, and maroon tie. Dawson looked at me, opened his mouth, shut it again, and looked at Lily. 'Of course you're not my client,' he said. 'Mr Greve is my client. But you paid my retainer and have said you will meet the costs of his defence. So I'll just ask you, have you consulted-er, approached- anyone else about the case?'
Lily's eyes widened a little. 'Of course I have.'
'Who?'
'Well… Archie Goodwin. Mrs Harvey Greve. Melvin Fox. Woodrow Stepanian. Peter Ingalls. Emmett Lake. Mimi Deffand. Mort-'
'Excuse me for interrupting. My question should have been more specific. Have you consulted anyone other than local people? Anyone in Helena?'
If she had been any ordinary woman I would have horned in, but with Lily I didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't. 'Really, Mr Dawson,' she said, 'how old are you? How many hostile witnesses would you say you have cross-examined?'
He stared at her.
