took the other side of the argument, and made a monkey out of Dana Hammond.
I decided I'd better start all over.
On the way back to the living-room for coffee, Lina Darrow joined me. “Why did you take it out on me? she demanded.
I said I didn't know I had.
“Certainly you did. Trying to indict me for dog poisoning. You went after me much harder than you did the others. Her fingers were on the inside of my arm, lightly.
“Certainly, I conceded. “Nothing new to you, was it? A man going after you harder than the others?
“Thanks. But I mean it. Of course you know I'm just a working girl.
“Sure. That's why I was tougher with you. That, and because I wondered why you were playing dumb.
The statesman Pierce broke us up then, as we entered the living-room, and I didn't fight for her. We collected in the neighbourhood of the fireplace for coffee, and there was a good deal of talk about nothing, and after a while somebody suggested television, and Barry Rackham went and turned it on. He and
Annabel turned out lights. As the rest of us got settled in favourably placed seats, Mrs Rackham left us. A little later, as I sat in the semi-darkness scowling at a cosmetic commercial, some obscure sense told me that danger was approaching and I jerked my head around. It was right there at my elbow: a
Doberman pinscher, looking larger than normal in that light, staring intently past me at the screen.
Mrs Rackham, just behind it, apparently misinterpreting my quick movement, spoke hastily and loudly above the noise of the broadcast. “Don't try to pat him!
“I won't, I said emphatically.
“He'll behave, she assured me. “He loves television. She went on with him, farther forward. As they passed Calvin Leeds the affectionate pet halted for a brief sniff, and got a. stroke on the head in response. No one else was honoured.
Ninety minutes of video got us to half-past ten, and got us nothing else, especially me. I was still on the fence about Barry Rackham. Television is raising hell with the detective business. It used to be that a social evening at someone's house or apartment was a fine opportunity for picking up lines and angles, moving around, watching and talking and listening; but with a television session you might as well be home in bed. You can't see faces, and if someone does make a remark you can't hear it unless it's a scream, and you can't even start a private inquiry, such as finding out where a young widow stands now on scepticism. In a movie theatre at least you can hold hands.
However, I did finally get what might have been a nibble. The screen had been turned off, and we had all got up to stretch, and Annabel offered to drive Leeds and me home, and Leeds had told her that we would rather walk, when Barry
Rackham moseyed over to me and said he hoped the television hadn't bored me too much. I said no, just enough.
“Think you'll get anywhere on your job for Leeds? he asked, jiggling his highball glass to make the ice tinkle.
I lifted my shoulders and let them drop. “I don't know. A month's gone by.
He nodded. “That's what makes it hard to believe.
“Yeah, why?
“That he would wait a month and then decide to blow himself to a fee for Nero
Wolfe. Everybody knows that Wolfe comes high. I wouldn't have thought Leeds could afford it. Rackham smiled at me. “Driving back to-night?
“No, I'm staying over.
That's sensible. Night driving is dangerous, I think. The Sunday traffic won't be bad this time of year if you leave early. He touched my chest with a forefinger. That's it, leave early. He moved off.
Annabel was yawning, and Dana Hammorid was looking at her as if that was exactly what he had come to Birchvale for, to see her yawn. Lina Darrow was looking from
Barry Rackham to me and back again, and pretending she wasn't looking anywhere with those eyes. The Doberman pinscher was standing tense, and Pierce, from a safe ten feet-one more than springing distance- was regarding it with an expression that gave me a more sympathetic feeling for him than I ever expected to have for a statesman.
Calvin Leeds and Mrs Rackham were also looking at the dog, with a quite different expression.
“At least two pounds overweight, Leeds was saying. “You feed him too much.
Mrs Rackham protested that she didn't.
Then you don't run him enough.
“I know it, she admitted. “I will from now on, I'll be here more. I was busy to-day. I'll take him out now. It's a perfect night for a good walk-Barry, do you feel like walking?
He didn't. He was nice about it, but he didn't. She broadened the invitation to take in the group, but there were no takers. She offered to walk Leeds and me home, but Leeds said she would go too slow, and he should have been in bed long ago since his rising time was six o'clock. He moved, and told me to come on if I was coming.
