rr . ' ' - ' 'Three times, Gene said. Cramer had plenty of ques
182 Bex Stout
tions for both mother and son. It was in the middle of them that Wolfe passed me a slip of paper on which he had scribbled:
Tell Fritz to bring sandwiches and coffee for you and me. Also for those left in the front room. No one else. Of course Saul and Theodore.
I left the room, found Fritz in the kitchen, delivered the message, and returned.
Gene stayed cooperative to the end, and Mrs. Orwin tried, though it was an effort They said they had been together all the time, which I happened to know wasn't so, having seen them separated at least twice during the afternoon--and Cramerdid too, since I had told him. They said a lot of other things, among them that they hadn't left the plant rooms between their arrival arid their departure with Wolfe; that they had stayed until most of the others were gone because Mrs. Orwin wanted to persuade Wolfe to sell her some plants; that Colonel Brown had wandered off by himself once or twice; that they had been only mildly concerned about Cynthia's absence because of assurances from Colonel Brown and me; and so on and so forth. Before they left, Gehe made another try fora commitment to keep his mother's name out of it, and Cramer appreciated his frankness so much that he promised to do his best I couldn't blame Cramer; people like them might be in a position to call almost anybody, even the commissioner or the mayor, by his first name.
Fritz had brought trays for Wolfe and me, and we were making headway with them. In the silence that followed the departure of the Orwins, Wolfe could plainly be heard chewing a mouthful of mixed salad.
Curtains for Three 183
sat frowning at us. He spoke not to Wolfe
|io me. 'Is that imported ham?' shook my head and swallowed before I answered. |j Georgia. Pigs fed on peanuts and acorns. Cured to J Wolfe's specifications. It smells good but it tastes I'better. Ill copy the recipe for you--no, damn it, I , because the typewriter's in the office. Sorry.' I lie sandwich down and picked up another. 'I- like st'a bit of ham, then sturgeon, then [then sturgeon ...'
could see him controlling himself. He turned his 'Levy! Get that Colonel Brown in.'
sir. That man you wanted--Vedder--he's
en IH take him first.'
.. .. . ,vi: .''' -.-, ; .':
i the plant rooms Malcolm Vedder had caught my |by the way he picked up a flowerpot and held it. As ok a chair across the dining table from Cramer e, I still thought he was worth another good look, fatter his answer to Cramer's third question I reI and concentrated on my sandwiches. He was an ' and had had parts in three Broadway plays. Of ; that explained it. No actor would pick tip a flow; just normally, like you or me. He would have to it some way, and Vedder had happened to a way that looked to me like fingers closing 1 a throat.
low he was dramatizing this by being wrought up [indignant about the cops dragging him into an in of a sensational murder. He kept running long fingers of both his elegant hands through Ms
1$4 EeXfStont
hair in a way that looked familiar, and I remembered I had seen him the year before as the artist guy in The Primtiveji,
'Typicall' he told Cramer, his eyes flashing and his voicethroal^with feeling. 'Typical of police elumsiness! Pulling me into this! The newspapermen out fix>nt recognized me, of course, and the damned photographers! My God!'
'Yeah,' Cramer said sympathetically, 'It'll be tough for an actor, having your picture in the paper. We need help, us clumsy police, and you were among these present. You're a member of this flower club?'
,N0, Redder said, he wasn't. He had come with a friend, a Mrs. Beauchamp, and when she had left to keep ati appointment he had remained to look at more orchids. If only he had departed with her he would have avoided this dreadful publicity. They had arrived about three-thirty, and he had remained in the plant rooms continuously until leaving with me at his heels. He had seen no one that he had ever known or seen before, except Mrs. Beauchamp. He knew nothing of any Cynthia Brown or Colonel Percy Brown. Cramer went through all the regulation questions and got all the expected negatives, until he suddenly asked, 'Did you know Doris Batten?' Ve4derfrowned. 'Who?'
'Soris Batten. She was also--'
'Ah!* Vedder cried. 'She was also strangled! I remember!'
'Right.'
Vedder made fists of his hands, rested them on the table, and leaned forward. His eyes had flashed again and then gone dead. 'You know,' he said tensely, 'that's the, worst of all, strangling--especially a woman.' His fists opened, the fingers spread apart,
Curtains for Three 185
t he gazed at them. 'Imagine strangling a beautiful
IP .. ' - V . ,-.' ' 'Did you know Doris Hatten?' ^Othello,' Vedder said in a deep resonant tone. His lifted to Cramer, and his voice lifted too. 'No, I nt know her, I only read about her.' He shuddered t over and then, abruptly, he was out of his chair and ; his feet. 'Damn it all,' he protested shrilly, 'I only
here to look at orchids! God!' He ran his fingers through his hair, turned, and for the door. Levy looked at Gramer with his raised, and Cramer shook his head impatiently. I muttered at Woife, 'He hammed it, maybe?' Wotfe wasn't interested.
The next one in was Bill McNab, garden editor of Gazette. I knew him a little, but not well, most of newspaper friends not being on garden desks. He oked unhappier than any of the others, even Mrs. as he walked across to the table, to the end Wolfesat.
