her to the rendezvous, and insisted on seeing Wolfe. I had to promise to go to get rid of her. Nora Jaret had called him assorted names, from liar on up, or on down, and had told him she had a friend listening in on an extension, which was almost certainly a lie. Neither we nor the law had had a peep from her.
So it was Carol Annis with the corn-silk hair, that was plain enough, but there was no salt on her tail. If she was really smart and really tough she might decide to sit tight and not come, figuring that when they came at her with Zoltan's story she would say he was either mistaken or lying, and we would be up a stump. If she was dumb and only fairly tough she might scram. Of course they would find her and haul her back, but if she said Zoltan was lying and she had run because she thought she was being framed, again we would be up a stump. But if she was both smart and tough but not quite enough of either, she would turn up at nine o'clock and join Zoltan. From there on it would be up to him, but that had been rehearsed too, and after his performance on the phone I thought he would deliver.
At half past eight Purley said, 'She's not coming,' and removed his earphone.
'I never thought she would,' I said. The 'she' was of course Peggy Choate, whose hour had been seven-thirty. 'I said you never can tell with a redhead merely to make conversation.'
Purley signaled to Piotti, who had been hovering around most of the time, and he brought us a pot of coffee and two fresh cups. The minutes were snails, barely moving. When we had emptied
Poison ci la Carte 55
the cups I poured more. At 8:48 Purley put his earphone back on. At 8:56 I asked, 'Shall I do a countdown?'
'You'd clown in the hot seat,' he muttered, so hoarse that it was barely words. He always gets hoarser as the tension grows; that's the only sign.
It was four minutes past nine when the phone brought me the sound of a chair scraping, then faintly Zoltan's voice saying good evening, and then a female voice, but I couldn't get the words.
'Not loud enough,' Purley whispered hoarsely.
'Shut up.' I had my pen out. 'They're standing up.'
There came the sound of chairs scraping, and other little sounds, and then:
Zoltan: Will you have a drink?
Carol: No. I don't want anything.
Zoltan: Won't you eat something?
Carol: I don't feel . . . maybe I will.
Purley and I exchanged glances. That was promising. That sounded as if we might get more than conversation.
Another female voice, belonging to Mrs. Piotti: We have good Osso Buco, madame. Very good. A specialty.
Carol: No, not meat.
Zoltan: A sweet perhaps?
Carol: No.
Zoltan: It is more friendly if we eat. The spaghetti with anchovy sauce is excellent. I had some.
Carol: You had some?
I bit my lip, but he handled it fine.
Zoltan: I've been here half an hour, I wanted so much to see you. I thought I should order something, and I tried that. I might even eat another portion.
Carol: You should know good food. All right.
Mrs. Piotti: Two spaghetti anchovy. Wine? A very good Chianti?
Carol: No. Coffee.
Pause.
Zoltan: You are more lovely without a veil, but the veil is good too. It makes me want to see behind it. Of course I--
Carol: You have seen behind it, Mr. Mahany.
56
3 at Wolfe's Door
Zoltan: Ah! You know my name?
Carol: It was in the paper.
Zoltan: I am not sorry that you know it, I want you to know my name, but it will be nicer if you call me Zoltan.
Carol: I might some day. It will depend. I certainly won't call you Zoltan if you go on thinking what you said on the phone. You're mistaken, Mr. Mahany. You didn't see me go back for another plate, because I didn't. I can't believe you would tell a vicious lie about me, so I just think you're mistaken.
Mrs. Piotti, in the kitchen for the spaghetti, came to the corner to stoop and hiss into my free ear, 'She's wearing a veil.'
Zoltan: I am not mistaken, my dear. That is useless. I know. How could I be mistaken when the first moment I
