“Excuse me a minute.”
There followed a brief period during which Hershell talked aside, apparently to the hovering Gabriella, and then his voice came through the receiver again, thin and a little petulant with disappointment.
“I guess you’re right, then. I guess there’s no use in my coming down.”
“None at all.”
“Since there wasn’t really anything to report, I hope the fee won’t be excessive.”
“I’ll send you a bill,” Gaspar said.
He hung up and leaned back in his chair. On the other hand, he thought, maybe I won’t. Truth is, he ought to send me a bill.
Mindful of the old adage that one should strike while the iron is hot, Gaspar consulted his directory and found the telephone number of the shop of Rudolph La Roche. He dialed the number and listened to distant rings. Then, the third ring being chopped off in the middle, he was listening to the voice of Rudolph himself. The voice, true to Gaspar’s imagination, was modulated and suave and unmistakably urbane.
“Rudolph La Roche speaking,” the voice said.
“I must have the wrong number,” Gaspar said. “I thought I was calling Roger Le Rambeau.”
There was a pause, almost imperceptible, and Rudolph’s voice, when he spoke again, was as impeccably suave as before.
“Who is this, please?”
“Never mind. We’ll get better acquainted in good time.”
“I’m sure I shall be delighted. Would you care to make an appointment?”
“What’s wrong with this evening?”
“Nothing whatever. Shall I name the place?”
“You name it. If I don’t like it, I’ll change it.”
“There’s a small tavern a few doors east of my shop. I sometimes stop in there for a beer or two before going home. If that’s acceptable, I shall be pleased to see you there.”
“That sounds all right. What time?”
“I close my shop at five-thirty.”
“See you then,” said Gaspar, and gently cradled the phone.
A cool customer, he thought. A real cool customer. But after all, any guy who could deliberately marry two women and practically keep them next door to each other was bound to be.
* * * *
The tavern was a narrow building compressed between an appliance store on one side and a loan office on the other. It was clearly a place that exploited an atmosphere of decorum and respectability, making its appeal to the solid citizen whose thirst, while decently inhibited, could be counted on to recur with some regularity. Of the patrons present when Gaspar entered, the one who was the most respectable in appearance and the least so in fact was Rudolph La Roche.
He was sitting alone in a booth along the wall opposite the bar. A beaded glass of beer, untouched, was on the table before him. As Gaspar approached, he slid out of his seat, stood up and made an odd, old-fashioned bow from the hips.
“Rudolph La Roche,” he said. “I’m sorry that I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Vane,” Gaspar said. “Gaspar Vane.”
“How do you do, Mr. Vane. Will you join me in a beer? I’m afraid nothing stronger is sold here.”
“Beer’s fine.”
They sat opposite each other with an air of cordiality and waited in silence while Gaspar was served by a waitress. After she was gone, Rudolph lifted his glass in a small salute, to which Gaspar responded uneasily. It was strange that Gaspar, who held all the cards, was far the more uneasy of the two.
“May I ask,” said Rudolph, “how you became aware of Roger Le Rambeau?”
“You can ask,” said Gaspar, “which is not to say I’ll answer.”
“It would do me no good, I suppose, to deny anything?”
“Not a bit.”
“In that case, I’ll save myself the trouble. Which brings us, of course, directly to the point. What do you intend to do about it?”
“That depends. I’m not what you might call a blue-nose. If a man chooses to have two wives at the same time, I say, let him have them.”
“Very wise of you, Mr. Vane. You are, I see, a liberal man. And why not? Bigamy is, per se, quite harmless. It has been respectable enough in the past in certain places and is still so today. It is a felony only where the laws of the land condemn it, and it is a sin only where the mores of society make it so. I pride myself, if I may say so, on being a kind of universal man. I select my ethical standards from all societies in all places at any given time.”
“That sounds good enough, but it’s liable to land you in a mess of trouble.”
“True, true. One must have the courage of his convictions.”
“If you ask me, two wives take more courage than sense. One is bad enough.”
“Mr. Vane, you disappoint me. Marriage is, indeed, a blessed institution. It is made less than blessed only by the idiotic restrictions placed upon it. It is confused, I mean, with monogamy, which is quite another thing. It is extremely rare that a man can be fulfilled by one woman, or vice versa. Take me, for example. I rather imagine, Mr. Vane, that you think me, all things considered, a complex man. On the contrary, I am a very simple man. I have, on the one hand, very strong physical appetites that can be satisfied only by a rich and beautiful woman of a passionate nature. On the other, I have a deep and normal yearning for the stigmata of middle-class stability—a modest and comfortable home, a devoted and orderly wife who is primarily a house-keeper, a respected and undistinguished trade to engage my attention. It is surely clear that one wife could hardly satisfy my needs. And I am not, whatever you may think superficially, a libertine. I choose not to engage in philandering. Therefore, I solve my problem simply and sensibly. I take two wives, and I am fulfilled. I am, Mr. Vane, a happy man.”
“Well, as the saying goes,” said Gaspar pointedly, “every good thing must come to an end.”
“Must it?” Rudolph smiled and sipped his
