Armand puffed out his cheeks, blew out his breath with a soft hissing.
“Armand,” I said. “You are dumb.”
“M’sieu?” He patted his toupee, agitated.
“Deaf. Dumb. Blind. You know nothing about nothing.” I knuckled him gently in the short ribs. “N’est-ce pas?”
“Ah-ho!” His eyes became very round. “That is how it is, that way?”
“Just like that.” I went out to the check-off room, through the serving-pantry, into the banquet kitchen where the smell of quail Montmorency and sweetbreads Emile made me realize it was about the time I’d have been eating a frankfurter, if I’d gone to the Garden.
Tim wasn’t around. Neither was Auguste.
When the service car dropped me at the third and I went into my office, they were both there.
Tim had to explain why he’d missed Auguste up in the banquet kitchen. Auguste insisted on relating how he had learned “Mister Fine” was looking for him, how he’d hastened to locate me soon’s he knew I wanted him.
I told Tim what I wanted him to do about the maids, bellmen, porters, electricians, waiters, and valets who might have been on the twenty-first within the last four hours. Then I took Auguste into my private cubby.