“No gossip at all. It’s straight fact.”
“Has any of it ever been published? For instance, in a newspaper reporting a proceeding in a court?”
Gus shook his head. “It wasn’t in a court. How would it get in a court when he paid forty or fifty thousand to keep it out?”
“Just so, but I wanted to be sure. Were these facts generally known and discussed in the neighborhood?”
“Well — not known, no.” Gus gestured. “Of course there was some talk, but only two or three really knew what happened, and I happened to be one of them because of my friend being Florence’s best friend. And I didn’t help start any talking. I’ve never opened my trap about it until now, and I told you only to help Andy, but damned if I see how it’s going to.”
“I do,” Wolfe said emphatically. “Has Mr. Pitcairn been helpful in any other real estate deals?”
“Not that I know of. He must have lost his head that time. But it’s more a question of a guy’s general approach, and I’ve seen him performing with house guests here. What I can say for sure is that his son didn’t catch it from him. I don’t know why — when a man starts turning gray why don’t he realize the whistle has blowed and concentrate on something else? Take you, you show some gray. I’ll bet you don’t dash around crowing and flapping your arms.”
I tittered without meaning to. Wolfe gave me a withering glance and then returned to Gus.
“No, Mr. Treble, I don’t. But while your general observations are interesting and sound, they won’t help me any. I can use only specific items. I need scandal, all I can get. More about Mr. Pitcairn, I hope?”
But apparently Gus had shot his main wad. He had a further collection of details pertaining to Joseph G., and he was now more than willing to turn the bag up and shake it, but it didn’t seem to me to advance Pitcairn’s promotion to the grade of murder suspect. For one thing, there wasn’t even a morsel about him and Dini Lauer, though, as Gus pointed out, he was an outside man and therefore knew little of what went on in the house.