“Good God,” Paul Thayer protested, “you don’t really mean it! You’re actually going to ask us?”
“I’ll ask you, Mr. Thayer, since you are not suspected by Mr. Lewent. Where did Mrs. Huck die? Here?”
Thayer looked at Huck. “What about it, Uncle Theodore? Do you want me to play?”
Huck nodded slowly. “I suppose so. Yes.”
“Whatever you say.” Thayer looked at Wolfe. “My aunt died in this house, in her bed, just about a year ago.”
“Were you here?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it. Just tell it, and I’ll ask questions as required.”
“Well.” Thayer cleared his throat. “It was my uncle’s birthday, and there was a little celebration here in this room. We were all here, we who are here now, and a few other people, four or five — old friends of my aunt and uncle. Do you want to know who they were?”
“Later, perhaps. Now just the event.”