Rupert Grove didn’t shake hands, which didn’t upset me. He may have been a good manager for Alberto Mion’s affairs, but not for his own physique. A man can be fat and still have integrity, as for instance Falstaff or Nero Wolfe, but that bird had lost all sense of proportion. His legs were short, and it was all in the middle third of him. If you wanted to be polite and look at his face you had to concentrate. I did so, since I needed to size them all up, and saw nothing worthy of recording but a pair of shrewd shifty black eyes.
When these two were seated and provided with liquid, Wolfe fired the starting gun. He said he was sorry it had been necessary to ask them to exert themselves on a hot evening, but that the question at issue could be answered fairly and equitably only if all concerned had a voice in it. The responding murmurs went all the way from acquiescence to extreme irritation. Judge Arnold said belligerently that there was no question at legal issue because Albert Mion was dead.
“Nonsense,” Wolfe said curtly. “If that were true, you, a lawyer, wouldn’t have bothered to come. Anyway, the purpose of this meeting is to keep it from becoming a legal issue. Four of you telephoned Mrs. Mion today to ask if I am acting for her, and were told that I am. On her behalf I want to collect the facts. I may as well tell you, without prejudice to her, that she will accept my recommendation. Should I decide that a large sum is due her you may of course contest; but if I form the opinion that she has no claim she will bow to it. Under that responsibility I need all the facts. Therefore—”
“You’re not a court,” Arnold snapped.
“No, sir, I’m not. If you prefer it in a court you’ll get it.” Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Miss Bosley, would your employers welcome that kind of publicity? Dr. Lloyd, would you rather appear as an expert on the witness-stand or talk it over here? Mr. Grove, how would your client feel about it if he were alive? Mr. James, what do you think? You wouldn’t relish the publicity either, would you? Particularly since your daughter’s name would appear?”
“Why would her name appear?” James demanded in his trained baritone.
Wolfe turned up a palm. “It would be evidence. It would be established that just before you struck Mr. Mion you said to him, ‘You let my daughter alone, you bastard.’”
I put my hand in my pocket. I have a rule, justified by experience, that whenever a killer is among those present, or may be, a gun must be handy. Not regarding the back of the third drawer of my desk, where they are kept, as handy enough, the routine is to transfer one to my pocket before guests gather. That was the pocket I put my hand in, knowing how cocky James was. But he didn’t leave his chair. He merely blurted, “That’s a lie!”
Wolfe grunted. “Ten people heard you say it. That would indeed be publicity, if you denied it under oath and all ten of them, subpoenaed to testify, contradicted you. I honestly think it would be better to discuss it with me.”
“What do you want to know?” Judge Arnold demanded.