Wolfe nodded. “So much for that,” he said in a relieved tone. “I’m glad that part is over with.” His eyes moved. “Now. Mr. Grove, tell me about the conference in Mr. Mion’s studio, a few hours before he died.”
Rupert the Fat had his head tilted to one side, with his shrewd black eyes meeting Wolfe’s. “It was for the purpose,” he said in his high tenor, “of discussing the demand Mion had made for payment of damages.”
“You were there?”
“I was, naturally. I was Mion’s adviser and manager. Also Miss Bosley, Dr. Lloyd, Mr. James, and Judge Arnold.”
“Who arranged the conference, you?”
“In a way, yes. Arnold suggested it, and I told Mion and phoned Dr. Lloyd and Miss Bosley.”
“What was decided?”
“Nothing. That is, nothing definite. There was the question of the extent of the damage — how soon Mion would be able to sing again.”
“What was your position?”
Grove’s eyes tightened. “Didn’t I say I was Mion’s manager?”