They screwed it out of his bank.”
“I see.
Detective work.
Mr. Cramer needs a mirror to make sure he has a nose on his face.”
“I give in.”
I compressed my lips and shook my head.
“You're the pink of the pinks.
You're the without which nothing.” I stood up and shook down my pants legs.
“I can think of only one improvement that might be made in this place; we could put an electric chair in the front room and do our own burning. I'm going to tell Fritz that I'll dine in the kitchen, because I'll have to be leaving around eight-thirty to represent you at the funeral services.”
“That's a pity.” He meant it. “Need you actually go?”
“I will go.
It'll look better.
Somebody around here ought to do something.”
Chapter Fifteen
At that hour, 8:50 p.m., parking spaces were few and far between on 73rd Street.
I finally found one about half a block east of the address of the Belford Memorial Chapel, and backed into it.
I thought there was something familiar about the license number of the car just ahead, and sure enough, after I got out and took a look, I saw that it was Perren Gebert's convertible.
It was spic and span, having had a cleaning since its venture into the wilds of Putnam County.
I handed it to Gebert for a strong rebound, since he had evidently recovered enough in three hours to put in an appearance at a social function.
I walked to the portal of the chapel and entered, and was in a square anteroom of paneled marble.
A middle-aged man in black clothes approached and bowed to me.
He appeared to be under the influence of a chronic but aristocratic melancholy.
He indicated a door at his right by extending his forearm in that direction with his elbow fastened to his hip, and murmured at me:
“Good evening, sir.
The chapel is that way. Or…” “Or what?”
He coughed delicately.
“Since the deceased had no family, a few of his intimate friends are gathering in the private parlor…”
“Oh. I represent the executor of the estate.
I don't know. What do you think?”
“I should think, sir, in that case, perhaps the parlor…”
“Okay.
Where?”
“This way.” He turned to his left, opened a door, and bowed me through.
I stepped onto thick soft carpet.
The room was elegant, with subdued lights, upholstered divans and chairs, and a smell similar to a high-class barber shop.
On a chair over in a corner was Helen Frost, looking pale and concentrated and beautiful in a dark grey dress and a little black hat.
Standing protectively in front of her was Llewellyn. Perren Gebert was seated on a divan at the right.
Two women, one of whom I recognized as having been at the candy-sampling session, were on chairs across the room.
I nodded at the ortho-cousins and they nodded back, and aimed one at Gebert and got his, and picked a chair at the left.
There was a murmur coming from where Llewellyn bent over Helen. Gebert's clothes looked neater than his face, with its swollen eyes and its general air of having been exposed to a bad spell of weather.
I sat and considered Wolfe's phrase: dreary and hushed obeisance to the grisly terror.
The door opened and Dudley Frost came in.
I was closest to the door.
He looked around, passing me by without any pretense of recognition, saw the two women and called to them
“How do you do?” so loud that they jumped, sent a curt nod in Gebert's direction, and crossed toward the corner where the cousins were:
“Ahead of time, by Gad I am!
Almost never happens!
Helen, my dear, where the deuce is your mother?
I phoned three times-good God!
I forgot the flowers after all!