Are losing theirs, and blaming it on you …
Kipling, “If.” One of those tags and snippets from her schooldays which tended to flit through her mind, called up by frequently inapposite associations. Perhaps not totally inapposite this time: Rosencrantz and Guildensternblamed her for losing her head and not getting a precise and detailed description of the murderer for them; and they were in danger of losingtheirheads over the possible Tammany connection.
The lift arrived. Had Kevin come with it, Daisy might—in spite of Lambert’s presence—have asked the boy what he knew of William. But Kevin’s shift was over. The attendant was a stout, lugubrious man who wheezed as if he had personally pushed the elevator all the way from ground level. He didn’t so much as glance at Daisy and Lambert as he asked them which floor they wanted.
“Lobby, please,” said Daisy.
“You’re going out?” Lambert asked.
“No. Not that it’s any of your business. As a matter of fact, Mr. Thorwald is here to see me.”
Lambert’s eyes narrowed behind his horn-rims. “Say, you don’t think Thorwald did it? He was behind you, wasn’t he? He could have pulled a gun without you seeing it. And he had his back to me, and I didn’t have much of a view where I was standing.”
“He was only just behind, practically beside me. I might not have seen, but if the shot was so close, it would have sounded much louder than it did, and surely I would have smelt the smoke?”
“Probably,” Lambert conceded reluctantly.
“Anyway, I’m sure Mr. Thorwald had nothing to do with it. He’s just not that sort of person.”
“You can’t tell by just looking at someone,” the fledgling agent argued. “That’s one of the first things they taught us.”
“I didn’t ‘just look’ at Mr. Thorwald,” Daisy retorted. “I first met him months ago, in England. We have correspondedregularly. And I have had two long talks with him since I arrived in New York. Here we are,” she said as the elevator came to a halt. “Now, if you insist on hovering over me, do try a little harder to make yourself inconspicuous!”
“I’ll try,” said Lambert, abashed.
For all her indignant denial, as Daisy crossed the lobby to greet Thorwald she could not help wondering whether he might have shot Carmody. Suspicion faded at the sight of him. He came to meet her with a hangdog air.
“My dear Miss Dal … Mrs. Fletcher, I cannot apologize sufficiently for my disgraceful behaviour. I am unaccustomed to intemperate bibulation and I fear I was overcome.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Daisy assured him. “It was a natural reaction to such a beastly business. And when you saved me from Lambert”—who, in an unconvincing manner, was studying a Cubist painting hanging nearby which Daisy guessed had been given to the hotel in lieu of rent by a particularly unsuccessful artist; she glared at the agent’s oblivious back and turned back to Thorwald—“you were simply splendid.”
Her editor blushed but lamented, “That such an atrocious incident should have occurred upon the occasion of your appointment with me!” He took off his pince-nez and attempted to rub his eyes, only to discover his hat and gloves in his other hand. It was a topper, and he had on a dinner jacket—a tuxedo—under his overcoat.
“Please, don’t worry about it. I cannot possibly hold you responsible. But you look as if you are going out to dinner, Mr. Thorwald. Don’t let me delay you.”
“My dear young lady, as a matter of fact I was permittingmyself to hope … That is, I telephoned Mrs. Thorwald … My wife is at present sojourning with her mother in Jersey … . I telephoned to describe to her the disastrous course of the day, and she insisted that the only way to make amends … In short, Mrs. Fletcher, since I was unhappily prevented from taking you out to lunch, will you do me the honour, that is, give me the pleasure, of dining with me?”
“I shall be delighted,” said Daisy, who had sampled once too often the dinners the hotel restaurant served to those whose minds must be presumed to be occupied by higher things. “Will you excuse me while I go and change? I shan’t be long.”
“Of course.” Mr. Thorwald beamed. “No need to hurry.”
Lambert caught up with her on the way to the lifts. Glancing back, he said suspiciously, “He’s taken a seat. Is he waiting for you to come back?”
“Yes,” said Daisy. “He’s taking me out to dinner. If you must follow, for pity’s sake dress properly. And buck up. We won’t wait for you.”
“Gee whiz! Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“You mustn’t go without me, darn it,” Lambert said anxiously. “The old codger’s probably planning to slip knockout drops in your soup!”
8
Daisy was not one to dilly-dally when there was a good meal in the offing. Yet Lambert changed his clothes with such speed that he was waiting for her when she stepped out of the elevator in the lobby. He had buttoned his stiff shirt wrong, and his tie was lopsided. Otherwise his evening dress was perfectly adequate. Daisy supposed it was one of the disguises essential to his job.
She gave him a distant nod and walked on. Mr. Thorwald stood up as she approached, but he was looking over her shoulder with a puzzled expression. Daisy turned, to find Lambert lurking unhappily so close behind that Thorwald couldn’t help but recognize him.
Almost recognize him: the bottle of whisky had done its work to the extent that he said hesitantly, “Don’t I know that young fellow?”
