Too Many Cooks/Champagne for One by Rex Stout Read Free Book Online

already made friends, in spite of a question of irregularity regarding her status. She was the guest of Ramsey Keith, who, coming all the way from Calcutta, had introduced her as his niece. Vukcic had told me that Marie Mondor’s sputterings after lunch had been to the effect that Lisette was a coquine and Keith had picked her up in Marseilles, but after all, Vukcic said, it was physically possible for a man named Keith to have a niece named Putti, and even if it was a case of mistaken identity, it was Keith who was paying the bills. Which sounded like a loose statement, but it was none of my affair.
    As I approached, Laszio finished some remark to Wolfe and Lisette began spouting to him in French, something about the stuff she had on the plate, which looked like fat brown crackers; but just then there was a yell from the direction of the kitchen, and we all turned to see the swinging door open and Domenico Rossi come leaping through with a steaming dish in one hand and a long-handled spoon in the other.
    “It curdled!” he shrieked. He rushed across to us and thrust the dish at Laszio. “Look at that dirty mud! What did I tell you? By God, look! You owe me a hundred francs! A devilof a son-in-law you are, and twice as old as I am anyhow, and ignorant of the very first essentials!”
    Laszio quietly shrugged. “Did you warm the milk?”
    “Me? Do I look like an egg-freezer?”
    “Then perhaps the eggs were old.”
    “Louis!” Rossi whirled and pointed the spoon at Servan. “Do you hear that? He says you have old eggs!”
    Servan chuckled. “But if you did it the way he said to, and it curdled, you have won a hundred francs. Where is the objection to that?”
    “But everything wasted! Look: mud!” Rossi puffed. “These damn modern ideas! Vinegar is vinegar!”
    Laszio said quietly, “I’ll pay. To-morrow I’ll show you how.” He turned abruptly and went to the door to the large parlor and opened it, and the sound of the radio came through. Rossi trotted around the table with the dish of mud to show it to Servan and Berin. Vukcic stuffed his telegram in his pocket and went over to look at it. Lisette became aware of my presence and poked the plate at me and said something. I grinned at her and replied, “Jack Spratt could eat no fat, his wife could—”
    “Archie!” Wolfe opened his eyes. “Miss Putti says that those wafers were made by the two hands of Mr. Keith, who brought the ingredients from India.”
    “Did you try them?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are they any good?”
    “No.”
    “Then will you kindly tell her that I never eat between meals?”
    I wandered over to the parlor door and stood beside Phillip Laszio, looking at the three couples dancing—only it was apparent that he was only seeing one. Mamma and papa Mondor were panting but game, Ramsey Keith and the geisha were funny to look at but obviously not concerned with that aspect of the matter, and Dina Laszio and Vallenko apparently hadn’t changed holds since my previous view. However, they soon did. Something was happening beside me. Laszio said nothing, and made no gesture that I saw, but he must have achieved some sort of communication, for the two stopped abruptly, and Dina murmured something to her partner and then alone crossed the floor to her husband. Isidestepped a couple of paces to give them room, but they weren’t paying any attention to me.
    She asked him, “Would you like to dance, dear?”
    “You know I wouldn’t. You weren’t dancing.”
    “But what—” She laughed. “They call it dancing, don’t they?”
    “They may. But you weren’t dancing.” He smiled—that is, technically; it looked more like a smile to end smiles.
    Vallenko came up. He stopped close to them, looked from his face to hers and back again, and all at once burst out laughing. “Ah, Laszio!” He slapped him on the back, not gently. “Ah, my friend!” He bowed to Dina. “Thank you, madame.” He strode off.
    She said to her husband, “Phillip