Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 03 by The Broken Vase

unconsciously, without knowing it, what I had once planned to do. I wanted to call to him, to get up and run out, to do something, anything, but I couldn’t. I had to hang on and do my best, and I did. I never tried so hard—believe me! Oh, don’t you believe me? I never tried so hard—and my fingers were as stiff as my father’s had been and it was all wrong—it was horrible, horrible—”
    “Nonsense,” Felix Beck declared gruffly. “That’s all nonsense. With the piano there was nothing wrong at all. Diego, do you agree?”
    “I didn’t hear the piano. But I would have if there had been anything much wrong with it.”
    “There was,” Dora insisted miserably. “There must have been! To make Jan choke it, kill it, like that? You heard him! I knew it must have been me, and when I saw him—when he—when I saw—”
    “Fish!” said Mrs. Pomfret energetically. Fox darted a startled glance at her; the others, familiar with her favorite expression of impatience, merely glanced. She was going on, “Dora dear, your feeling of guilt is fantastic. Garda, your suspicions are claptrap and in extremely bad taste and you will please stop making a fool of yourself. We have a serious decision to make.”
    Her meeting under control, she took time to clear her throat. “As I said, the police are aware that no crime has been committed, except possibly theft, and since the violin has been returned intact they won’t inquire into that unless we ask them to. So that puts it up to us. We can dispose of the violin and drop thematter, or—Garda, be quiet!—or we can have an investigation made and try to answer the questions Diego and Mr. Gill have raised, which of course were in all our minds. My own opinion is that in spite of the unpleasantness that will conceivably result from an investigation, we owe it to Jan, to ourselves, to music, to have one made.” Her lips tightened. “I personally owe it to the impertinent scoundrel who sent that package to me.”
    Koch, frowning, inquired, “Investigation by whom?”
    “The police,” Garda Tusar said emphatically.
    Dora Mowbray breathed, “Oh, no!” and then clasped her hand to her mouth.
    “It seems to me,” Hebe Heath offered, “that it would be horribly revolting—”
    A sharp and commanding glance from Ted Gill silenced her, but before anyone else could speak she started again, “But, Ted, I’m sure Mr. Koch would agree, because he was saying only yesterday—you remember, Dolphie, when I asked you why nobody—”
    “Hebe!” It was Ted Gill. “We’re out of this.”
    “Very well, Ted,” she said with aggrieved dignity.
    “I think,” said Koch, smoothly and composedly, but with a suggestion of pink on his heavy cheeks, “that it depends entirely on who does the investigating.”
    “So do I,” Mrs. Pomfret concurred. “Luckily one of our own number—one of the present owners of the violin—is a trained and skillful investigator. Mr. Fox, will you do it?”
    “Him!” Garda exploded scornfully. “One of you!”
    Mrs. Pomfret, ignoring her, observed what she took for reluctance on Fox’s face. “Of course,” she said, “I would expect to pay you for it. Myself.”
    Fox shook his head. “There wouldn’t be any bill.”He glanced around. “If there’s no objection from any of the owners of the violin—Miss Mowbray?”
    Dora met his eyes, and nodded.
    “Do you want me to find out what happened?”
    “Yes—certainly.”
    “Mr. Koch?”
    “By all means. An excellent idea. My knowledge of your reputation is somewhat vague—”
    “I pay my income tax. Miss Heath?”
    “Oh, yes!” Her tone was enthusiastic and her incredible eyes were melting under his gaze. “Please do!”
    “All right, I will.” Fox returned to Mrs. Pomfret. “It is understood, of course, that anything I find will be reported to all of you—I feel, as you did when you invited us here today, that consideration is due Miss Tusar and Mr. Beck and Diego. Your husband and