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goes in the afternoon. It depends on the conference schedule. The suit this Traub had bought was a double-breasted gray which went very well with his dark hair and the healthy color of his cheeks.
    “I have read them all.” Wolfe’s eyes went from left to right again. “I did so when I decided I wanted a job on this case. By the way, I assume you all know who has hired me, and for what?”
    There were nods. “We know all about it,” Bill Meadows said.
    “Good. Then you know why the presence of Mr. Anderson, Mr. Owen, and Mr. Beech is being tolerated. With them here, and of course Miss Fraser, ninety-five per cent of the clients’ interest is represented. The only one absent is White Birch Soap.”
    “They’re not absent.” Nathan Traub was politely indignant. “I can speak for them.”
    “I’d rather you’d speak for yourself,” Wolfe retorted. “The clients are here to listen, not to speak.” He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and put the tips of his thumbs together. With the gate-crashers put in their places, he went on, “As for you, ladies and gentlemen, this would be much more interesting and stimulating for you if I could begin by saying that my job is to learn which one of you is guilty of murder—and to prove it. Unfortunately we can’t have that fillip, since two of the eight—Miss Shepherd and Mr. Savarese didn’t come. I am told that Mr. Savarese had an engagement, and there is a certain reluctance about Miss Shepherd that I would like to know more about.”
    “She’s a nosy little chatterbox.” From Tully Strong, who had removed his spectacles and was gazing at Wolfe with an intent frown.
    “She’s a pain in the neck.” From Bill Meadows.
    Everybody smiled, some nervously, some apparently meaning it.
    “I didn’t try to get her,” Deborah Koppel said. “She wouldn’t have come unless Miss Fraser herself had asked her, and I didn’t think that was necessary. She hates all the rest of us.”
    “Why?”
    “Because she thinks we keep her away from Miss Fraser.”
    “Do you?”
    “Yes. We try to.”
    “Not from me too, I hope.” Wolfe sighed down to where a strip of his yellow shirt divided his vest from his trousers, and curled his palms and fingers over the ends of his chair arms. “Now. Let’s get at this. Usually when I talk I dislike interruptions, but this is an exception. If you disagree with anything I say, or think me in error, say so at once. With that understood:
    “Frequently, twice a week or oftener, you consider the problem of guests for Miss Fraser’s program. It is in fact a problem, because you want interesting people, famous ones if possible, but they must be willing to submit to the indignity of lending their presence, and their assent by silence, if nothing more, to the preposterous statements made by Miss Fraser and Mr. Meadows regarding the products they advertise. Recently—”
    “What’s undignified about it?”
    “There are no preposterous statements!”
    “What’s this got to do with what we’re paying you for?”
    “You disagree.” Wolfe was unruffled. “I asked for it. Archie, include it in your notes that Mr. Traub and Mr. Strong disagree. You may ignore Mr. Owen’s protest, since my invitation to interrupt did not extend to him.”
    He took in the semicircle again. “Recently a suggestion was made that you corral, as a guest, a man who sells tips on horse races. I understand that your memories differ as to when that suggestion was first made.”
    Madeline Fraser said, “It’s been discussed off and on for over a year.”
    “I’ve always been dead against it,” Tully Strong asserted.
    Deborah Koppel smiled. “Mr. Strong thought it would be improper. He thinks the program should never offend anybody, which is impossible. Anything and everything offends somebody.”
    “What changed your mind, Mr. Strong?”
    “Two things,” said the secretary of the Sponsors’ Council. “First, we got the idea of having the audience