Read More Tales of the Black Widowers for Free Online Page B

sandwich with a side order of French fried potatoes, a piece of apple pie with a slice of .cheese, and coffee.”
    “Well,” muttered Drake, “we can't all be gourmets.”
    Rubin said, “Next, I would suggest that he finished only about half his soup.”
    Bunsen thought for a while, then smiled. It was the first time he had smiled that evening and he revealed white and even teeth that gave a clear indication that there was a handsome man beneath the layers of fat.
    “You know,” he said, “I wouldn't have thought you could ask me a single question of fact concerning that episode that I could not instantly have answered, but you've managed. I don't know, offhand, if he finished his soup or not, but I'm sure that detail is on record. But let's pretend you are right and he only finished half his soup. Go on.”
    “All right,” said Rubin, “we begin. Smith walks into the restaurant with the object. Where does he have it, by the way?”
    “Left pants pocket, when he walked in. We saw no signs whatever of his changing its position.”
    “Good,” said Rubin. “He walks in, sits down at the table, orders his meal, reads his newspaper—was he reading a newspaper, Mr. Bunsen?”
    “No,” said Bunsen, “he wasn't reading anything; not even the menu. He knows the place and what it has to offer.”
    “Then once the first course was placed before him, he sneezed. A sneeze, after all is a diversion. Roger mentioned a diversion, but I guess he thought of someone rushing in with a gun, or a fire starting in the kitchen. But a sneeze is a diversion, too, and is natural enough to go unnoticed.”
    “It would not have gone unnoticed,” said Bunsen calmly. “He didn't sneeze.”
    “Or coughed, or hiccupped, what's the difference?” said Rubin. “The point is that something happened that made it natural for him to pull out a handkerchief—from the left pants pocket, I'm sure—and put it to his mouth.”
    “He did no such thing,” said Bunsen.
    “When he took away his hand,” said Rubin, overriding the other's remark, “the object that had been in the left pants pocket was in the mouth.”
    Bunsen said, “I don't think it would have been possible for him to place the object in his mouth without our seeing him do so, or keep it there without distorting his face-noticeably, but go ahead— What next?”
    “The soup is before him and he eats it. You certainly won't tell me he pushed it away un-tasted.”
    “No, I'm quite certain he didn't do that”
    “Or that he drank it from the bowl.”
    Bunsen smiled. “No, I'm quite sure he didn't do that”
    “Then there was only one thing he could do. He placed a tablespoon in the soup, brought it to his mouth, brought it back to the soup, brought it to his mouth, and so on. Correct?”
    “I must agree with that.”
    “And on one of the occasions during which the tablespoon passed from mouth to bowl, the object was in it. It was placed in the soup and, since cream of mushroom soup is not transparent, it would not be seen there. He then drank no more of the soup and someone in the kitchen picked up the object.” Rubin looked about at the others triumphantly.
    There was a short silence. Bunsen said, “That is all you have to say, sir?”
    “Don't you agree that's a possible modus operandi?”
    “No, I don't.” Bunsen sighed heavily. “Quite impossible. The hand is not quicker than the trained eye— and the object is large enough to be an uncomfortable fit in the tablespoon bowl. —Furthermore, you again underestimate our experience and our thoroughness. We had a man in the kitchen and no item came back from our man's table without being thoroughly examined. If the soup bowl came back with soup in it, you can be sure it was carefully emptied by a most careful man.”
    “How about the waiter?” interposed Avalon, forced into interest clearly against his will.
    Bunsen said, “The waiter was not one of us. He was an old employee, and besides, he was watched