was feeling too miserable to accept.
Clifford had rolled an immense number of bread pellets beside his plate.
“And what about Governor Wheeler and Walter March?” Flynn asked Rutledge.
“I know earlier they were in the study, talking privately. They were in the storage room when I arrived. I presumed they had come from the study.”
“Was anyone else here last night?” Flynn asked mildly. “Anyone else who exited through the fence at dawn, or flew away up the chimney?”
“No,” said Rutledge. “Members come and go at The Rod and Gun Club as we please, Flynn. No one else was here last night. That is to say, only Wheeler and March have left. They had legitimate business elsewhere. And we’ve talked about that, telephonically, since you raised the issue. It’s been agreed that both gentlemen will be available to you by phone, to answer any questions you may have, at any time. If you feel it’s necessary to interview them personally, transportation will be provided.”
“Cooperative of you,” commented Flynn. “And do any of you gentlemen have any immediate plans to have legitimate business elsewhere?”
“Ashley will stay here,” Lauderdale said. “Until his problems are solved.”
“Want to see how this thing comes out,” Oland said. “Who shot my waterproofs.”
Around the table, no one else admitted plans to go, or openly agreed to stay.
“So,” Flynn finally said, smiling across the table at Cocky, “each of you gentlemen here, in fact, states you were alone last night at seven minutes past eleven.”
“That’s not unusual,” Rutledge said. “Such an hour is usually regarded as being after bedtime.”
“And you’re all here without wives, or girl friends, people with whom you might share your beds.”
Rutledge shrugged. “That’s tradition.”
“The charmin’ thing is,” said Flynn, “none of you is providing an alibi for anyone else.”
Clifford was brushing all his bread balls into his left hand.
“We all hope for a speedy resolution of this affair,” said Rutledge. “We are cooperating as much as we can.”
Using an open, overhanded throw, Clifford threw a bread ball at Oland. It hit him in the face.
Then Clifford fired another at D’Esopo.
D’Esopo sat back, totally startled.
Oland threw a bread ball at Rutledge.
Beside Flynn, Wahler leaned over.
Bread balls were flying through the air, in all directions.
Lauderdale stood up to accomplish a wide, full-armed, left-handed throw.
“No leaving your chair!” Ashley yelled at him.
Lauderdale plopped back into his chair.
Across the table from Flynn, Cocky had skidded his chair backward, to get out of the combat.
One bread ball hit Flynn near his right eye; another on his left ear.
“A bread fight,” Wahler said. He was crouched over so that his head was below the table surface. “A tradition here.”
“Every lunch?” asked Flynn.
“No,” said Wahler. “Only when they serve stew. Youngest gets to throw first.”
Keeping his head down, Wahler began to creep away from the table. “Come on, Flynn. Let’s go for a walk.”
9
“T his all must seem rather odd to you,” Wahler said. He and Flynn strolled along the veranda and down the lakeside steps. “It did to me, at first.”
“I passed a season at Winchester,” said Flynn.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I understand you.”
Slowly, Flynn was leading Wahler on a circumnavigation of the main clubhouse.
Flynn had asked Cocky to get their coats and meet him at Flynn’s car.
“The Rod and Gun Club was founded more than a hundred years ago,” Wahler said. “Five friends, after graduating from Harvard. They bought this acreage as a hunting and fishing lodge for themselves, a place they could get away from the world, their families, jobs, keep in touch with each other and, I guess, maintain some of their undergraduate spirit.”
“Is that the gong?”
Flynn climbed the steps to the back porch.
“Big enough, isn’t it?”
Clifford had rolled an immense number of bread pellets beside his plate.
“And what about Governor Wheeler and Walter March?” Flynn asked Rutledge.
“I know earlier they were in the study, talking privately. They were in the storage room when I arrived. I presumed they had come from the study.”
“Was anyone else here last night?” Flynn asked mildly. “Anyone else who exited through the fence at dawn, or flew away up the chimney?”
“No,” said Rutledge. “Members come and go at The Rod and Gun Club as we please, Flynn. No one else was here last night. That is to say, only Wheeler and March have left. They had legitimate business elsewhere. And we’ve talked about that, telephonically, since you raised the issue. It’s been agreed that both gentlemen will be available to you by phone, to answer any questions you may have, at any time. If you feel it’s necessary to interview them personally, transportation will be provided.”
“Cooperative of you,” commented Flynn. “And do any of you gentlemen have any immediate plans to have legitimate business elsewhere?”
“Ashley will stay here,” Lauderdale said. “Until his problems are solved.”
“Want to see how this thing comes out,” Oland said. “Who shot my waterproofs.”
Around the table, no one else admitted plans to go, or openly agreed to stay.
“So,” Flynn finally said, smiling across the table at Cocky, “each of you gentlemen here, in fact, states you were alone last night at seven minutes past eleven.”
“That’s not unusual,” Rutledge said. “Such an hour is usually regarded as being after bedtime.”
“And you’re all here without wives, or girl friends, people with whom you might share your beds.”
Rutledge shrugged. “That’s tradition.”
“The charmin’ thing is,” said Flynn, “none of you is providing an alibi for anyone else.”
Clifford was brushing all his bread balls into his left hand.
“We all hope for a speedy resolution of this affair,” said Rutledge. “We are cooperating as much as we can.”
Using an open, overhanded throw, Clifford threw a bread ball at Oland. It hit him in the face.
Then Clifford fired another at D’Esopo.
D’Esopo sat back, totally startled.
Oland threw a bread ball at Rutledge.
Beside Flynn, Wahler leaned over.
Bread balls were flying through the air, in all directions.
Lauderdale stood up to accomplish a wide, full-armed, left-handed throw.
“No leaving your chair!” Ashley yelled at him.
Lauderdale plopped back into his chair.
Across the table from Flynn, Cocky had skidded his chair backward, to get out of the combat.
One bread ball hit Flynn near his right eye; another on his left ear.
“A bread fight,” Wahler said. He was crouched over so that his head was below the table surface. “A tradition here.”
“Every lunch?” asked Flynn.
“No,” said Wahler. “Only when they serve stew. Youngest gets to throw first.”
Keeping his head down, Wahler began to creep away from the table. “Come on, Flynn. Let’s go for a walk.”
9
“T his all must seem rather odd to you,” Wahler said. He and Flynn strolled along the veranda and down the lakeside steps. “It did to me, at first.”
“I passed a season at Winchester,” said Flynn.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I understand you.”
Slowly, Flynn was leading Wahler on a circumnavigation of the main clubhouse.
Flynn had asked Cocky to get their coats and meet him at Flynn’s car.
“The Rod and Gun Club was founded more than a hundred years ago,” Wahler said. “Five friends, after graduating from Harvard. They bought this acreage as a hunting and fishing lodge for themselves, a place they could get away from the world, their families, jobs, keep in touch with each other and, I guess, maintain some of their undergraduate spirit.”
“Is that the gong?”
Flynn climbed the steps to the back porch.
“Big enough, isn’t it?”
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