The Judge Is Reversed (28 page)

They were finishing coffee by then. They were, by then, almost alone in the Oak Room.

Bill Weigand regarded his empty coffee cup, without seeing it. It did appear that, at the party, there had been several people who shared Pam's view that Anthony Payne was something of a twerp. A man who was merely “contemptuous.” A man who thought it would be pleasant if Payne dropped dead. A woman who thought Payne had had a “dirty little mind,” but had not seemed concerned about this. A woman who had appeared to Pam to be upset, possibly frightened. Of her husband? A writer who had wanted Payne to eat his words, in indigestible form, and been humiliated, made to appear ridiculous. Still—still the chances were high that a target had been hit, only incidentally a man.

“Jerry,” Pam said, “did you do something to a busboy? To make him hate you?”

“Busboy?”

“Thin. Dark. Picking up used glasses. In a white jacket with a dark patch on the shoulder. From trays. A—”

“Do something to?” Jerry ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. “What on earth would I do to a busboy?”

“There's that,” Pam said. “So it must have been Mr. Payne. You were together—it was before Willings—and he—the busboy—stood and glared at you. At both of you, that is. As if he hated.”

Briefly, she gave details. Jerry shook his head. Jerry hadn't noticed, hadn't felt a glare. So far as he could remember, Payne had showed no consciousness of being glared at.

“Of course,” Pam said, “it could be he didn't like any of us. That all of us were just a bunch of dirty glasses. If I were a busboy I'd feel that way, I think. With other people having fun. But still—”

They separated outside the Algonquin, the Norths going downtown to their apartment; Tom Hathaway uptown to his.

It was, Bill Weigand thought, now more than time to call it a day. But, since he was only a few blocks from the Dumont, since things would still be going on there, he might as well see what had gone on. Not that anything was expected. But still, as Pam North had said.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1961 Frances and Richard Lockridge

Cover design by Andy Ross

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3144-8

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