Qwilleran said, "I'm reluctant to doubt your statement, but I'm led to suspect that more than one person was involved in the murder, and one or more persons may have committed the big P."
"What?" Sherry asked in a small voice.
"Perjury!"
What happened next may have been caused by the sudden gust of wind that slammed against the building. Whatever the cause, the cats' timing was perfect. Both of them flew down from the screen, narrowly missing the two heads on the sofa, and landed on the cocktail table, scattering drinks, nuts, coasters, and chopped liver.
"I knew it!" Sherry shrieked. "They're dangerous! Where are they? Where did they go?"
Qwilleran rushed to the kitchen for towels, while the guests dropped to their knees, sopping up wet spills with cocktail napkins, collecting cashews and ice cubes, and avoiding broken glass.
"I apologize," Qwilleran said. "They've never done that before. I think they were spooked by the wind. I hope you didn't cut yourselves. Let me get some fresh glasses, and we'll have another round."
"Not for me," said Sherry, noticeably shaken.
"No, thanks," said the attorney, "but I'd like to ask what you intend to do with your information."
"Naturally, I'd prefer to hold it for the publication of my book, but I feel morally obliged to report my findings to the police at once, namely, that J.J. wrote a blistering expose of certain criminal activities in this area. Someone knew the editorial was about to be published. Someone found it necessary to stop its publication by eliminating the editor. Someone came to the house at a prearranged time and threw him over the cliff. Someone forged death threats purportedly from Beechum, which conveniently disappeared before they could be introduced by the prosecution, but someone testified to having seen them."
He stopped, and there was silence in the room as his listeners considered his threatening statements. Outdoors the wind was banging a loose shutter or downspout.
"My only contribution to the inevitable investigation," he went on, "is some material evidence found in the foyer here, where the assault is said to have occurred. It's been hidden under a piece of furniture for a year. Would anyone like to see it?"
As he strode to the Fitzwallow huntboard, Lumpton sprang to his feet and followed. With the only light com- ing from the eight candles in the iron candelabrum, he half-stumbled over two cats streaking toward the staircase.
Qwilleran opened the drawer slowly and produced a handful of ash-blond hair mixed with lint and dust. "This is it," he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the attorney.
It took Lumpton a split second to recognize it and reach for the Queen Anne chair. As he swung it over his head, ready to crash down on his accuser's head, a burst of loud music from the second floor broke the rhythm of his swing just enough to give Qwilleran the edge. Qwilleran seized the iron candelabrum and rammed it into his attacker's midriff like a flaming pitchfork. The chair fell and Lump-ton bellowed and sank to his knees. Sherry screamed! Dropping the candelabrum, Qwilleran picked up the heavy burl bowl and overturned it on the attorney's head, rendering him a limp lump on the floor.
Candle flames were licking the carpet, and Sherry screamed again. "Fire!"
"Shut up and sit down!" Qwilleran ordered as he stamped his feet on the smouldering carpet. "Pick up that chair and sit in it!"
"Can I—"
"No! Sit there. Put your feet together. Fold your hands. You won't have long to wait."
In minutes a car could be heard pulling into the parking lot, and soon the Wilbanks were climbing the steps, struggling against gale-force winds.
"Treat!" Qwilleran yelled, and two cats came running down the stairs fast enough to resemble a continuous streak of pale fur. "Koko, you keep an eye on this woman. Don't let her move or open her mouth."
As if he understood his instructions, the cat assumed a belligerent stance, lashing his tail and staring at his captive in the Queen Anne chair. Yum Yum sniffed Lumpton's loafers but found no shoelaces to untie.
When Qwilleran admitted the Wilbanks, they stepped into the foyer with gasps of relief, Ardis saying, "Isn't this wind awful?"
"We can only stay for one drink," Del said. "We're moving to a motel in the valley."
"We're worried about mudslides," said his wife. "Why is it so dark in here? Did the power go off again?"
Q wilier an flicked a switch, lighting the six wall sconces and three chandeliers. They illuminated a grim tableau. He said, "Allow me to introduce our other guests. On the floor, under the wooden bowl, we have the attorney for the defense, actually J.J.'s murderer. In the chair, scared speechless, is the accomplice before and after the fact, guilty of perjury . . . There they are! Do your duty, Del. The telephone's over there."
As the sheriff was calling for an ambulance and a deputy, Ardis said, "What's wrong with Sherry? She looks as if she's in a trance."
