A tall, coffee-colored man dressed in a neat sweater-and-slacks combination followed behind Lilah. The next member of her entourage was an enormously fat man in a brown-and-green plaid jacket and matching greasy brown pants. The rear was brought up by an immaculately groomed older man of miniature stature, whose regal bearing conveyed the illusion of far greater height. He walked extremely erectly, and his snow white hair was clipped in a neat but unpretentious style. He wore an expensive suit and silk necktie, despite the late hour, and a white handkerchief peeked from one pocket. The ostrich skin briefcase he gripped in his hands was worth more than T.S.'s entire outfit.
"I got your phone call," Lilah told T.S., sitting down next to Auntie Lil. "I came as soon as I could. I had no idea you'd been through such an ordeal."
The walking Whitman's Sampler of human beings behind her filed obediently to spots against the far wall and waited for Lilah to make the introductions. Even Herbert couldn't help but stare at the unusual trio.
"Let me introduce you," Lilah said sweetly and T.S. began to suspect that she was not above a little showboating herself. "This is George Scarborough," she explained, gesturing toward the tall black man. He bowed slightly. "You may not remember him, Theodore. He was your bartender last night."
T.S. colored slightly.
"Dewars and soda," George Scarborough announced solemnly. His deep, golden voice struck a buried chord in T.S.'s memory.
"You helped me to the car?" T.S. remembered and the bartender nodded.
"I'm afraid I'm just not very good at detecting," Lilah explained. "I figured that Worthington was too cheesy to be very original, so I spent the day calling every catering service in the latest issue of New York Magazine until I found the place that had supplied George for last night's party. They wouldn't tell me who he was, though. That's where Mr. Hermann comes in."
The fat man in the plaid jacket stepped forward, a hearty smile creasing his pudgy face. He produced a fistful of business cards as smoothly as a magician produces a bouquet of flowers from his fingertips. He pressed one apiece on T.S., Herbert and Auntie Lil. They examined their cards dutifully. It appeared that Mr. Hermann was a private investigator, or a "Marital Specialist" to be exact. One who promised "Discretion at Discount Prices."
"Yellow pages," Lilah whispered in T.S.'s ear. He nodded. "It would have taken me weeks to track down George," Lilah added graciously in a louder, more grateful tone of voice. "But Mr. Hermann was so ingenious. He found out his name within the hour."
The well-dressed third man coughed discreetly.
"And you are, sir?" Herbert inquired, catching his hint.
"Hamilton Prescott, Sr.," the gentleman intoned in a polished Boston accent. He, too, produced a small cache of business cards and bestowed them all around.
"Hamilton has been the family lawyer for ages," Lilah explained. "When you said you were at the police station, I didn't want to take any chances."
T.S. and Auntie Lil simultaneously thought of Lieutenant Abromowitz and nodded. It would be a good idea to have someone present when they gave their statements. They smiled gratefully at Lilah.
"Of course," T.S. said, gripping Hamilton Prescott's well-manicured hand. "We should have seen to such things ourselves." He was rewarded with an unmistakably firm handshake. Hamilton Prescott oozed confidence. Best of all, he did not look in the least inclined to yawn—which put him well ahead of the others in the room.
Auntie Lil was scrutinizing the new arrivals carefully. Finally, she turned back to Lilah. "It was lovely of you all to stop by," Auntie Lil began. "But why in the world is this man and this man here?" She pointed to the bartender and private investigator in turn. Both men shifted uneasily under her stare and Mr. Hermann managed to look downright guilty.
"Oh, dear. Of course. I told you I wasn't very good at this." Lilah hid her smile with her gloved hand. "George is here to make a statement."
"Statement?" T.S. stared at the bartender. "What on earth for?"
"They tried to poison you last night," Lilah declared. "That awful Worthington and his girlfriend tried to poison you."
"Knock you out, not poison you," George clarified in his deep voice. "I believe, sir, that they tried to slip you a mickey. That was why I interceded as I did. I did not quite understand what I had seen until you went down, sir."
'Went down?" Auntie Lil demanded, looking to T.S. for details.