Two
Giuseppe Bolsano was a middle-aged¹ man, slight with a rather monkey-
like intelligent face. He was nervous, but not unduly² so. His English was
fluent since he had, he explained, been in the country since he was sixteen
and had married an English wife.
Kemp treated him sympathetically.
“Now then, Giuseppe, let’s hear whether anything more has occurred to
you about this.”
“It is for me very unpleasant. It is I who serve that table. I who pour out
the wine. People will say that I am off my head, that I put poison into the
wine glasses. It is not so, but that is what people will say. Already, Mr.
Goldstein says it is better that I take a week away from work—so that
people do not ask me questions there and point me out. He is a fair man,
and just, and he knows it is not my fault, and that I have been there for
many years, so he does not dismiss me as some restaurant owners would
do. M. Charles, too, he has been kind, but all the same it is a great misfor-
tune³ for me—and it makes me afraid. Have I an enemy, I ask myself?”
“Well,” said Kemp at his most wooden, “have you?”
The sad monkeyface twitched⁴ into laughter. Giuseppe stretched out his
arms.
“I? I have not an enemy in the world. Many good friends but no en-
emies.”
Kemp grunted⁵.
“Now about last night. Tell me about the champagne⁶.”
“It was Clicquot, 1928—very good and expensive wine. Mr. Barton was
like that—he liked good food and drink—the best.”
“Had he ordered the wine beforehand?”
“Yes. He had arranged everything with Charles.”
“What about the vacant place at the table?”
“That, too, he had arranged for. He told Charles and he told me. A young
lady would occupy it later in the evening.”
“A young lady?” Race and Kemp looked at each other. “Do you know
who the young lady was?”

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