"Some of 'em can't see a thing that needs doing till you tell 'em. Johnson did, always. Dirty glasses and ashtrays didn't pile up around his stations. Somebody look around for a glass of water, cup of coffee, Johnson was right there."

A noticing kid.

Had he noticed something Friday night, Sigrid wondered, and been incautious enough to let the wrong person know?

If so, Mr. George seemed unaware of it. According to him, Pernell Johnson had been as puzzled as everyone else as to how the cribbage board was rigged and planted.

Yes, he said, Pernell had been one of his helpers when the long tables were covered with snowy linens on Friday afternoon. After supper, Pernell was among the busboys who came in when the service door was unlocked at seven o'clock and he had been in and out while the Graphic Games people put the finishing touches on the tables and Ms. Baldwin and Madame Ronay made a final check of the room.

Madame had approved everything exceptt he ashtrays. Instead of the heavy cut glass, she called for the lighter pressed glass which were easier to clean and, admitted Mr. George, less expensive to replace if any of the contestants had sticky fingers; so there had been a scurrying five minutes to change the ashtrays and then the doors were opened at seven-thirty and if Pernell Johnson had noticed anything suspicious after the room began to fill with five hundred cribbage players, Mr. George hadn't heard of it.

"Who changed the ashtrays at Table 5?" she asked.

The steward's brow furrowed. "I think it was Johnson."

Except for that, Mr. George's testimony was virtually a repeat of what he'd told them yesterday. It confirmed what each of the busboys had said as well. If Pernell Johnson had held anything back, no one had picked up on it. They would have to question the staff again, of course.

Sigrid returned to this morning.

Mr. George and his crew had stocked the hospitality table with urns of hotc offee and trays of light pastries at eight-fifteen. Play began at eight-forty-five. Almost nothing distinguished this morning from yesterday. Coffee and pastries again this morning, to be followed again by coffee, soft drinks, mixed nuts, and crudités in the afternoon. Pernell had performed as efficiently as ever, with nothing to make his movements remarkable.

There was a break for the cardplayers at ten-thirty.

"No matter how we try to corral them, they wander all over the hotel during the breaks," said Mr. George. "The service doors are clearly marked for staff only, but there're always a few that duck out that way. It's a little shorter to the restrooms. Johnson could have been around during the break, but I don't remember seeing him." He turned in his chair and his voice carried to the next table. "Like I said before, the last time I definitely remember seeing him was about ten-twenty-five, talking to Ms. Baldwin here."

Molly Baldwin looked startled. "Was that Pernell Johnson? I didn't know. I was warning him about the ash stands in the lobby."

Sigrid held up a forestalling hand. "Please, Ms. Baldwin, hold your comments for now until we can take your statement."

But Mr. George had nothing more to add. Ten-twenty-five was the last time he had seen Pernell Johnson.

Alan Knight had been quietly taking notes throughout the interview and he detained Mr. George with one question: "Where in Florida did Johnson live before he came north?"

" Miami, I believe," said the steward. Ivanovich gave an interrogative rumble,

They released Mr. George with the request that he tell no one about Johnson's death except Hester Yates. Madame Ronay told him to send Yates up to Harlem in one of the hotel's cars and to instruct the driver to put himself at Miss Johnson's disposal for the rest of the day.

As he left, several crime scene technicians entered with satchels and cameras. Theyl ooked around the opulent ballroom with quizzical eyes. "Lieutenant Harald? We heard you've got a body for us."

Sigrid conferred with them briefly and as they began their professional routine, she returned to question Haines Froelick. The elderly club man continued to doubt if he could help them. He had arrived at the hotel about ten-forty-five that morning and came upstairs as the tournament break was ending.

Seeing the players stream back and forth from the left hall off the landing, he had become confused and thought at first that they were still using the room in which the explosion had occurred. He had even entered the Bontemps Room and almost walked its full mauve and purple length before he realized his mistake. As he left by the rear door, Mr. Flythe was calling for order. He had wandered through the back halls thoroughly muddled for several minutes-making a brief stop at one of the men's rooms, he added, with a faint air of courtly embarrassment, avoiding Sigrid's eyes, and eventually wound up back at the main landing again. It wast here that he remembered how he and his cousin had turned right at the top of the grand staircase on Friday night, not left.

He finally reached the red and gilt d'Aubigné Room at perhaps ten past eleven, he told them. No, there was no one inside.

"Were the lights on?" asked Sigrid.

"Why, yes. Not as many as now but enough to see that the room was empty. I began to walk back and forth across the floor, working my way toward the rear, when it occurred to me that perhaps I should not be here without permission, so I went back out to the landing to see if I could find someone who could tell me if the schilling had been found, or if anyone minded my looking."

"And all this time, you saw no one?"

"Not in here. There were a few people passing back and forth at the foot of the stairs down in the main lobby-guests, of course-but I wanted a member of the staff and I couldn't seem to find one until I crossed the landing and recognized this young lady from Friday night. I hado nly begun to inquire of her when you joined us."

Sigrid glanced at Alan Knight. He had entered a list of times on her note pad and was now doodling clock faces across the bottom of the sheet.

"Have you any questions, Lieutenant Knight?"

"Thank you. Lieutenant Harald," he replied gravely. "Mr.Froelick, when you first opened the door to this room and looked in was the service door back there open or closed?"

"Closed," Mr. Froelick answered without hesitation.

"You didn't see the body under the table?"

"I didn't get that far."

"And no one was over on this side of the landing either time you came along the hall?"

"Quite deserted, I assure you."

Knight returned to his doodling. "No more questions from me."

Sigrid thanked Mr. Froelick and said he might leave, adding that they would appreciate his discretion for the time being.

"You won't forget about Zachary's schilling, will you?" he asked anxiously. "The funeral is tomorrow."

Sigrid promised they would not and Froelick made his adieux to Lucienne Ronay as if he were leaving a garden party that had unfortunately been rained out. Sigrid watched him thoughtfully. Was the courtly Mr. Froelick, she wondered, truly as color-blind as his account would appear to make him?