Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 50, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2005

Cars lined Sun Circle and halfway up Sapphire Drive, which meant the parking lot was full. As he walked his motorbike up the driveway, music floated down from the garden. He walked into the office where five guides were already assembled and retrieved his blazer from the back of the chair. Somebody asked what it was doing there and he said the lining had needed mending. He put it on, hoping that its presence here meant that Mrs. Mills had broken the news of the miscreant’s return. Apparently she had, for when Mr. Lucas came in his eyes flicked past Simon with no signs of surprise and he began to speak quickly, looking hot and nervous in his white dinner jacket.

“You all know these private affairs require extra vigilance. The grounds are where you’ll be needed first. The ceremony will be held in the Neptune Grove followed by dinner and dancing. It’s supposed to stay warm so everything will happen out there and people can ask you about the outdoor exhibits. No indoor tours till after the tables are removed. The bride’s mother says you’re welcome to help yourselves at the buffet, but keep circulating and be available for questions. There are some young children, so watch out they don’t climb on things.”

“They love the Etruscan bull,” said somebody.

“And St. Francis’s wolf,” said somebody else.

“Well, this is a museum, not a playground.” Mr. Lucas’s voice was growing irritated. “Just keep your eyes open.” He took a paper from his desk. “There are about a hundred guests, so when the tours start, make it groups of twenty. We don’t want to be here all night. Go in this order.”

A paper was passed around and Simon saw that his name had been added in pencil at the bottom of the list. Good. Volanda would be late; they could leave together.

“Come meet your hostess,” said Mrs. Mills as they filed out to the hall. She’d replaced her hat with a red hibiscus stuck jauntily in her hair and wore a long, flowered dress. Simon felt a real fondness for her as she smiled around at them, winked openly at him, and preceded them to the garden.

Brilliant flares in each corner, candles on the tables, and a magnificent Christmas tree made the music-filled enclosure an enchanted place. Guests laughed and chatted and circled the buffet. Simon wondered, was it like this the night that Willie waited and waited to get at the garbage pail?

Mrs. Mills led them to a tall, rather distracted-looking woman talking to the bandleader. She nodded to them, asked that when the band played “Here Comes the Bride” would they please round up everybody who might be wandering around looking at statues or whatever and get them over to the Neptune Grove for the ceremony. Then she said she really appreciated their coming and the bar was over there.

Simon got a soda and turned to find Mrs. Mills behind him. She said, “You’re a good sport.”

“I’m a good sport? I feel so darned lucky to be back I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”

“That’ll do.”

He looked around the lovely, flickering scene floating in music. “Was it like this the night...?”

“Very like. Not a wedding, of course, but quite a grand affair in honor of the French ambassador. I remember Dorothea wore the blue satin evening gown she was painted in because it was designed in Paris.” Her eyes fastened on his face. “Simon, you started to tell me something about Willie this afternoon but you didn’t finish. What was it?”

The music seemed very far away. He said, almost mechanically, “Willie was already out that gate when he found the napkin ring buried in a roll in his pocket. He was scared to death of the waiter who’d stolen it so he gave it back to Mrs. Fox-Nugent the best way he knew how. Those are his words, ‘I gave it back the best way I knew how.’ Volanda thinks he threw it over the gate, in which case,” Simon looked around in a near trance, “it’s in this garden somewhere.”

“Young man,” said a voice at his side, “can you tell me about the marble geese at the fishpond?”

“No one can tell you better.” Mrs. Mills smiled and moved away. Simon followed a stout woman with many bangles toward the pond. He began automatically.

“The geese were among the first acquisitions of Mr. and Mrs. Fox-Nugent, who found them in Spain. Originally there were six, but two were damaged in transit from Barcelona. They are believed to be the work of Carlos de Leon, a fourteenth century worker in marble. Also, notice the mosaic around the pool’s edge...”

As Simon talked, other guests gathered and he moved from object to object, hardly knowing what he was saying. Somewhere in these shadowy grounds a little trinket lay buried, trodden deep in the course of decades, proof positive that Willie, in those bewildering words of his, had “never taken it but gave it back.”