Every Possible Motive

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Bigby Rassman had given the simple; intimate dinner in the smaller of the two dining rooms of his manorial home. It was a snug room, but it made no pretensions of humility. The walls were panelled in hand-rubbed Honduran mahogany; the carpeting came from Iran; the draperies were of pure silk.

The room effectively shut away the world beyond these walls.

As Gaspard cleared the china from the snowy linen, Bigby said, “We’ll have brandy in here, I think.”

Lean and faultlessly efficient, Gaspard in a matter of moments had crystal snifters before Bigby and the three dinner guests.

“That will be all, Gaspard.”

“Very good, Mr. Rassman.”

Gaspard carried his dark, well-cut personage out of the room. The heavy door closed. In the silence, the click of the lock tumbler was inordinately loud.

A heavy, powerful, balding man whose features looked as if they had been carved from solid bone, Rassman surveyed the two men and the young woman who shared his table.

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