“They are very discreet men,” he said.

“Very,” I continued. “They have to be, but that’s no matter. Even knowing that the beer exists, you would never find it, for you’re not likely to see me again and you don’t know the other five.” I drained my glass and got up to go. “It’s been a pleasant morning, sir,” I said. “Good luck.”

I hadn’t gone ten paces when he spoke.

“Monsieur Giraud.”

I turned. “Yes?”

“Would your chef mind terribly if you missed a meal?”

“He goes nearly mad,” I said, “but occasionally-” I stopped abruptly. “How did you know I had a chef?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing somewhat, perhaps with humor. “You’ve just confirmed it.”

“Yes, but…”

“Monsieur Giraud,” he said. “There was nothing sinister, I assure you, in the question. It was mere conjecture.”

“But how…?”

“Simplicity itself. It’s clear that you are a man of taste regarding your palate. Your clothing further bespeaks a certain degree of wealth, and your accent-indeed, even the way you hold a wineglass-betrays good breeding. Finally, your coloring is pale.”

“Yes?”

“Surely that is enough.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

He ticked off the steps of his deduction with the fingers of his right hand. “First, you can afford a chef. Second, you would demand fine meals, especially at home. Third, if you yourself spent the required amount of time behind a hot stove, your complexion would be ruddy like my own. It is not. Ergo, you have a chef.”

“You’re very astute,” I said.

He waved it off. “It’s nothing. Child’s play. Literally, in my case. My father was something of a stickler for such matters. I’ve kept it up as a hobby, more or less. Just now I made an educated guess, and your reaction confirmed it. True deduction is a closed system-it confirms itself.”

“Still, I’m impressed.”