Rex Stout - The League of Frightened Men

Wolfe shook his head and his cheeks unfolded a little. “Oh no, Mr. Cabot. It is possible that Mr. Chapin will have to tell his story on the witness-stand in his own defense. You can hardly expect me to disclose it in advance to those who may consider themselves his enemies.”

“What the hell, no one would believe him anyway.” It was Ferdinand Bowen relieving himself. “He’d cook up a tale, of course.”

Wolfe turned his eyes on Bowen, and I had mine there too. I was curious to see if he would take it. I didn’t think he would, but he did; he kept his gaze steady back at Wolfe.

Wolfe sighed. “Well, gentlemen, I have presented my case. I could offer further points for your consideration: for instance, the likelihood that if Chapin intended to kill Dr. Burton as soon as he set eyes on him he would have gone provided with a weapon. Also, Chapin’s constitutional incapacity for any form of violent action, which I discovered through his novels, and which all of you must be acquainted with as a fact. And in addition, there are items of evidence which I cannot divulge to you now, out of fairness to him, but which will certainly be used should he come to trial. Surely, surely I have offered enough to show you that if your minds have been cleared of any fear of injury from Paul Chapin, it is not because a policeman found him sitting in Dr. Burton’s foyer, stunned by an event he could not have foreseen; it is because I have laid bare the purely literary nature of his attempt at vengeance. The question is this, have I satisfactorily performed my undertaking? I think I have. But it is you who are to decide it, by vote. I ask you to vote yes.—Archie. If you will please call the names.”

They began to talk. Bowen muttered to his neighbor, Gaines of Boston, “Pretty slick, he’s a damn fool if he thinks we’ll fall for it.” Elkus glared at him. I caught a few other observations. Cabot said to Wolfe, “I shall vote no. In case Chapin does get an acquittal, and evidence is presented—”

Wolfe nodded at him. “I am aware, Mr. Cabot, that this vote is not the last dingdong of doom. As you shall see, if I lose.” He nodded at me, and I started the roll call. On the list I was using they were alphabetical.

“Julius Adler.”

“No. I would like to say—”

Wolfe cut him off. “The no is sufficient. Proceed, Archie.”

“Michael Ayers.”

“Yes!” He made it emphatic. I thought, good for him, with two weeks’ wages up.

“Ferdinand Bowen.”

“No.”

“Edwin Robert Byron.”

“Yes.” That evened it up.

“Nicholas Cabot.”

“No.”

“Fillmore Collard.”

“Yes.” Wowie. Nine thousand berries. I paused because I had to look at him.

“Alexander Drummond.”

“No.” Sure, the damn canary.

“Leopold Elkus.”

“Yes!” And it was even again, four and four.

“Augustus Farrell.”

“Yes.”

“Theodore Gaines.”

“No.”

“L. M. Irving.”

“No.”

“Arthur Kommers.”

“No.” Three out-of-town babies, three noes in a row, and I hoped Wolfe was proud of his long-distance phoning.

“Sidney Lang.”

“Yes.”

“Archibald Mollison.”

“Yes.”

It was even again, seven and seven, and just one more to go, but I knew what it would be before I called it. It was George Pratt, the Tammany bird who had tried to get Inspector Cramer worried about his four grand. I said it:

“George R. Pratt.”

“No.”

I counted them over to make sure, and turned to Wolfe: “Seven yeses and eight noes.”

He didn’t look at me. They all began talking. Wolfe had rung for another bottle of beer, and now he opened it, poured a glass, watched the foam go down in front of him, but he didn’t look at it. He drank some more beer, and wiped his lips with his usual care. Then he leaned back and shut his eyes. They were all talking, and two or three of them directed questions or remarks at him, but he kept his eyes closed and paid no attention. Leopold Elkus walked to the desk and stood and looked at him a minute, and then went back again. They were getting louder, and the arguments were warming up.

Finally Wolfe came to. He opened his eyes, and saw that a fresh bottle of beer had arrived, which I had attended to, and opened it and drank some. Then he picked up a paperweight and rapped on the desk. They looked around, but went on talking. He rapped again, and they began to quiet down.

He spoke. “Gentlemen. I must again ask your indulgence—”

But Cabot was feeling his oats. He broke in, snappy: “We have voted. According to the memorandum, that settles it.”

Wolfe got snappy too. “It settles that vote, sir. It does not settle the destiny of the human race. If you wish to leave us, of course you may, but we would still have a quorum without you.—Good. I have two appeals to make. First, to those eight who voted no. Please heed me. I appeal to each and all of you — you understand, to each one of you — to change your vote to yes. I have a specific reason to hope that one of you will decide to change. Well, gentlemen? I shall give you one minute.”

They shook their heads. One or two spoke, but mostly they were silent, gazing at Wolfe. There had been a new tone in his voice. He had taken out his watch and kept his eyes on it. At the end of the minute he returned it to his pocket and looked up.

He sighed. “Then I must proceed to my second appeal. This time, Mr. Bowen, it is to you alone. I ask you to vote yes. You of course know why. Will you vote yes?”

They all looked at the stockbroker. Including me. He was still taking it, but not so good. He damn near stuttered, shooting it back at Wolfe. I would say he did just fair with it: “Certainly not. Why should I?” His mouth stayed open; he thought he would talk some more, and then he thought he wouldn’t.

Wolfe sighed again. “Mr. Bowen, you are a simpleton.—Gentlemen, I would like to explain briefly why I have not done sooner what I am going to do now. There were two reasons: because I am not fond of interfering in affairs that are not my concern, and because it would be expensive for me. To be exact, it will cost me twelve hundred dollars, the amount of Mr. Bowen’s payment under the memorandum. Besides that, as I have said, it was none of my business. If any person is suspected of having committed a crime, and if I am offered a sufficient sum of money to catch him up, I will do it. That is my business. I understand that there are individuals who will undertake to apprehend wrongdoers, especially murderers, without being paid for it. They do it, I presume, for amusement, which is not astonishing when you consider what odd diversions have been sought by various members of our race. I myself have other means of escaping boredom, but this is the only one I have developed of avoiding penury. I will hunt anyone down if you pay me enough. But no one has offered to pay me for discovering the murderer of Dr. Burton. By exposing him and delivering him to justice I shall lose twelve hundred dollars, but I shall ensure the collection of a larger sum.—Now. Mr. Farrell, would you mind moving to another chair? If you please. And you, Archie, take the seat Mr. Farrell is vacating, next to Mr. Bowen.”

I moved. My eye hadn’t left Bowen since Wolfe had asked him to vote yes, and now all eyes were on him. Nobody was saying a word. The stockbroker was up against it. By skating all around him with inference and insinuation but not directly accusing him, and prolonging it, Wolfe had him plenty perplexed. The others staring at him didn’t help him any. I suppose he was trying to decide whether it was time for him to jump up and begin resenting things. He didn’t glance at me as I sat down by him; he was looking at Wolfe.