Rex Stout - Double for Death

“Mr. Thorpe calling. The young one.”

“On the phone?”

“No, he’s down on the porch. His sister’s with him.”

“Tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Dan shook his head. “I think it’s just a social call. He asked to see Miss Grant.”

Nancy blurted, “Why... of all the unbelievable nerve—”

“I told him I’d see if you were still up.” Dan eyed her with gloomy scepticism. “He’ll wait if you want to take time to think it over. Now that his old man’s alive and well and his cash has reverted to prospects, if you want to play it different—”

“Play what different?” Nancy demanded. “I’m not playing anything.”

Dan grunted. “Call it work then. I suppose it’s a kind of work at that. Providing for the future — okay, call it work. You can ask Fox and your uncle what they think, but my advice is to stay on that horse. His old man won’t live forever, even if nobody shoots him. You’ve already got him blinded with dust. How would this be? I’ll go down and tell him you refuse to see him, and I’ll keep him there talking, and pretty soon you can come down, pretending you thought he had gone—”

“Are you intimating—” Nancy choked with indignation. “Are you daring to intimate—”

Dan nodded imperturbably. “I sure am. What’s that to get sore about? I’m only being practical. The question is whether it’s time to begin to reel him in, whether I ought to go down and tell him—”

Nancy turned her back on the vice-president, as offensively as possible, and her eyes flashed at Fox. “Will you please tell Mr. Pavey,” she began scathingly, “to tell Mr. Thorpe that unless he stops annoying—”

“No,” said Fox brusquely. “You’ll have to control your personal reactions. If you want me to help your uncle you’ll have to help me too. In the job you asked me to do, getting you people out of a difficulty, Jeffrey Thorpe’s eagerness to converse with — may I say us — is a valuable asset. Hate him and despise him if you want to, that’s all right, but you can do it with him present as well as in his absence. Even better, I should think.” He turned to Dan. “Anyone else on the porch?”

“Oh, just two or three.”

“Anyone in the living room?”

“Leo and Wallenstein are playing chess.”

“Dining room?”

“Crocker’s reading poetry to Mrs. Trimble. Some of his.”

Fox grimaced. “That’s the disadvantage...”

He looked around. “This is a little small and anyway I doubt if Miss Grant would let him in her room. Will you please bring him up to my room?”

Dan said he would and went. Fox invited the Grants to accompany him. Nancy muttered mutinously, but went through the door when it was opened for her and again through another door into the large corner room. Fox got the lights on and some chairs moved, and then returned to the hall to receive the visitors. In a few moments he was back with them. Grant stood up and bowed and answered greetings: Nancy was absorbed in a bulletin of the United States Department of Agriculture which she had picked up from Fox’s desk. That position was untenable, for she would unquestionably have to speak to Miranda, who had been quite decent at the encounter in the courthouse; but before she had worked out a solution of the problem Jeffrey Thorpe marched over, planted himself in front of her and demanded hoarsely:

“Will you marry me?”

“Good heavens,” gasped Miranda and dropped into a chair.

Jeffrey ignored that. “I’m asking you, will you marry me?” He was hunched over at Nancy. “Of course you won’t, not now you won’t, but I wanted to ask that first to get things clear. Next, I want to ask when did you give your photograph to my father and why, and under what circum — hey, now don’t—”

But, popping out of her chair, Nancy slid past him, avoiding his hand outstretched to stop her, circled around Fox like a breeze around a bush, and only after she had the door open turned on the threshold to say to Miranda:

“Good evening, Mrs. Pemberton. I’m glad your father wasn’t murdered.”

Then she went out and pulled the door to behind her.

She headed for her room. At the top of the stairs she paused irresolutely, thinking that outdoor air might cool her off a little, but faint voices came to her from below, evidently from the porch, so she resumed her course along the hall. Because the composition soles of her sport shoes made no noise on the hall floor, postponing the warning of her approach until she flung the door of her room open, her surprised glance showed her not only Dan Pavey sitting in a chair, but also her photograph which he held in both hands as if it were a book he was reading.

“Excuse me,” Nancy said in an astonished voice, leaving the door open and standing there.

“Sure,” Dan nodded. He arose, without haste, facing her. “Mrs. Trimble asked me to come up and see about towels.”

“That’s curious. She told me where to get towels from the cupboard.”

“Oh.” Dan cleared his throat. “Then I guess she didn’t ask me to come up and see about towels.”

“You ought to know.”

“Yes, I ought,” Dan agreed. He tapped the photograph with his finger. “You see, this thing is important evidence. Fox shouldn’t leave it around like this. I happened to remember he had left it in here—”

“It is not evidence,” Nancy asserted stiffly. “I have given Mr. Fox a satisfactory explanation of how Mr. Thorpe got it. Am I supposed to explain to you too?”

“You’re not supposed to, but you can if you want to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Right.”

“Are you prepared to maintain that Mr. Thorpe’s having my photograph is any of your business?”

“No.”

“Especially since my explanation satisfied Mr. Fox completely?”

“Right.”

Nancy stamped her foot. “Don’t stand there and say ‘Right’ like a robot!”

“Okay.”

“And Mrs. Trimble did not send you to my room to see about towels!”

“I’ve conceded that point.”

“So,” Nancy swept on scornfully, “why didn’t you say you sneaked in just for the thrill of looking at my picture? That would have flattered me! That would have made me tremble with delight!”

“You’re trembling anyhow.”

“I am not trembling! If I am, I assure you it isn’t with delight! And even if you came in here to snoop for what you regard as evidence, I’m glad you did because it gives me a chance to make a polite request. I would greatly appreciate it if in future you will confine your conversation to things you know something about. I am referring to the remarks you made a while ago about my — my purely private affairs—”

“I was only offering a suggestion,” Dan declared. “It struck me you were overplaying your hand. If you handle it right, I don’t think there’s any question that he’s all set to ask you to marry him—”

“He has already asked me to marry him. In Mr. Fox’s room just now.”

“Then you were trembling with delight. Congratulations.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I said, congratulations.”

“I said, thank you very much.”

“Then you—” Dan stopped.

“I what?”

“Nothing. I guess my suggestion wasn’t necessary. Congratulations.”

“You’re repeating yourself. You have already congratulated me.”

“So I have.” Dan got up. He tapped the picture again with his fingers. “I’ll give this to Fox.” He moved, detouring not to brush against her on his way to the door, and with his hand on the knob turned to say:

“I’ll wish you happiness some day. At present I hope you choke.”

He was gone before she got a retort out, though apparently one was on its way, for her mouth was open as she stood gazing at the closed door. “That’s what comes,” she muttered at it, “of eating six ice-cream sodas in five hours. The nerve of some bassos!”