Rex Stout - Double for Death

“I said you can’t see him. That’s that.” Derwin had a fist on the desk. “And I want the girl, his niece, back here as quick as she can get here.”

Fox wheeled as if to go, but he stayed on his spot. He glanced at the two seated there and spoke to the young man. “I’m sorry to interrupt you folks. I apologize. I expected just to make a request and have it granted and get out, but now I guess there’ll have to be a discussion—”

“No discussion at all,” Derwin snapped. “I want to know where the Grant girl is—”

Miranda’s voice cut in, her sleepy lids lifted for a focus up at Tecumseh Fox. “I’m Miranda Pemberton, Ridley Thorpe’s daughter. A couple of years ago I invited you to dinner three times and you didn’t come. This is my brother Jeffrey.”

“I don’t like to dress.” Fox stepped to her, took the offered hand and bowed over it. Jeffrey got halfway up from his chair for the handshake and then dropped back again.

“Go on and discuss it,” Miranda said.

“Thanks.” Fox turned to the district attorney and his eyes, not more sly, were less conciliatory. “It’s like this, Mr. Derwin. I could have Nat Collins here in less than an hour, I’ve already phoned him, and you’d have to let Grant’s lawyer see him. Collins would be sore to begin with, called away for suburban penny ante, and he’d be in a mood to make all the trouble he could. You know how that would be, especially if you’re not ready to charge Grant with murder and I don’t think you are. It’s just possible he won’t need a lawyer at all and, in that case, it would be a pity to give Nat Collins the kind of retainer he’s accustomed to. Wouldn’t it be simpler all around to let me have a little talk with Grant?”

“Nat Collins wouldn’t touch it.”

“I said I had phoned him. I don’t lie on Monday.”

Derwin regarded Fox for a moment and then turned for a look at Ben Cook. Cook pursed his lips and raised his shoulders and refused the office. Derwin arose and beckoned to him, and led him to a far corner of the room, where they held a whispered conference. Miranda said:

“Mr. Fox. I don’t believe that man Grant killed my father.”

“Don’t be a goof, Sis,” Jeffrey blurted. “This bird is a detective working for Grant.”

Fox ignored him. “Why do you not believe it, Mrs. Pemberton?”

“Because he was in here in a while ago and I saw him and he said something to me.”

Fox smiled down at her. “That’s the kind of reason I like.”

“I say don’t be a goof,” Jeffrey repeated.

“Shut up, laddie,” said his sister; and then they looked at Derwin resuming his chair. He slanted his gaze up at Fox and demanded:

“How long would it take to get Nancy Grant here?”

“Not long.”

“All right. Bring her. Then you can talk to Grant for ten minutes in the presence of a police officer.”

Fox shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ll deliver Miss Grant if there is really something you want to ask her, but she has already told you fellows everything she knows upside and down, and when I leave here she’s going with me. And ten minutes with Grant isn’t enough, and I won’t need any help with him.”

Derwin shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it. My request was reasonable.” Fox put his hands behind his back and stood rigid, and two faint spots of color showed on his tanned cheeks. “Now you’ve got me sore. You did that once before. How did you like it?”

He whirled, and was nearly to the door with steps quicker and lighter than before when a rasp came from Ben Cook: “Hey, Fox, come back here!” Fox whirled again. Cook looked at Derwin and said: “Suit yourself. I’d as soon be a Nazzy Dutchman with Joe Louis after me.”

Derwin sat a moment, with a fist on the desk again, and then snapped: “All right. But first I want to see Miss Grant.”

Fox snapped back: “I stated fair conditions. She will be with me when I see her uncle.”

“Bring her. I’ll allow it.”

“The talk with Grant will be private.”

“All right, all right, bring the girl.”

Fox left. In the anteroom there was a collection of three county detectives in plain clothes and two state troopers in uniform, and along the corridors of the courthouse there was more bustle than usual. As he descended the steps to the sidewalk he met, coming up, another in uniform, with the collar insignia of a colonel and with a sternly preoccupied face that took no notice of the encounter. Fox walked briskly to the corner and turned right, proceeded a block and turned left, and down a hundred yards opened the door of the black convertible. With a foot on the running board he stopped short, finding himself confronted by empty seats front and rear. Frowning, he banged the door shut and sent his eyes on a quick survey of the street buildings, on both sides and in both directions. Apparently something expected was in view, for he strode down the sidewalk some fifty paces, opened a screen door for admission to a tiled floor and the buzz of electric fans, marched half the length of a soda fountain stretching for infinity, and stopped.

Dan Pavey twisted around on his stool and announced: “Miss Grant is trying a Westchester Delight.”

“A super-soda,” said Nancy, abandoning her straw. “Colossal.” She saw Fox’s compressed lips. “Did... did you see Uncle Andy?”

“No. We’ll see him together. You’re going in with me to the district attorney. Remember what I told you and behave yourself.” Fox looked at a hunk of pink ice cream consigned to the interior of the vice-president. “When we’re on business and I say wait here, I mean here. I’ve told you that a thousand times.”

“Right,” Dan agreed in low thunder. He swallowed the hunk. “My responsibility. Miss Grant accepted my invitation. She was about to go to sleep. She had no sleep last night. In my opinion she is in no condition to scrap with a district attorney. Wouldn’t it be better—”

“No.”

Dan did not say “Right.” What was even more startling, he scowled at his Westchester Delight and pushed the glass away without finishing it. He and Nancy descended from their stools and followed Fox out to the sidewalk and along to the convertible.

Fox started the engine and engaged the clutch and the car rolled to retrace the route he had taken from the courthouse. He parked in front and told Dan to stay in the car and Nancy to hop out. In the anteroom of the district attorney’s office one of the state troopers started across with an evident intention of intercepting them, but he was too slow. They were at the door and through it.

Their entrance interrupted an oration. Its loud and uncompromising tone issued from the mouth of the colonel of state police, who stood erect at one end of the desk glaring in all directions at once and who chopped it abruptly off at the approach of the newcomers. Fox started to speak and so did Derwin, but they were both forestalled by Jeffrey Thorpe, who sprang to his feet with an amazed ejaculation:

“I’ll be damned!” He was staring at Nancy Grant. “Of all the — got you! By God, got you!”

She drew back, stiffened and returned his stare. Hers was intended for freezing. “You have not got me,” she declared disdainfully, “you... you—”

“No? Ha! Got you!” Jeffrey took a step, stopped and jerked around. “Say! Is this — what? Is she Nancy Grant? My God!”

“Yes,” said Derwin. “Andrew Grant’s niece. You seem to know her.”

“He does not know me,” said Nancy icily.

“Are you drunk, laddie?” Miranda demanded.

Jeffrey looked befuddled, staring at Nancy again. “I will be damned,” he muttered. “I’ve been hunting you — I’ve had a detective looking for you—”