Rex Stout - The Mountain Cat

“Certainly not. He’ll be my star witness.”

“He will like hell. He’ll be one of the defendants.” The sheriff of Silverside County spat. “I’m going to light a fire under him.”

“Not in Park County you’re not.” Tuttle, from being querulous, became pugnacious. “Get my star witness sore just to nurse a grudge? Not on your life! There’s not a bit of evidence that Squint Hurley was in it at all and no reason to suppose he was. You’re all right for a neighbor, Ken, these counties being as big as they are, but I’m damned if you’re going to start hazing my stock inside my fences. My God, as if this case wasn’t bad enough already! Go on back home and flush a mutton-rustler or something! I’d like to trade places— Excuse me.”

The phone had buzzed, and he pulled it across and spoke into it. After a moment he said, “Send him on in,” and hung up.

Chambers, stirring, began, “I’ll mosey along—”

“No, you won’t. If you do I’ll have you tailed. This is just a parson calling. You stay here till we get this thing settled.”

The door opened and the Reverend Rufus Toale entered. His preposterous straw hat was in his hand, his black coat was buttoned up and a strand of his dark hair, pasted to his broad forehead by perspiration, curved to a point aimed at his left eyebrow. He came forward with his other hand outstretched, saying in his deep musical voice, “God bless you, Brother Tuttle. — Oh yes, yes indeed, I know Brother Chambers, or perhaps I should say I recognize him. I saw him, of course, during the trial of that poor man for the murder of Charles Brand. God rest his soul.”

Ken Chambers, muttering something, resumed his seat. Tuttle got heartiness into his voice: “Sit down, Doctor, sit down. Anything I can do?”

“Praise God, there is.” Rufus Toale, with his customary deliberation, hung the straw hat on the back of a chair and deposited himself on the seat, sitting straight, clasping his hands in front of him. “There is, Brother Tuttle. You can welcome the truth and let it serve you. God’s truth is His alone and it alone is everlasting, but there is also worldly truth which, alas, is often chosen for a guide.” His tone all at once became fierce and a fire gleamed in his eyes. “God’s truth will prevail!” The fire receded and his tone calmed. “I have been three times to see Delia Brand and she will not see me. She refuses to let me speak to her.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” The sheriff looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but the warden didn’t see how he could—”

“I understand. Faith and grace cannot enter by force, and the servant of the Lord must wait for the door to open. That poor innocent child! God’s blessing on her!”

Tuttle frowned. “You say innocent?”

“I do. I think she is innocent. I do not think she killed. But even if she is guilty by man’s law, who are you to judge her? Only God can brand Cain. For my sins I answer not to man! By your insolent judgments and punishments you usurp His power and deny His mercy!”

“Of course,” Tuttle agreed, “that’s all right for preaching. But we’ve got to enforce the law. If they didn’t want ’em enforced, why did they make ’em?”

Rufus Toale sighed. “I know. Practically, it’s useless. That’s why I am here. I, even I, must render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. So I came to tell you that the man whom Delia Brand desired to kill was myself.”

The end of the sentence unfortunately caught Ken Chambers in the very act of spitting and he missed the spittoon by nearly a foot. Tuttle’s mouth fell open and, staring, he neglected to close it. Then he demanded, “Huh?”

Rufus Toale nodded. “Let me explain. I was not aware that the poor child desired my death, though I knew that hatred for me had entered her heart. But when I read in the paper that when she bought the cartridges in the sporting goods store she declared her intention to shoot a man, I knew the man must be me. I am not at liberty to tell you what it was that caused her to conceive her hatred for me, but I assure you it existed. It is not an overstatement to say that she abhorred me. I have been trying to see her, it is true, to persuade her to trust in God’s wisdom and mercy in this sore trial, but I also wanted to gain her permission to tell you of her hatred for me and, as far as it might be necessary, of the reason for it. She will not see me. So I can tell you nothing of the reason, but I can say that I know she hated me and it was me she desired to kill.”

“Then she was a derned poor shot.”

That came from Ken Chambers. Tuttle turned a glare on him; Rufus Toale ignored him. Tuttle said, “Well, Doctor, of course I’m pretty surprised. It sounds remarkable. It sounds close to incredible.”

“It is true.”

“Maybe so. You’re not prepared to open up any about the reason?”

“I am not. The confidences of a shepherd with his flock are holy.”

“Sure, I suppose they are. Did she ever threaten you or tell you she felt like shooting you?”

“No. But I saw her soul.”

“Did she ever tell anybody that, that you know of?”

“No.”

“Then what — you understand I’m not necessarily doubting it a bit — but what has this got to do with the fact that she was found standing in front of Dan Jackson with the gun in her hand he had just been killed with?”

“It has to do with it, Brother Tuttle, that it convinces me there has been a mistake and the poor child is innocent.” Rufus Toale’s voice lifted and became more sonorous. “And I will add, and I warn you, sir, to give it heed, that there is another quite different reason, which I cannot divulge, why I am certain that she did not shoot Jackson. God rest his soul.”

“Certain’s a strong word, Doctor.”

“I am certain.”

“Well...” Tuttle twisted in his chair and his voice changed. “See here. I suppose you know that the law doesn’t recognize the right of any clergyman or even any priest to withhold knowledge of a serious crime, let alone murder. Now you spoke of confidences being holy and so on. That kind of talk won’t be allowed to justify—”

“God will justify!” The fire showed in Rufus Toale’s eyes again, a zealot’s fire, and he spoke with a zealot’s voice. “Do you imagine, Sheriff, that I respect your ordinances or bow to your compulsions through fear? God forbid! Do you suppose I would relinquish one small glance of favor from His blessed throne to earn any earthly justification you or anyone could bestow? A ghastly error not only in the sight of God, but in the sight of man!”

Tuttle gazed at him. He would sooner or later, presumably, have replied something or other, but the opportunity passed before he seized it. The phone buzzed. He took it and spoke into it, and gave instructions that someone was to be told to wait till he was free, but the instructions must have been either misunderstood or disregarded, for as he was shoving the phone back the door burst open and a man irrupted into the room. His momentum took him clear to the desk and he was talking when he got there.

“I said I was busy!” the sheriff yelled. “I said for you to wait!”

“I don’t care how busy you are,” Tyler Dillon declared. He was panting, more from emotion, it appeared, than from exertion. “Whatever it is, it can wait. I’ve got—”

“You can wait yourself! Who’s your client this time?”

“I haven’t got a client. I’ve got evidence that will clear Delia Brand!”

“The hell you have. Why don’t you take it to her counsel?”

“Because there’s no use delaying it. It’s conclusive. Get a stenographer in here. I’ve got some witnesses. I want a record — get a stenographer—”

“Keep your shirt on.” Tuttle reached for the phone. “You’re not going to give me a ride on any more of your legal privileges.” He told the phone, “Ask Ed Baker if he’ll please step down here right away. — Hey, where are you going?”