Rex Stout - The Second Confession

“Yes, Mad, I’m here!”

So I had to postpone a closer inspection of the object behind the bush. Madeline had let out a little cry of relief and was tearing ahead, and I followed. I got tangled in a thicket before I knew it and had to fight my way out, and nearly slid into the brook; then I was in the clear again, headed toward voices, and soon my light picked them up at the far side of an open space. I crossed to them.

“What’s all the furor?” Gwenn was asking her sister. “Good Lord, I came outdoors on a summer night, so what? That’s been known to happen before, hasn’t it? You even brought a detective along!”

“This isn’t just a summer night,” Madeline said shortly, “and you know darned well it isn’t. How did I know — anyway, you haven’t even got a jacket on.”

“I know I haven’t. What time is it?”

I aimed the light at my wrist and told her. “Five past eleven.”

“Then he didn’t come on that train, either.”

“Who didn’t?” Madeline asked.

“Who do you suppose?” Gwenn was pent up. “That dangerous criminal! Oh, I suppose he is. All right, he is. But I wasn’t going to cross him off without telling him first, and not on the phone or in a letter, either. I phoned him to come here.”

“Sure,” Madeline said, not like a loving sister. “So you could make him tell you who X is and make him reform.”

“Not me,” Gwenn declared. “Reforming is your department. I was simply going to tell him we’re through — and good-by. I merely preferred to do it that way, before telling Dad and the rest of you. He was coming up on the nine-twenty-three and taxi from the station and meet me here. I thought he had missed it — and now I guess he didn’t get the next one either — but there’s a — what time is it?”

I told her. “Nine minutes after eleven.”

“There’s a train at eleven-thirty-two, and I’ll wait for that and then quit. I don’t usually wait around for a man for two hours, but this is different. You admit that, don’t you, Mad?”

“If you could use a suggestion from a detective,” I offered, “I think you ought to phone him again and find out what happened. Why don’t you girls go and do that, and I’ll wait here in case he shows up. I promise not to say a word to him except that you’ll soon be back. Get a jacket, too.”

That appealed to them. The only part that didn’t appeal to me was that they might wave flashlights around on their way to the drive, but they went in another direction, a shortcut by way of the rose garden. I waited until they were well started and then headed toward the drive, used the light to spot the object on the ground by the bush, and went to it.

First, was he dead? He was. Second, what killed him? The answer to that wasn’t as conclusive, but there weren’t many alternatives. Third, how long ago had he died? I had a guess for that one, with some experience to go by. Fourth, what was in his pockets? That took more care and time on account of complications. For instance, when I had frisked him at the roadside Sunday night, after Ruth Brady had prepared him for me, I had used a fair amount of caution, but now fair wasn’t good enough. I gave his leather wallet a good rub with my handkerchief, inside and out, put prints from both of his hands all over it but kept them haphazard, and returned it to his pocket. It contained a good assortment of bills, so he must have cashed a check since I had cleaned him. I wanted very much to repeat the performance on the Communist party membership card and its cellophane holder, but couldn’t because it wasn’t there. Naturally that irritated me, and I felt all the seams and linings to make sure. It wasn’t on him.

My mind was completely on getting the job done right and in time, before the girls returned, but when I finally gave up on the membership card I felt my stomach suddenly go tight, and I stood up and backed off. It will happen that way sometimes, no matter how thick and hard you think your shell is, when you least expect it. I turned to face the other way, made my chest big, and took some deep breaths. If that doesn’t work the only thing to do is lie down. But I didn’t have to, and anyhow I would have had to pop right up again, for in between two breaths I heard voices. Then I saw that I had left the flashlight turned on, there on the ground. I got it and turned it off, and made my way back to the clearing beyond the thicket in the dark, trying not to sound like a charging moose.

I was at my post, a patient sentinel, when the girls appeared and crossed the open space to me, with Madeline asking as they approached, “Did he come?”

“Not a sound of him,” I told them, preferring the truth when it will serve the purpose. “Then you didn’t get him?”

“I got a phone-answering service.” That was Gwenn. “They said he would be back after midnight and wanted me to leave a message. I’m going to stay here a little while, in case he came on the eleven-thirty-two, and then quit. Do you think something happened to him?”

“Certainly something happened to him, if he stood you up, but God knows what. Time will tell.” The three of us were making a little triangle. “You won’t need me, and if he comes you won’t want me. I’m going in to Mr. Wolfe. His nerves are on edge with the suspense, and I want to ease his mind. I won’t go around the house shouting it, but I want to tell him he’ll be going home soon.”

They didn’t care for that much but had to admit it was reasonable, and I got away. I took the shortcut as they directed, got lost in the woods twice but finally made it to the open, skirted the rose garden and crossed the lawn, and entered the house by the front door. In the room upstairs Wolfe was still reading the book. As I closed the door behind me he started to scorch me with an indignant look for being gone so long, but when he saw my face, which he knows better than I do, he abandoned it.

“Well?” he asked mildly.

“Not well at all,” I declared. “Somebody has killed Louis Rony, I think by driving a car over him, but that will take more looking. It’s behind a bush about twenty yards from the driveway, at a point about two-thirds of the distance from the house to the public road. It’s a rotten break in every way, because Gwenn had decided to toss him out.”

Wolfe was growling. “Who found it?”

“I did.”

“Who knows about it?”

“No one. Now you.”

Wolfe got up, fast. “Where’s my hat?” He looked around. “Oh, downstairs. Where are Mr. and Mrs. Sperling? We’ll tell them there is nothing more for us to do here and we’re going home — but not in a flurry — merely that it’s late and we can go now — come on!”

“Flurry hell. You know damn well we’re stuck.”

He stood and glared at me. When that didn’t seem to be improving the situation any he let himself go back onto the chair, felt the book under his fanny, got up and grabbed it — and for a second I thought he was going to throw it at something, maybe even me. For him to throw a book, loving them as he did, would have been a real novelty. He controlled himself in time, tossed the book onto a handy table, got seated again, and rasped at me, “Confound it, sit down! Must I stretch my neck off?”

I didn’t blame him a particle. I would have been having a tantrum myself if I hadn’t been too busy.

The first thing,” I said, “is this: have I seen it or not? If I have, there’s the phone, and any arrangements to be made before company comes will have to be snappy. If I haven’t, take your time. It’s behind the bush on the side away from the drive and might not be noticed for a week, except for dogs. So?”

“I don’t know enough about it,” Wolfe said peevishly. “What were you doing there?”