Rex Stout - The Second Confession

I told him. That first question was too urgent, for me personally, to fill in with details such as stopping at the barn to count the horses, but I didn’t skip any points that mattered, like Madeline’s reason for being upset over Gwenn’s trip outdoors, or like my handling of the fingerprint problem on the wallet. I gave it to him compact and fast but left out no essentials. When I finished he had only three questions:

“Have you had the thought, however vaguely, with or without evidence to inspire it, that Miss Sperling took you past that spot intentionally?”

“No.”

“Can footprints be identified in the vicinity of the body?”

“I’m not sure, but I doubt it.”

“Can your course be traced, no matter how, as you went from the thicket to the body and back again?”

“Same answer. Davy Crockett might do it. I didn’t have him in mind at the time, anyhow it was dark.”

Wolfe grunted. “We’re away from home. We can’t risk it. Get them all up here — the Sperlings. Go for the young women yourself, or the young one may not come. Just get them; leave the news for me. Get the young women first, and the others when you’re back in the house. I don’t want Mr. Sperling up here ahead of them.”

I went, and wasted no time. It was only a simple little chore, compared with other occasions when he had sent me from the office to get people, and this time my heart was in my work. Evidently the answer to the question whether I had seen the body was to be yes, and in that case the sooner the phone got used the better. Wolfe would do his part, that was all right, but actually it was up to me, since I was old enough to vote and knew how to dial a number. On the long list of things that cops don’t like, up near the top is acting as if finding a corpse is a purely private matter.

It was simple with the girls. I told Gwenn that Wolfe had just received information which made it certain that Rony would not show up, and he wanted to see her at once to tell her about it, and of course there was no argument. Back at the house, the others were just as simple. Jimmy was downstairs playing ping-pong with Connie, and Madeline went and got him. Mr. and Mrs. Sperling were in the living room with Webster Kane and Paul Emerson, and I told them that Wolfe would like to speak with them for a minute. Just Sperlings.

There weren’t enough chairs for all of us in the bedroom, so for once Wolfe had to start a conversation with most of his audience standing, whether he liked it or not. Sperling was obviously completely fed up with his long wait, a full seven hours now, for an important decision about his affairs to be made by someone else, even his own daughter, and he wanted to start in after Gwenn, but Wolfe stopped him quick. He fired a question at them.

“This afternoon we thought we were discussing a serious matter. Didn’t we?”

They agreed.

He nodded. “We were. Now it is either more serious or less, I don’t know which. It’s a question of Mr. Rony alive or Mr. Rony dead. For he is now dead.”

There’s a theory that it’s a swell stunt to announce a man’s death to a group of people when you think one of them may have killed him, and watch their faces. In practice I’ve never seen it get anybody to first base, let alone on around, not even Nero Wolfe, but it’s still attractive as a theory, and therefore I was trying to watch all of them at once, and doubtless Wolfe was too.

They all made noises, some of them using words, but nobody screamed or fainted or clutched for support. The prevailing expression was plain bewilderment, all authentic as far as I could tell, but as I say, no matter how popular a theory may be, it’s still a theory.

Gwenn demanded, “You mean Louis?”

Wolfe nodded. “Yes, Miss Sperling, Louis Rony is dead. Mr. Goodwin found his body about an hour ago, when he was out with your sister looking for you. It is on this property, behind a bush not far from where they found you. It seems—”

“Then — then he did come!”

I doubt if it was as heartless as it looks. I would not have called Gwenn heartless. In the traffic jam in her head caused by the shock, it just happened that that little detail got loose first. I saw Madeline dart a sharp glance at her. The others were finding their tongues for questions. Wolfe pushed a palm at them.

“If you please. There is no time—”

“What killed him?” Sperling demanded.

“I was about to tell you. The indications are that a car ran over him, and the body was dragged from the drive for concealment behind the bush, but of course it requires further examination. It hadn’t been there long when it was found, not more than two hours. The police must be notified without delay. I thought, Mr. Sperling, you might prefer to do that yourself. It would look better.”

Gwenn was starting to tremble. Madeline took her arm and led her to a bed and pushed her onto it, with Jimmy trying to help. Mrs. Sperling was stupefied.

“Are you saying—” Sperling halted. He was either incredulous or doing very well. “Do you mean he was murdered?”

“I don’t know. Murder requires premeditation. If after inquiry the police decide it was murder they’ll still have to prove it. That, of course, will start the routine hunt for motive, means, opportunity — I don’t know whether you’re familiar with it, but if not, I’m afraid you soon will be. Whom are you going to notify, the county authorities or the State Police? You have a choice. But you shouldn’t postpone it. You will—”

Mrs. Sperling spoke for the first time. “But this is — this will be terrible! Here on our place! Why can’t you take it away — away somewhere for miles — and leave it somewhere—”

No one paid any attention to her. Sperling asked Wolfe, “Do you know what he was doing here?”

“I know what brought him. Your daughter phoned him to come.”

Sperling jerked to the bed. “Did you do that, Gwenn?”

There was no reply from Gwenn. Madeline furnished it. “Yes, Dad, she did. She decided to drop him and wanted to tell him first.”

“I hope,” Wolfe said, “that your wife’s suggestion needs no comment, for a dozen reasons. He took a cab here from the station—”

“My wife’s suggestions seldom need comment. There is no way of keeping the police out of it? I know a doctor—”

“None. Dismiss it.”

“You’re an expert. Will they regard it as murder?”

“An expert requires facts to be expert about. I haven’t got enough. If you want a guess, I think they will.”

“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer here?”

“That will have to come later. You’ll probably need one or more.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “It can’t be delayed longer, sir. Mr. Goodwin and I are under an obligation, both as citizens and as men holding licenses as private detectives.”

“You’re under obligation to me too. I’m your client.”

“We know that. We haven’t ignored it. It was eleven o’clock when Mr. Goodwin found a corpse with marks of violence, and it was his legal duty to inform the authorities immediately. It is now well after midnight. We felt we owed you a chance to get your mind clear. Now I’m afraid I must insist.”

“Damn it, I want to think!”

“Call the police and think while they’re on the way.”

“No!” Sperling yanked a chair around and sat on its edge, close to Wolfe, facing him. “Look here. I hired you on a confidential matter, and I have a right to expect you to keep it confidential. There is no reason why it should be disclosed, and I certainly don’t want it to be. It was a privileged—”

“No, sir.” Wolfe was crisp. “I am not a member of the bar, and communications to detectives, no matter what you’re paying them, are not privileged.”