Rex Stout - The Second Confession

Connie Emerson and Madeline were in the pool. Paul Emerson, in a cotton shirt and slacks, not too clean, was standing on the marble at the edge, scowling at this. Gwenn, in a dress dark in color but summery in weight, was in a chair under an umbrella, her head leaning back and her eyes closed.

Madeline interrupted an expert crawl to call to me, “Come on in!”

“No trunks!” I called back.

Gwenn, hearing, swiveled her head to give me a long straight look, had nothing to say, turned her head back as before, and shut her eyes.

“You not getting wet?” I asked Emerson.

“I got cramps Saturday,” he said in an irritated tone, as if I should have had sense enough to know that. “How does it stand now?”

“What? The cramp situation?”

“The Rony situation.”

“Oh. He’s still dead.”

“That’s surprising.” The eminent broadcaster flicked a glance at me, but liked the sunlight on the water better. “I bet he rises from the grave. I hear it was your car.”

“Mr. Wolfe’s car, yeah. So they say.”

“Yet here you are without a guardian, no handcuffs. What are they doing, giving you a medal?”

“I’m waiting and hoping. Why, do you think I deserve one?”

Emerson tightened his lips and relaxed them again, a habit he had. “Depends on whether you did it on purpose or not. If it was accidental I don’t think you ought to get more than honorable mention. How does it stand? Would it help any if I put in a word for you?”

“I don’t — excuse me, I’m being paged.”

I stooped to grab the hand Madeline was putting up at me, braced myself, straightened, bringing her out of the water onto the marble and on up to her feet.

“My, you’re big and strong,” she said, standing and dripping. “Congratulations!”

“Just for that? Gee, if I wanted to I could pull Elsa Maxwell—”

“No, not that. For keeping out of jail. How did you do it?”

I waved a hand. “I’ve got something on the DA.”

“No, really? Come and sit while I let the sun dry me, and tell me about it.”

She went and stretched out on the grassy slope, and I sat beside her. She had been doing some fast swimming but wasn’t out of breath, and her breast, with nothing but the essentials covered, rose and fell in easy smooth rhythm. Even with her eyes closed for the sun she seemed to know where I was looking, for she said complacently, “I expand three inches. If that’s not your type I’ll smoke more and get it down. Is it true that you were driving the car when it ran over Louis?”

“Nope. Not guilty.”

“Then who was?”

“I don’t know yet. Ask me tomorrow and keep on asking me. Call my secretary and make appointments so you can keep on asking me. She expands four inches.”

“Who, your secretary?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring her up here. We’ll do a pentathlon and the winner gets you. What would you advise me to do?”

Her eyes, opened from force of habit, blinked in the sun and went shut again. I asked, “You mean to train for the pentathlon?”

“Certainly not. I won’t have to. I mean when the District Attorney comes to ask more questions. You know he’s coming?”

“Yeah, I heard about it.”

“All right, what shall I do? Shall I tell him that I may have a suspicion that I might have an idea about someone using your car?”

“You might take a notion that you might try it. Shall we make it up together? Who shall we pick on?”

“I don’t want to pick on anybody. That’s the trouble. Why should anyone pay a penalty for accidentally killing Louis Rony?”

“Maybe they shouldn’t.” I patted her round brown soft firm shoulder to see if it was dry yet. “There I’m right with you, ma’am. But the hell of it—”

“Why do you keep on calling me ma’am?”

“To make you want me to call you something else. Watch and see if it don’t work. It always does. The hell of it is that both the DA and Nero Wolfe insist on knowing, and the sooner they find out the sooner we can go on to other things like pentathlons. Knowing how good you are at dare-base, I suppose you do have an idea about someone using my car. What gave it to you?”

She sat up, said, “I guess my front’s dry,” turned over onto a fresh spot, and stretched out again, face down. The temptation to pat was now stronger than before, but I resisted it.

“What gave it to you?” I asked as if it didn’t matter much.

No reply. In a moment her voice came, muffled. “I ought to think it over some more.”

“Yeah, that never does any harm, but you haven’t got much time. The DA may be here any minute. Also you asked my advice, and I’d be in better shape to make it good if I knew something about your idea. Go ahead and describe it.”

She turned her head enough to let her eyes, now shielded from the sun, take me in at an angle. “You could be clever if you worked at it,” she said. “It’s fun to watch you going after something. Say I saw or heard something last night and now I tell you about it. Within thirty seconds, for as you say there isn’t much time, you would have to go in to wash your hands, and as soon as you’re in the house you run upstairs and tell Nero Wolfe. He gets busy immediately, and probably by the time the District Attorney gets here the answer is all ready for him — or if it doesn’t go as fast as that, when they do get the answer it will be Nero Wolfe that started it, and so the bill he sends my father can be bigger than it could have been otherwise. I don’t know how much money Dad has spent on me in my twenty-six years, but it’s been plenty, and now for the first time in my life I can save him some. Isn’t that wonderful? If you had a widowed middle-aged daughter whose chest expanded three inches, wouldn’t you want her to act as I am acting?”

“No, ma’am,” I said emphatically.

“Of course you would. Call me something else, like darling or little cabbage. Here we are, locked in a tussle, you trying to make money for your boss and me trying to save money for my father, and yet we’re—”

She sat up abruptly. “Is that a car coming? Yes, it is.” She was on her feet. “Here he comes, and I’ve got to do my hair!” She streaked for the house.

I walked into the bedroom and announced to Wolfe, “The law has arrived. Shall I arrange to have the meeting held up here?”

“No,” he said testily. “What time is it?”

“Eighteen minutes to six.”

He grunted. “I’d have a devil of a time getting anywhere on this from the office, with these people here for the summer. You’d have to do it all, and you don’t seem to take to this place very well. You gulp down drinks that have been drugged, plan and execute holdups, and leave my car where it can be used to kill people.”

“Yep,” I agreed cheerfully. “I’m no longer what I used to be. If I were you I’d fire me. Am I fired?”

“No. But if I’m to spend another night here, and possibly more, you’ll have to go home and get me some shirts and socks and other things.” He was gazing gloomily at his toes. “Have you seen those holes?”

“I have. Our car’s immobilized, but I can borrow one. If you want to keep up with developments you’d better shake a leg. The elder daughter thinks she saw or heard something last night that gave her an idea about someone using your car, and she’s making up her mind whether to tell the DA about it. I tried to get her to tell me, but she was afraid I might pass it on to you. Still another proof I’ve seen my best days. At least you can be there when she spills it, if you’ll get off that bed and put your shoes on.”

He pushed himself up, swung his legs around, and grunted as he reached for his shoes. He had them on and was tying a lace when there was a knock at the door, and before I uttered an invitation it swung open. Jimmy Sperling appeared, said, “Dad wants you in the library,” and was gone, without closing the door. Apparently his visits to mines had had a bad effect on his manners.