Rex Stout: The Second Confession

“He has a high rating,” Sperling objected.

“So had Goebbels,” Wolfe snapped. “And Mussolini.”

A short silence.

“I admit,” Sperling conceded, “that he irritates me. I think it’s chiefly his ulcers.”

“Then find someone without them. You’ll be saving money, too. If I sent you a bill in dollars it wouldn’t be modest, in view of the difficulties you made.”

“His contract expires next week.”

“Good. Let it.”

“Well — I’ll see. We’ll talk it over here.”

That was how it happened.

The tail’s second section, private, was also in the form of a phone call, some weeks later. Just yesterday, the day after Webster Kane, alias William Reynolds, was sentenced on his conviction for the first degree murder of Louis Rony, I put the receiver to my ear and once more heard a hard cold precise voice that used only the best grammar. I told Wolfe who it was and he got on.

“How are you, Mr. Wolfe?”

“Well, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m calling to congratulate you. I have ways of learning things, so I know how superbly you handled it. I am highly gratified that the killer of that fine young man will be properly punished, thanks to you.”

“My purpose was not to gratify you.”

“Of course not. All the same, I warmly appreciate it, and my admiration of your talents has increased. I wanted to tell you that, and also that you will receive another package tomorrow morning. In view of the turn events took the damage your property suffered is all the more regrettable.”

The connection went dead. I turned to Wolfe.

“He sure likes to keep a call down to a nickel. By the way, do you mind if I call him Whosis instead of X? It reminds me of algebra and I was rotten at it.”

“I sincerely hope,” Wolfe muttered, “that there will never be another occasion to refer to him.”

But one came the very next day, this morning, when the package arrived, and its contents raised a question that has not been answered and probably never will be. Did X have so many ways of learning things that he knew how much had been shelled out to Mr. Jones, or was it just a coincidence that the package contained exactly fifteen grand? Anyhow, tomorrow I’ll make my second trip to a certain city in New Jersey, and then the total in the safe deposit box will be a nice round figure. The name I go by there need not be told, but I can say that it is not William Reynolds.

The tail’s third section is not only private but strictly personal, and it goes beyond phone calls, though there are those too. This coming weekend at Stony Acres I expect no complications like dope in the drinks, and I won’t have to bother with a camera. Recently I quit calling her ma’am.