Rex Stout - Alphabet Hicks

“No,” Heather said.

“Of course not.” Dundee frowned at her. “I should say, you have my sympathy. My deep sympathy. I’m very sorry this has happened to you here at my place. I hope I don’t need to say I’m sorry. I’m clumsy at things like this, but if there is anything we can do, say so. I suppose you’ll want to take a day or two off.”

Ross made a noise that could have meant indignation.

Hicks asked, “When’s the next train to New York?”

They looked at him. “Are you leaving?” Dundee demanded.

Hicks said he was. Brager said there was a train at nine-twenty. Heather suddenly stood up and said:

“I’ll drive you down to the station.”

“He can phone for a taxi,” Ross said. “There’s time.”

“No, I’ll take him,” Heather insisted.

So that’s it, Hicks thought. That’s why she’s hanging around here, she wants a conference with her lawyer. He pushed back his chair and got up.

Ross and Brager were both telling Heather that she shouldn’t try to drive a car, she ought to go to bed. Dundee told Hicks he wanted a word with him, and arose and led the way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Powell was washing dishes, and on outdoors. There he peered around into the dark, faced Hicks, and demanded:

“Well?”

“All right,” Hicks said. “I told them if they wanted to know what I came here for they’d have to get it from you.”

Dundee uttered profanity. “And that man killed his wife and ran away, and now they’ll catch him, and that’s that. I was a damn fool to tell you anything. But you put it over on me, and I’m not a whiner. I want to handle this thing my way, and if I don’t find that plate I want to keep that sonotel operating in Vail’s office, and if you tell my wife about it she’ll tell Vail. It’s worth a thousand dollars to me if you don’t tell her. Cash. I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Come to my office—”

“No,” Hicks said. “I have a previous engagement.”

“Nonsense. I’m only asking you to wait—”

“Forget it,” Hicks snapped. “No sale. What and when I tell your wife will be decided by secret ballot, with only one voting. Nor were you a damn fool. If I had told them why I was here, it would have been pretty unpleasant. By the way, what did you say to them about your wife?”

“To whom?”

“The police or the district attorney.”

“Nothing. Why should I? Look here, if you’ll wait—”

“No. Forget it. Somebody must have. They asked me if I knew Mrs. Dundee, and if I had seen her here today. I said I hadn’t, and they asked if I was sure I hadn’t. How did they ever know there was a Mrs. Dundee?”

“I don’t know.” Dundee was incredulous. “They asked if you saw her here today?”

“They did. You didn’t mention her at all?”

“Certainly not. And I don’t believe—”

He cut it off as the kitchen door opened. Heather Gladd was there an instant in the rectangle of bright light, then she closed the door behind her and moved forward, calling:

“Mr. Hicks?”

“We’re talking,” Dundee said sharply.

“We’re through talking,” Hicks said. “I’ll miss that train.”

“We can make it,” Heather said. “It’s after nine o’clock, but it’s only three miles.”

“Then you’re taking me?”

“Yes.”

Hicks dashed into the house. He found his hat where he had left it in a closet in the hall. In the living room there was no one but the man in a Palm Beach suit and an old Panama hat, which apparently was glued on. He was reading a magazine.

“I’m going to New York,” Hicks said.

“Okay.” The man surveyed Hicks with gloomy interest. “You’re that Alphabet Hicks. Got one of those cards with you? I’d like to have one.”

Hicks took one from his wallet and handed it over.

The man looked at it. “L.O.P.U.S.S.A.F. What does that stand for?”

“Lover of Peace Unless Somebody Starts a Fight. I’m in a hurry. Miss Gladd is driving me to a train. All right?”

“Sure. So you really do carry these things. I’ll be damned. Crazy as hell. We’ve got your address. The bellboy on the drive will let you by. If not, yell for me.”

He returned to his magazine.

Hicks found Heather Gladd seated behind the driver’s wheel of a modest sedan at the edge of the graveled space in front of the garage. Only three of the parked cars remained, and one of those was R. I. Dundee’s. The engine was already going, and as soon as Hicks had climbed in beside her and shut the door Heather engaged the gear and the car moved forward. Short of the entrance they were stopped by a policeman, but after a couple of questions and a glance inside a car he nodded them on.

They turned into the public road, and went a mile or so, and no words passed.

Hicks turned his head to look directly at her profile. “There isn’t much time to talk,” he remarked.

She was silent for another half a mile, then said only, “I don’t... feel like talking.”

“I suppose not, but wasn’t there something you wanted to say to me?”

“No.” She turned the wheel for a curve. “Except — they didn’t ask me much. Just a few questions, and they asked me if I knew anything — if there was any trouble between Martha and George and I told them no. Yes, and I ought to thank you — I don’t mean I ought to, I mean I do thank you — for keeping your promise not to tell them. You did keep it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Hicks was gazing at her profile. “What else did you want to say?”

“Nothing. That’s all.”

“Then why did you insist on taking me to the station when you could hardly stand up?”

“Oh, I... don’t mind. I like to drive.”

“Yeah, it’s fun.” Hicks’s tone suddenly became peremptory.

“Pull up at the side of the road.”

“What?” The car swerved and she jerked it straight again. “What for?”

“We’re nearly at the village. Get off the road and stop the car or I’ll stop it for you.”

She obeyed. The car slowed down, bumped onto the grassy roadside, and stopped.

“What—” she began.

“Leave the engine on,” Hicks said curtly. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ll miss the train.”

“That’s all right, more trains tomorrow.” In the dim light from the dashboard Hicks could see her tight lips and wide eyes. “I am referring to George Cooper. You know where he is. You wanted an excuse to leave. You’re going to phone him or you’re going to see him—”

He stopped abruptly, gazing at her. She made no sound. In a moment he said softly, “I’ll be doggoned,” opened the door on his side, started to get out, suddenly turned back, and commanded her:

“Get out of the car.”

She didn’t move.

“As a precaution,” he said. “You might go on without me.”

“Please don’t,” she faltered. “Oh, please! What does it matter to you? If you—”

He turned off the engine, removed the key and slipped it into his pocket, opened the door and climbed out, walked to the rear of the car, and seized the handle of the door to the luggage compartment. It wouldn’t turn. Heather came running and grasped his arm.

“Don’t—” she pleaded. She tugged at him.

He shook her off and took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door and flung it open.

“You’re too darned smart,” Heather said bitterly.

In the darkness not much could be seen of the man’s figure stuffed into the compartment like an embryo in a jar except the white blotch that was his face. But Hicks saw his eyes blink and there was a movement.

“You’re alive, huh?” Hicks said.

“I didn’t tell him,” Heather said.

“Come on out,” Hicks commanded. “Take it easy — wait a minute — hold it — look out!”