Rex Stout - Alphabet Hicks

Hicks smiled at him.

“I begin,” Vail said acidly, “to question Inspector Crouch’s opinion of your intelligence.”

“You’re wise. Crouch exaggerates.”

“And I regret it.” Vail leaned back and stuck his thumbs in his pockets again. “Because I assure you it wasn’t fright that brought me here. I sent you off yesterday in a fit of temper. I shouldn’t have done so. Dundee’s absurd suspicions have annoyed me, and he has refused to discuss the matter, and you offered an opportunity for discussion and I should have seized it. That’s why I came to see you. But with your ridiculous remark about murder—”

“Forget it.” Hicks waved it away. “I get spells like that.”

“I would advise you to control them. Under the circumstances it may be useless to mention the proposal I intended to make...”

“Suit yourself.”

“But it can do no harm. I propose that you call on the director of our research department, Dr. Rollins. He will open the records for you. He will demonstrate that all of our new introductions for the past two years, including carbotene — I mention that because I understand Dundee has charged that that formula was stolen from him — they have all been developed independently in our laboratories. You will be permitted to investigate fully, and I am sure you will be satisfied that my contention is justified. And that you will be able to satisfy Dundee also, if he hasn’t entirely lost his reason.”

“That might work if I—”

“Just a moment.” Vail was slowly rubbing his palms together. “I want to be completely fair about this. I am aware that it would not be to your advantage to accept this proposal. The investigation you are making for Dundee might go on for months, and of course he is paying you well, whereas if you do what I suggest the matter can be closed up in a few days. I have no right to ask you to make that sacrifice. If and when it is closed, I am willing to make up the difference to you personally. The most satisfactory arrangement would be to agree in advance on a flat sum. Say a cash payment of ten thousand dollars?”

Hicks appeared to be considering. “In twenty-dollar bills?”

“Any way you like.” Vail wet his lips. “The arrangement would of course be confidential.”

“I warned you that Crouch exaggerates.”

Vail brushed that aside. “And the sooner it is done the better. Mrs. Dundee’s call on me yesterday was disturbing. Very. Say tomorrow morning at the factory? I’ll take you out there myself and instruct Dr. Rollins to—”

The door swung open and George Cooper entered. He came in three paces, was there before Hicks could move, glanced from one to the other, and fastened his gaze on Hicks.

“Where’s my hat?” he demanded.

Hicks, on his feet, realized with one glance that this was a different George Cooper. This Cooper was in his senses, completely in command of himself. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen as they were, were steady and fully perceptive.

“You haven’t got any hat,” Hicks told him. “If you’ll wait for me downstairs in the restaurant — I’ll be down in a couple of minutes—”

“I’ll get along without a hat,” Cooper interrupted. His tone was not friendly. “Also I’ll get along without you, but I want that phonograph record and I want it now.”

“What phonograph record?”

“My wife’s voice. It begins, ‘Good lord, let me sit down and gasp a while! I know I’m late but I had an awful time getting here I never saw such traffic.’ That’s how it begins—”

“You’re dreaming,” Hicks said curtly.

“Oh, no. I’m through dreaming.”

“Then you’re batty. It is conceivable that I might have swiped your hat. But where and how and why did I swipe a phonograph record of your wife’s voice?”

“You’re lying,” Cooper said, but not with conviction.

“Not at present.” Hicks crossed to him and took his arm. “Listen, brother. You’re hearing things. I would advise you—”

“I don’t need any advice.” Cooper pulled his arm loose. “And I’ll tell you something, I know what happened, don’t think I don’t. I haven’t got it straightened out, but I’m going to. I’m going up there and I’m going to straighten it out.” He was frowning in concentration. “If it’s the last thing I do on earth, and maybe it will be.”

He turned and was gone. Hicks stepped to the threshold and saw his head descend out of sight, down the stairs, then closed the door and went back to his chair. He looked at Vail, and saw that Vail’s lids were so narrowed as to make his eyes tiny colorless beads, the eyes of a wary and malevolent pig.

Hicks asked softly, “You know him, do you?”

Vail’s head moved just perceptibly for a negative shake. “No. But I recognized him. From his picture in the paper.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Is it customary for a murderer to drop in and ask you for his hat?”

Hicks smiled. “It is a bit rococo, isn’t it? The poor guy’s brain is curdled. Looking for a phonograph record of his wife’s voice! Can you beat that?”

“I am a little curdled myself. He is a fugitive from the law. You made no effort to detain him.”

“Neither did you.” Hicks was smiling at him. “But take it from me, his trade-in value is way down. It isn’t worth the effort. Not in the same class with the offer you were making when he popped in. I wish I could accept that. I sure do.”

“I trust you have the good sense to accept it.”

“I haven’t.” Hicks continued to smile. “If you knew me better you would be going. It takes a while for an idea to work its way into my chest. When that happens, say in another half a minute, with the idea that you had the gall to try to bid me in, belly, guts and all, for a measly ten thousand bucks, I shall start operating on you.” The smile had gone and Hicks’s eyes were glittering. “If you knew me better you would know that.”

“My offer was merely—”

Hicks stood up.

“—a business proposal—”

Hicks moved.

To do Vail justice, his departure was more of a withdrawal in order than a flight. He moved with expedition, but not precipitately, in getting his hat, opening the door, and passing through.

Hicks shut the door again, crossed to a window and stuck his head out, and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of Cooper. In a moment Vail appeared on the sidewalk below and strode off in the direction of Second Avenue. There was determination and purpose in his stride.

“Healthy and happy,” Hicks muttered. “Not a mark on him. I sure am developing a remarkable self-control.”

He left the window, went to the bureau and opened the bottom drawer, and from underneath a pile of pajamas took out the sonograph plates and counted them. Eight. Near the center of the one on top was a deep scratch in the form of a V which he had put there himself with his new pocket knife. Getting his hat from a hook on the wall, he went down to the restaurant, asked Rosario for paper and string, and made a package.

“He went out,” Rosario said. “You know?”

“Yeah, I know. How much do I owe you?”

“You owe nothing. He paid.”

“The dickens he did.”

“And here is eighty cents change he didn’t take.”

“Keep it.”

Rosario dropped the silver into his pocket, glanced around to make sure that the room was empty, and whispered hoarsely, “I saw his picture in the paper.”

“Okay, he probably won’t get far.” Hicks got the string tied, took another look at the disk he had kept out to make sure it was the one with the V on it, and handed the package to Rosario. “Here, will you keep this in a safe place for me?”

“Sure.”

“You are a great man, Rosy. You don’t ask questions. A great man.”