Rex Stout - Alphabet Hicks

Vail stood up. “If this is a display of virtuosity—” he began contemptuously.

“Sit down,” Hicks said.

“I don’t intend—”

“I said sit down! If Ross could knock you cold, all alone, and you with a gun, you can imagine what we could do if we went at it together. I listened to you expounding your theory, and as a matter of courtesy you can listen to my variation. When that phone call comes I’ll get practical. Good God, look at you. Do you want an ice bag for that bump?”

Vail, not replying, went back to his chair. His gaze, presumably, was fixed on Hicks; there was no way of telling. Hicks resumed to Judith:

“Last Monday, Monday morning, Vail got bad news. He saw in the paper that Mr. and Mrs. George Cooper had returned from Europe. That was awful, since the trap had already been baited and Dundee had taken the bait. If Dundee or his son met Martha Cooper, as they well might, since her sister worked for them, their suspicion would be aroused and the whole thing would certainly be exposed, and both Vail’s business and his reputation would be ruined. From there on my variation pretty well follows the original. Vail, who has plenty of sand and daring, not only proceeded to remove Martha Cooper, he did it at a place and in a way to throw suspicion on the Dundees. And this afternoon, at my room, he learned that Cooper knew about that sonotel record and had actually heard it, or part of it, and intended to investigate it. Of course that wouldn’t do. Cooper had announced that he was going to Katonah, so Vail went there too. From where he left his car on that deserted road, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk, cross-country, mostly woods, to the Dundee place. No doubt his report of his conversations with Brager is true to fact — it must be, since he is expecting Brager to corroborate it. So after he shot Cooper he went back to his car and waited there, ostensibly, for Brager to send Cooper to him.”

“You know,” Vail said quietly, “this is interesting. But I’m wondering why you’re wasting time with it, or even passing time, because you certainly haven’t given it much thought. For instance, Martha Cooper. According to the account in the paper, she was killed between three and four o’clock. From three to six yesterday afternoon I was in my factory in Bridgeport. That of course would make it difficult—”

A bell rang.

Everybody jerked around. Hicks arose, saw that Ross too was up and crossing to a cabinet against the far wall, and was there at the young man’s elbow as he swung out a phone bracket and lifted the receiver. Ross spoke into the phone, turned and said, “For you,” and handed it to Hicks.

If Vail, or anyone, expected any elucidation from Hicks’s end of the conversation, they were disappointed. It was brief, and his contribution was chiefly a series of yesses. At the end he said, “We’ll start right away,” replaced the instrument, and turned to the group:

“Okay, folks. We’re all set. Off for Katonah.”

They looked at him in astonishment. Then they all spoke at once, but Vail’s voice dominated:

“I warn you, all of you! This man’s a fool! Get Dick here! I’ll have it out with Dick face to face! Judith! Ross! I warn you — let go of me, damn you!”

Hicks had his arm. “Listen, brother,” Hicks said grimly. “Your warning days are over. We’re going to Katonah and that includes you. On the hoof or in a package?”

At a quarter to three in the morning all lights were on in the office of the Dundee laboratory, at the apex of the meadow triangle surrounded by woods. The night was sultry and oppressive, not a foretaste of the frosty month to come, but rather a left-over from the one supposed to have departed weeks ago; and the cricket and katydid concert, entering through the open windows, was desultory and disheartened, irritating to weary and nervous ears in its feeble stridency. No less irritating to tired and nervous eyes was the glancing of the lights off the slick surfaces of the pink desk and the purple one, the gray and yellow table, the chairs and various gadgets in all conceivable colors.

The only person in the room who was manifestly not sharing in the general atmosphere of fatigue and tenseness and vexation of spirit was the man in the Palm Beach suit and battered Panama hat, who was on a chair in a corner with his head resting against the wall, fast asleep. At the other extreme was Manny Beck, chief of the Westchester County detectives, who was striding up and down, glaring at every one implacably, his massive jaw fixed in a forward thrust of obdurate pugnacity; and three state policemen and a couple of men in plain clothes were keeping out of his path. James Vail, Ross Dundee, and Herman Brager were on chairs which they had pulled out from the row along the wall. Heather Gladd sat at her own desk, with her elbows propped on it and her face covered by her hands, and seated at the end of the desk to her left was Judith Dundee, her back straight and her shoulders up, but her face drawn with strain and apprehension.

No one was talking, except the crickets and katydids outdoors, and their fretful and querulous exchanges were not calculated to soothe anybody’s nerves.

Eyes jerked to the inner door to the laboratory when it opened and three men entered. R. I. Dundee, in front, glanced around, took a step toward his wife, changed his mind, and sat on the nearest chair. Hicks crossed to Heather, muttered something to her, and propped himself against her desk and folded his arms. District Attorney Corbett with no sign whatever of joviality either on his pudgy face or in his voice, spoke to the room:

“Mr. Hicks is going to say something. Not as my representative. He is in no sense speaking officially. I want that understood. Manny, will you cut out that marathon? Sit down or hang yourself on a hook!”

Beck stopped in his tracks and glared.

“If Hicks represents no authority,” James Vail demanded, “what is the purpose—”

“We’ve had that out,” Corbett snapped. “I’ve told you, Mr. Vail, that you are not under arrest, you are not being detained, and you are at liberty to go or stay. I’ve told you that after a private consultation by Hicks and Dundee and myself there would be a statement by Hicks. If you were brought here by him against your wishes, your redress—”

“Baloney,” Hicks said impatiently. “You know darned well, Vail, what I’m going to do. I’ve got the label ready for the guy who murdered Martha Cooper and George Cooper, and I’m going to paste it on him. What are you chewing the rag about? You wouldn’t miss it for a dollar.”

Vail, ignoring him, spoke to Corbett: “I have explained to you that it is ridiculous to suppose—”

“He’s not doing the supposing,” Hicks said acidly. “I am. If it will make you feel any better, I’ll begin by explaining that in the discussion at Mrs. Dundee’s apartment I was merely theorizing, just as you were. Your suggestion was that Dundee was the murderer, though you knew he wasn’t. My suggestion was that you were the murderer, though I knew you weren’t. It didn’t do any harm, since we were just waiting for a phone call anyhow. But now I’m ready to talk turkey.”

Vail arose, walked deliberately across to R. I. Dundee, and gazed down at him. “Look here, Dick,” he said ominously. “This Hicks is a madman. You still have a slim chance to pull out of this with your hide on. For the last time I ask you, will you listen to me? Will you talk with me privately?”

“No, damn you,” Dundee said harshly.

“You won’t?”

“No.”

Vail, with his thin mouth compressed until there were no lips at all, returned to his chair, stuck his thumbs in his vest pockets, and addressed Hicks. “Go ahead. I’ve done my best.”