Rex Stout - Alphabet Hicks

“Resume on number four—”

“Vat two is now—”

“Viscosity disap—”

“Coefficient of all—”

The voice coming from the disks on the machine was Brager’s. As the stack was nearly exhausted, Brager started from his chair, offering:

“I’ll bring another case.”

“I’ll get it myself,” said Dundee shortly. “You understand, Herman, I’m going to make sure — well, damn your nerve!”

The door had opened and Hicks was there.

Brager shifted his frown to the intruder. Dundee switched off the machine, shoved back his chair, nearly toppling it over, and came around the desk.

His voice trembled with fury. “Look here, I told you to get—”

“Can it!” Hicks said peremptorily. “No time for comedy. The cops are coming. Police. Gendarmes.”

Dundee stared. “What kind of—”

“Crime.” Hicks’s eyes, their glint more insolent than ever but the laziness gone, went from Dundee to Brager and darted back again. “Assault and battery. A woman over here on the terrace has been assaulted and battered—”

“A woman? What woman?”

“I’m telling you. Martha Cooper. Mrs. George Cooper. Miss Gladd’s sister. Do you know her?”

“Certainly not! Never heard of her! What was she doing—”

“Do you know her, Mr. Brager?”

“No.” Brager looked more popeyed and flustered than ever. “And I assure you I did not assault her and batter her.”

“Nobody said you did. But there she is. She’s lying on the terrace in front of an open window. The top of her skull is crushed in. On the window sill is a heavy brass candlestick, and it looks as if a corner of its base would fit the hole in her head, but I didn’t try it because the police are touchy about things like that, and also I didn’t have time. I wanted—”

“You mean, she was hit with the candlestick?”

“It’s a bet.”

“Is she badly hurt?”

“She’s dead.”

Dundee’s jaw fell. “Good God.” He stood, looking foolish. “This is a fine situation,” he said somewhat inadequately. He looked at the paraphernalia on the desk, and at Brager. “You’d better get over there, Herman. I’ll lock up here and come along.”

Brager arose, protesting, “The vats have to be cleaned—”

“They can wait. Go ahead. Tell Ross I’ll be right over—”

“Just a minute,” Hicks interposed. He spoke to Dundee. “I may detain you a little. I suggest that Mr. Brager ought to forget about your little display of temper a while ago when you arrived and found me here. As I remember it, it was like this: I was sitting here waiting to see Brager when you entered and said you wanted to speak with him privately, so I went outside to wait. Wasn’t that it? You see, Brager couldn’t tell the police what brought me here even if he wanted to, because he doesn’t know. But they’ll want me to tell them, and I guess I’ll have to. I’ll have to admit that you hired me, that I came out here on a confidential job for you — which they’ll have to ask you about, and you can tell them what you please.”

Brager was regarding Dundee with an expression of mingled reproach and bewilderment, but the latter was looking not at him but at Hicks, thoughtfully and warily.

“I don’t know,” said Hicks, “whether I’ve made it plain that that woman was murdered. And we’re all going to be put through the wringer and hung out to dry. My suggestion may be a little complicated, and if you don’t understand it—”

“I understand it perfectly,” Dundee snapped. He turned to Brager. “Herman, this is going to be damned unpleasant. Please go over there. If you find the situation isn’t as Hicks describes it, phone me. If it is, I suppose you’d better notify the police—”

“They’re already there,” Hicks said. “I took to the woods and waited till I saw them come.”

“Good God.” Dundee looked from Hicks to Brager and repeated, “Good God. Herman, get over there. And please forget my display of temper when I found this man here. I wished to speak with you privately, and he went outside to wait. You understand.”

Brager, slipping off his apron and dropping it on a chair, did not look happy. “I don’t understand at all,” he declared. “Not at all. But very well. And I am no good at taking charge of a murder. And the vats, as you know...”

They got him out. Hicks opened the door for him and closed it after him. Then he sat down and said:

“All right, let’s have it. Where’s your proof that your wife sold your secrets to Vail?”

Dundee looked at him with no friendliness. “So that’s it.”

Hicks nodded. “That’s it. With no palaver. Unless you want the police trying to tie it up to a murder.”

“It has nothing to do with a murder.”

“That won’t keep them from trying.”

“I know it won’t. If there was a murder. It’s incredible—”

Hicks pointed to the phone. “Call up the house. Ask your son.”

Dundee took the chair at the desk, but he didn’t reach for the phone. “Who the devil,” he demanded, “could have done such a thing? How did she get there? Did she come alone?”

“Yes. Who did it will have to wait. I’d advise you to quit stalling, because we might be interrupted. Let’s see the proof you told your wife about.”

“I haven’t got it.”

“You told her you had it.”

“I did have it. It’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean lost? Stolen? Burned? Dissolved?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was it?”

Dundee scowled at the phone, reached a hand for it, stopped the hand in mid-air and after a second withdrew it, rested his elbows on the desk, and stared at Hicks with his mouth drawn tight.

“Suit yourself,” Hicks said as if he wasn’t interested. “The cops won’t like it that I went for a walk. If one of them drops in here, say two minutes from now, and starts asking me questions, I’ll answer by the book. I came out here to try to earn the two hundred bucks your wife gave me. That will certainly make him curious, and I have nothing to conceal.”

Dundee’s mouth stayed tight.

Hicks twisted his head around for a glimpse of the meadow path through the window, and then shifted his chair so that he could keep an eye on it without twisting. “My mouth isn’t watering,” he declared. “I’d prefer to catch the next train back to town and forget it, but that isn’t practical.”

Dundee snapped, “It was a sonotel record of a conversation between my wife and Jimmie Vail.”

Hicks met his angry eyes. “What’s a sonotel record?”

“A sonotel is an electric eavesdropper. I had a detective agency plant one in Vail’s office over a year ago. I had reason to believe that Republic was getting some of our formulas, and I knew that if they were it was Vail who was working it. For a year I got nothing — at least, I didn’t get what I was after. Then I did get something.” Dundee looked grim. “I got more than I bargained for. A record of my wife in Vail’s office talking with him, telling him she hoped he’d be pleased with what she’d brought him, and him saying he would if it was anything like carbotene. The damned crook. In 1938 we had developed a formula to the patent stage, and found that a patent had already been applied for by Republic, the identical formula and process. They called it carbotene, and they’re going to make millions on it.”

“What date was it? The conversation.”

“September fifth. Two weeks ago today.”

“How sure are you it was your wife’s voice?”

“I’ve been listening to it for twenty-five years.”

Hicks nodded. “Long enough. What does a sonotol record look like?”

“It’s a plate. Like these sonograph plates.” Dundee indicated the stack of disks on the desk. “They’re made from one of our plastics. That’s what I was doing, looking for that record—”