Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

Frederick Osgood, the upstate duke, had sagging shoulders and a tired and bitter but determined expression; and Nancy Osgood sat with her spine curved and looked miserable all over.

Bennett did the introductions. Darth mumbled something about people waiting for him and loped off. Wolfe's eyes traveled over the furniture with a hopeless look, ending at me, meaning couldn't I for God's sake rustle a chair some- where that would hold all of him, but I shook my head in- flexibly, knowing how useless it was. He compressed his lips, heaved a sigh, and sat down.

Bennett said,. "I can stay if you want… if I can be of any help..," Wolfe looked at Osgood and Osgood shook his head: "No thanks. Lew. You run along." Bennett hesitated a second, looking as if he wouldn't mind staying a bit, and then beat it. After the door had closed behind him I re- quisitioned a chair for myself and sat down.

Osgood surveyed Wolfe with an aristocratic scowl. "So you're Nero Wolfe. I understand you came to Crowfield to exhibit orchids."

Wolfe snapped at him, "Who told you so?" The scowl got half startled away, but came right back again. "Does it matter who told me?"

"No. Nor does it matter why I came to Crowfield. Mr. Bennett said you wished to consult me, but surely not about orchids."

I restrained a grin, knowing that Wolfe was not only establishing control, which was practical and desirable, but was also relieving his resentment at having been sent for and having come, even if it was on his way anyhow.

"I don't give a damn about the orchids." Osgood preserved the scowl. "The purpose of your presence here is relevant because I need to know if you are a friend of Tom Pratt's, or are being employed by him, or have been. You were at his house last night."

"Relevant to what, sir?" Wolfe sounded patient with dis- tress. "Either you want to consult me or you don't. If you do, and I find that I am in any way committed to a conflicting interest, I shall tell you so. You have started badly and offensively. Why the devil should I account to you for my presence here in Crowfield or anywhere else? If you need me, here I am. What can I do for you?"

"Are you a friend of Tom Pratt's?"

Wolfe grunted with exasperation, got himself raised," and took a step. "Come, Archie."

Osgood raised his voice: "Where you going? Damn it, haven't I got a right to ask-"

"No, sir." Wolfe glared down at him. "You have no right to ask me anything whatever. I am a professional detective in good standing. If I accept a commission I perform it. If for any reason I can't undertake it in good faith, I refuse it, Come, Archie."

I arose with reluctance. Not only did I hate to walk out on what might develop into a nice piece of business, but also my curiosity had been aroused by the expression on Nancy Osgood's face. When Wolfe had got up and started to go she had looked relieved, and when after Osgood's pro- test he had started off again her relief had been even more evident. Little contrary things like that disturbed my peace of mind, so it suited me fine when Osgood surrendered.

"All right," he growled. "I apologize. Come back and sit down. Of course I've heard about you and your damned in- dependence. I'll have to swallow it because I need you and I can't help it. These damn fools here… in the first place they have no brains and in the second place they're a pack of cowards. I want you to investigate the death of my son Clyde."

Sure enough, as Wolfe accepted the apology by returning to sit down. Nancy quit looking relieved and her hands on her lap, having relaxed a little, were clasped tight again. Wolfe asked, "What aspect of your son's death do you want investigated?"

Osgood said savagely, "I want to know how he was killed."

"By a bull. Wasn't he? Isn't that the verdict of the legal and medical authorities?"

"Verdict hell. I don't believe it. My son knew cattle. What was he in the pasture at night for? Pratt's idea that he went there to get the bull is ridiculous. And he certainly wasn't ass enough to let himself be gored like that in the pitch- dark."

"Still he was gored." Wolfe shifted on the measly chair. "If not by the bull, then how and by what?"

"I don't know. I don't pretend to know. You're an expert and that's what I want you to find out. You're supposed to have intelligence above the average… what do you think? You were at Pratt's place. Knowing the circumstances as you do, do you think he was killed by the bull?"

Wolfe sighed. "Expert opinions cost money, Mr. Osgood. Especially mine. I charge high fees. I doubt if I can accept a commission to investigate your son's death. My intention is to leave for New York Thursday morning, and I shouldn't care to be delayed much beyond that. I like to stay at home, and when I am away I like to get back. Without committing my- self to an investigation, my fee for an opinion, now, will be a thousand dollars."

Osgood stared. "A thousand dollars just to say what you think?"

"To say what I have deduced and decided, yes, I doubt if it's worth it to you."

"Then why the devil do you ask it?" Nancy's voice came in, a husky protest, "Dad. I told you. It's foolish… it's all so foolish…"

Wolfe glanced at her, and back at her father, and shrugged. "That's the price, sir."

"For one man's guess."

"Oh, no. For the truth."

"Truth? You're prepared to prove it?"

"No. I sell it as an opinion. But I don't sell guesses."

"All right. I'll pay for it. What is it?"

"Well." Wolfe- pursed his lips and half shut his eyes. "Clyde Osgood did not enter the pasture voluntarily. He was unconscious, though still alive, when he was placed in the pasture. He was not gored, and therefore not killed, by the bull. He was murdered, probably by a man, possibly by two men, barely possibly by a woman or a man and a woman."

Nancy had straightened up with a gasp and then sat stiff. Osgood was gazing at Wolfe with his clamped jaw working a little from side to side.

"That…" He stopped and clamped his jaw again. "You say that's the truth? That my son was murdered?"

"Yes. Without a guaranty. I sell it as an opinion."

"How good is it? Where did you get it? Damn you, if you're playing me-"

"Mr. Osgood. Really. I'm not playing, I'm working. I assure you my opinion is a good one. Whether it's worth what you're paying for it depends on what you do with it."

Osgood got up, took two steps, and was looking down at his daughter. "You hear that. Nancy?" he demanded, as if he was accusing her of something. "You hear what he says? I knew it, I tell you, I knew it." He jerked his head up. "Good God… my son dead… murdered…" He whirled to Wolfe, opened his mouth and closed it again, and went back to his chair and let himself down.

Nancy looked at Wolfe and asked indignantly, "Why do you say that? How can you know… Clyde was murdered? Why do you say it as if… as if you could know…"

"Because I had arrived at that opinion. Miss Osgood."

"But how? Why?"

"Be quiet. Nancy." Osgood turned to Wolfe. "All right, I've got your opinion. Now I want to know what you base it on."