Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

"My deductions. I was there last night, with a flashlight."

"Deductions from what?"

"From the facts." Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. "You may have them if you want them, but see here. You spoke of 'these damn fools here' and called them a pack of cowards. Referring to the legal authorities?"

"Yes. The District Attorney and the sheriff."

"Do you call them cowards because they hesitate to in- stitute an investigation of your son's death?"

"They don't merely hesitate, they refuse. They say my suspicions are arbitrary and unfounded. They don't use those words, but that's what they mean. They simply don't want to pick up something they're afraid they can't handle."

"But you have position, power, political influence-"

"No. Especially not with Waddell, the District Attorney. I opposed him in '36, and it was chiefly Tom Pratt's money that elected him. But this is murder! You say yourself it was murder!"

'They may be convinced it wasn't. That's quite plausible under the circumstances. Do you suggest they would bottle up a murder to save Pratt annoyance?"

"No. Or yes. I don't care a damn which. I only know they won't listen to reason and I'm helpless, and I intend that whoever killed my son shall suffer for it. That's why I came to you."

"Precisely." Wolfe shifted in his chair again. "The fact is, you haven't given them much reason to listen to. You have told them your son wouldn't have entered the pasture, but he was there; and that he wasn't fool enough to let a bull kill him in the dark, which is conjectural and by no means a demonstrated fact. You have asked me to investigate your son's death, but I couldn't undertake it unless the police exert themselves simultaneously. There will be a lot of work to do, and I have no assistance here except Mr. Goodwin; and I can't commandeer evidence. If I move in the affair at all, the first stop must be to enlist the authorities. Is the District Attorney's office in Crowfield?"

"Yes."

"Is he there now?"

"Yes."

"Then I suggest that we see him. I engage to persuade him to start an investigation immediately. That of course will call for an additional fee, but I shall try not to make it extravagant. After that is done we can reconsider your re- quest that I undertake an investigation myself. You may decide it isn't necessary, or I may regard it as impractical. Do you have a car there? May Mr. Goodwin drive it? He ran mine into a tree."

"I do my own driving. Or my daughter does. I don't like going back to that jackass Waddell."

"I'm afraid it's unavoidable." Wolfe elevated his bulk. "Certain things must be done without delay, and they will need authority behind them."

It turned out that the daughter drove. We found Osgood's big black sedan parked in a privileged and exclusive space at one side of the Administration Building, and piled in. I sat in front with Nancy. For the two miles into Crowfield the highway and streets were cluttered with the exposition traffic, and although she was impulsive with the wheel and jerky on the gas pedal, she did it pretty well. I glanced around once and saw Wolfe hanging onto the strap for dear life. We finally rolled up to the curb in front of a stretch of lawn and a big old stone building with its status carved above the entrance: CROWFIELD COUNTY COURT HOUSE.

Osgood, climbing out, spoke to his daughter: "You go on home. Nancy, to your mother. There was no sense in your coming anyway. I'll phone when there is anything to say."

Wolfe intervened, "It would be better for her to wait for us here. In case I take this job I shall need to talk with her without delay."

"With my daughter?" Osgood scowled. "What for? Non- sense!"

"As you please, sir." Wolfe shrugged. "It's fairly certain I won't want the job. For one thing, you're too infernally com- bative for a client."

"But why the devil should you need tp talk to my daughter?",

"To get information. I offer you advice, Mr. Osgood: go home with your daughter and forget this quest for vengeance. There is no other form of human activity quite so impertinent as a competent murder investigation, and I fear you're not equipped to tolerate it. Abandon the idea. You can mail me a check at your convenience-"

"I'm going on with it."

"Then prepare yourself for annoyance, intrusion, plague, the insolence of publicity-"

"I'm going on with it."

"Indeed." Wolfe inclined his head an inch toward the lovely but miserable face of the daughter at the steering wheel. "Then you will please wait here. Miss Osgood."

8

IN ALL ordinary circumstances Wolfe's cocky and unlimited conceit prevents the develop- ment of any of the tender sentiments, such as compassion for instance, but that afternoon I felt sorry for him. He was being compelled to break some of his most ironclad rules. He was riding behind strange drivers, walking in crowds, obeying a summons from a prospective client, and calling upon a public official, urged on by his desperate desire to find a decent place to sit down. The hotel room we had man- aged to get-since we hadn't arrived Monday evening to claim the one we had reserved-was small, dark and noisy, and had one window which overlooked a building operation where a concrete mixer was raising cain. If you opened the window, cement dust entered in clouds. There was nowhere at all to sit near our space in the exhibits building. At the Methodist tent they had folding chairs. The ones at the room where we had gone to meet Osgood, where Wolfe had probably expected something fairly tolerable, had been little better; and obviously Wolfe regarded the District Attorney's office as a sort of forlorn last hope. I never saw him move faster than when we entered and a swift glance showed him there was just one upholstered, in dingy black leather, with arms. You might almost have called it a swoop. He stood in front of it for the introduction and then sank.

Carter Waddell, the District Attorney, was pudgy and middle-aged and inclined to bubble. I suppose he did Special bubbling for Osgood, on account of sympathy for bereave- ment and to show that the 1936 election had left no hard feelings, not to mention his love for his country of which Osgood owned 2000 acres. He said he was perfectly willing to reopen the discussion they had had earlier in the day, though his own opinion was unaltered. Osgood said he didn't intend to discuss it himself, that would be a waste of time and effort, but that Mr. Nero Wolfe had something to say. "By all means," Waddell bubbled. "Certainly. Mr. Wolfe's reputation is well known, of course. Doubtless we poor rustics could learn a great deal from him. Couldn't we, Mr. Wolfe?"

Wolfe murmured, "I don't know your capacity, Mr. Wad- dell. But I do think I have something pertinent to offer regarding the murder of Clyde Osgood."

"Murder?" Waddell stretched his eyes wide. "Now I don't know. Petitio principii isn't a good way to begin. Is it?"

"Of course not." Wolfe wriggled himself comfortable, and sighed. "I offer the word as something to be established, not as a postulate. Did you ever see a bull kill a man, or injure one with his hom?"

"No, I can't say I have."

"Did you ever see a bull who had just gored a man or a horse or any animal? Immediately after the goring?"