Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

"What's wrong with it?"

"Everything imaginable."

"Then leave it. Come to my house. It's only sixteen miles out, and you can have a car until yours is repaired, and your man here can drive it…"

"I don't know." Wolfe looked doubtful. "Of course, if I undertake it I shall need immediately a good deal of informa- tion from you and your daughter, and your own home would be a good place for that…"

I stood up with my heels together and saluted him, and he glared at me. Naturally he knew I was on to him. Machi- avelli was a simple little shepherd lad by comparison. Not that I disapproved by any means, for the chances were that I would get a fairly good bed myself, but it was one more proof that under no circumstances could you ever really trust him.

9

WITH NANCY still chauffering, we drove to the hotel for our luggage, and then had to leave town by way of the exposition grounds in order to give the orchids a look and another spraying. Shanks wasn't around, and Wolfe made arrangements with a skinny woman who sat on an upturned box by a table full of dahlias, to keep an eye on our pots.

Driving into Crowfield that morning, Caroline Pratt had pointed out the Osgood demesne, the main entrance of which was only a mile from Pratt's place. It was rolling farm land, a lot of it looking like pasture, with three or four wooded knolls. The stock barns and other outbuildings were in plain view, but the dwelling, which was all of half a mile from the highway, was out of sight among the trees until the pri- vate drive straightened out at the beginning of a wide ex- panse of lawn. It was a big old rambling white house, with an old-fashioned portico, with pillars, extending along the middle portion of the front. It looked as if it had probably once been George Washington's headquarters, provided he ever got that tar north.

There was an encounter before we got into the house. As we crossed the portico, a man approached from the other end, wiping his brow with his handkerchief and looking dusty and sweaty. Mr. Bronson had on a different shirt and tie from the day before, and another suit, but was no more appropriate to his surroundings than he had been when I first saw him on Pratt's terrace. Osgood tossed a nod at him, then, seeing that he intended to speak, stopped and said, "Hullo."

Bronson came up to us. I hadn't noticed him much the day before, with my attention elsewhere, but I remarked now that he was around thirty, of good height and well-built, with a wide full mouth and a blunt nose and clever gray eyes. I didn't like the eyes, as they took us in with a quick glance. He said deferentially, "I hope you won't mind, Mr. Osgood. I've been over there."

"Over where?" Osgood demanded.

"Pratt's place. I walked across the fields. I knew I had offended you by disagreeing this morning with your ideas about the… accident. I wanted to look it over. I met young Pratt,.but not his father, and that man McMillan-"

"What did you expect to accomplish by that?"

"Nothing, I suppose. I'm sorry if I've offended again. But I didn't… I was discreet. I suppose I shouldn't be here, I should have left this morning, but with this terrible…with Clyde dead, and.I'm the only one of his New York friends here… it seemed…"

"It doesn't matter," said Osgood roughly. "Stay. I said so."

"I know you did, but frankly… I feel very much de trop… I'll leave now if you prefer it…"

"Excuse me." It was Wolfe's quiet murmur. "You had bet- ter stay, Mr. Bronson. Much better. We may need you."

The clever eyes flickered at him. "Oh. If Nero Wolfe says stay…" He lifted his shoulders and let them down. "But I don't need to stay here. I can go to a Crowfield hotel-"

"Nonsense." Osgood scowled at him. "Stay here. You were Clyde's guest, weren't you? Stay here. But if you want to walk in the fields, there's plenty of directions besides the one leading to Pratt's."

Abruptly he started off, and we followed, as Bronson again lifted his handkerchief to his sweaty brow.

A few minutes later we were seated in a large room with French windows, lined with books and furnished for com- fort, and were being waited on by a lassie with a pug nose who had manners far superior to Bert's but was way beneath him in speed and spirit as a drink-slinger. Nancy had disap- peared but was understood to be on call. Osgood was scowl- ing at a highball, Wolfe was gulping beer which, judging from his expression, was too warm, and I had plain water.

Wolfe was saying testily, "My own method is the only one available to me. I either use that or none at all. I may be only clearing away rubbish, but that's my affair. The plain fact is, sir, that last night, in Mr. Goodwin's presence, you be- haved in an astonishing manner to him and Mr. Pratt. You were rude, arrogant and unreasonable. I need to know whether that was due to the emotional shock you had had, or to your belief that Mr. Pratt was somehow involved in the death of your son, or was merely your normal conduct."

"I was under a strain, of course," Osgood snapped. "I sup- pose I'm inclined to arrogance, if you want to call it that. I wouldn't like to think I'm habitually rude, but I would be rude to Pratt on sight if the circumstances were such that I couldn't ignore him. Last night I couldn't ignore him. Call it normal conduct and forget it."

"Why do you dislike and despise Mr. Pratt?" "Damn it, I tell you that has nothing to do with it! It's an old story. It had no bearing-"

"It wouldn't account for a reciprocal hatred from Mr. Pratt that might have led him to murder?"

"No." Osgood stirred impatiently and put down his high- ball. "No."

"Can you suggest any other motive Mr. Pratt might have had for murdering your son? Make it plausible."

"I can't make it plausible or implausible. Pratt's vindictive and tricky, and in his youth he had fits of violence. His father worked for my father as a stablehand. In a fit of temper he might have murdered, yes."

Wolfe shook his head. "That won't do. The murder was carefully planned and executed. The plan may have been rapid and extempore, but it was cold and thorough. Besides, your son was not discovered in an effort to molest the bull, remember that You insisted on that point yourself before you had my demonstration of it. What could have got Mr. Pratt into a murderous temper toward your son if he didn't find him trying to molest the bull?"

"I don't know. Nothing that I know of."

"I ask the same question regarding Jimmy Pratt."

"I don't know him. I've never seen him."

"Actually never seen him?" "Well… seen him perhaps. I don't know him."

"Did Clyde know him?"

"I believe they were acquainted. They met in New York."

"Do you know of any motive Jimmy Pratt might have had for killing your son?"

"No." "I ask the same question regarding Caroline Pratt."

"The same answer. They too met in New York, but the acquaintance was slight."

"Excuse me, boss," I put in. "Do I release cats in public?"

"Certainly." Wolfe shot me a glance. "We're talking of Mr. Osgood's son, who is dead."

"Okay. Clyde and Caroline Pratt were engaged to be mar- ried, but the clutch slipped."