Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

"Thank you. Miss Pratt, for having intelligence and for using it."

"Don't mention it. It was a pleasure."

He grimaced. "Is that bull your property?"

"No, he belongs to my uncle. Thomas Pratt." She waved a hand. "This is his place. He'll be here shortly. Meanwhile… if I can do anything… do you want some beer?"

"No thanks. I do want beer, but God knows when I'll drink beer again. We had an accident. Mr. Goodwin was unable to restrain our car – I beg your pardon. Miss Pratt, this is Mr. Goodwin."

She politely put her hand out and I took it. Wolfe was repeating, "Mr. Goodwin was unable to restrain our car from crashing into a tree. After inspecting the damage he claimed he had run it over glass. He then persuaded me to trespass in that pasture. It was I, not he, who first saw the bull after it had emerged from behind the thicket. He boasted complete ignorance of the way a bull will act-"

I had known when I saw his face as we approached the boulder that he was going to be childish, but he might at least have saved it for privacy. I put in brusquely:

"Could I use a telephone?"

"You interrupted Mr. Wolfe." She was reproving me. "If he wants to explain-"

"I'll show you the phone." It was a voice behind me, and I turned. The girl in yellow slacks was there close. I realized with surprise that her head came clear to my chin or above, and she was blonde but not at all faded, and her dark blue eyes were not quite open, and one corner of her lips was up with her smile.

"Come on, Escamillo," she said, "I'll show you the phone."

I told her. Much obliged," and started off with her She brushed against me as we walked and said "I'm Lily Rowan.

"Nice name." I grinned down at her. "I'm Escamillo Goodwin.

2

WOLFE'S VOICE came through the open door, "What time is it?"

After glancing at my wrist watch where it lay on the glass shelf I walked out of the bathroom, holding my forearm steady and level so the iodine would dry where I had dabbed it on. Stopping in front of the big upholstered chair he was occupying, I told him:

"3:26. I supposed the beer would buck you up. It's one of your lowest points when you haven't even got enough joy of life to pull your watch out of your pocket."

"Joy of life?" He groaned, "With our car demolished, and those plants in it being suffocated…"

"They're not being suffocated. I left the window open a crack on both sides." I tilted the arm, watching the iodine, and then let it hang. '"Certainly joy of life! Did we get hurt when we had a front blowout? No. Did the bull get us? No. We ran into nice people who gave us a swell room with bath to wash up and served you with cold beer and me with iodine. And I repeat, if you still think I should have persuaded one of those Crowfield garages to come and get us and the car, go down and try it yourself. They thought I was crazy to expect it, with the exposition on. This Mr. Pratt will be back any minute, with a big sedan, and his niece says she'll take us and the luggage and the plants to Crowfield. I phoned the hotel, and they promised to hold our room until ten tonight. Naturally there's a mob yelling for beds."

I had got my sleeves rolled down and buttoned, and reached for my coat. "How's the beer?"

"The beer is good." Wolfe shuddered, and muttered, "A mob yelling for beds." He looked around. "This is a remarkably pleasant room… large and airy, good windows… I think perhaps I should have modem casements installed in my room at home. Two excellent beds – did you try one of the beds?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "No."

"They are first class. When did you say the garage will send for the car?"

I said patiently, "Tomorrow by noon."

"Good." He sighed. "I thought I didn't like new houses, but this one is very pleasant. Of course that was the architect. Do you know where the money came from to build it? Miss Pratt told me. Her uncle operates a chain of popular restaurants in New York – hundreds of them. He calls them pratterias. Did you ever see one?"

"Sure." I had my pants down, inspecting the knee. "I've had lunch in them often."

"Indeed. How is the food?"

"So-so. Depends on your standard." I looked up. "If what you have in mind is flushing a dinner here to avoid a restaurant meal, pratteria grub is irrelevant and immaterial. The cook downstairs is ipso facto. Incidentally, I'm glad to learn they're called pratterias because Pratt owns them. I always supposed it was because they're places where you can sit on your prat and eat."

Wolfe grunted. "I presume one ignorance cancels another. I never heard 'prat' before, and you don't know the mean- ing of ipso facto. Unless 'prat' is your invention-"

"No. Shakespeare used it. I've looked it up. I never in- vent unless-"

There was a knock on the door, and I said come in. A specimen entered wearing dirty flannel pants and a shiny starched white coat, with grease on the side of his face. He stood in the doorway and mumbled something about Mr. Pratt having arrived and we could go downstairs when we felt like it. Wolfe told him we would be down at once and he went off.

I observed, "Mr. Pratt must be a widower." "No," said Wolfe, making ready to elevate himself. "He has never married. Miss Pratt told me. Are you going to comb your hair?"

We had to hunt for them. A woman in the lower hall with an apron on shook her head when we asked her, and we went into the dining room and out again, and through a big living room and another one with a piano in it before we finally found them out on a flagged terrace shaded with awnings. The two girls were off to one side with a young man, having highballs. Nearer to us, at a table, were two guys working their chins and fluttering papers from a brief case at each other. One, young and neat, looked like a slick bond salesman; the other, middle-aged or a little past, had brown hair that was turning gray, narrow temples and a wide jaw. Wolfe stopped, then in a minute approached nearer and stopped again. They looked up at him and the other one frowned and said;

"Oh, you're the fellows."

"Mr. Pratt?" Wolfe bowed faintly. "My name is Wolfe."

The younger man stood up. The other just kept on frowning. "So my niece told me. Of course I've heard of you, but I don't care if you're President Roosevelt, you had no busi- ness in that pasture when my man ordered you out. What did you want in there?"

"Nothing."

"What did you go in there for?"

Wolfe compressed his lips, then loosened them to ask, "Did your niece tell you what I told her?"

"Yes "

"Do you think she lied?"

"Why… no."

"Do you think I lied?"

"Er… no."

Wolfe shrugged. "Then it remains only to thank you for your hospitality-your telephone, your accommodations, your refreshment. The beer especially is appreciated. Your niece has kindly offered to take us to Crowfield in your car… if you will permit that?"

"I suppose so." The lummox was still frowning. He leaned back with his thumbs in his armpits. "No, Mr. Wolfe, I don't think you lied, but I'd still like to ask a question or two. You see, you're a detective, and you might have been hired… God knows what lengths they'll go to. I'm being pested half to death. I went over to Crowfield with my nephew today to take a look at the exposition, and they hounded me out of the place. I had to come home to get away from them. I'll ask a straight question: did you enter that particular pasture because you knew that bull was in it?"