Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

Wolfe exchanged amenities with Plehn and then he and I got busy. One of our 18 plants had got temperamental and showed signs of wilt, so I stuck it under the bench and covered it with newspaper. We went over the others thoroughly, straightening leaves that needed it, re-staking a few, and removing half a dozen blossoms whose sepals had started to brown at the tips.

"On the whole, they look perky," I told Wolfe.

"Dry," he grunted, inspecting a leaf. "Thank heaven, no red spider yet.-Ah. Good afternoon, Mr. Shanks."

At 4 o'clock the judges came, with retinue and scale sheets.

One of than was a moonfaced bird from the Eastern States Horticultural Society and the other was Cuyler Ditson, who had been a judge several times at the Metropolitan. The pair started to squint and inspect and discuss, and a modest crowd collected.

It was such a pushover, and was over and done with so soon as far as the albinos were concerned, that it seemed pretty silly after all the trouble we had gone to, even though Wolfe got the medal and all three ribbons, and all Shanks got was a consoling pat on the back. But they both knew how it would look in the next issue of the American Orchid Gazette, and they knew who would read it. Shanks was dumb enough to get mad and try to start an argument with Cuyler Ditson, and Raymond Plehn gave him the horselaugh.

When the judges left the crowd dispersed. Wolfe and Plehn started to exercise their chins, and when that began I knew it would continue indefinitely, so I saw myself con- fronted by boredom. Wolfe had said that when the judging was over he would want to spray with nicotine and soap, and I dug the ingredients from the bottom of one of the crates, went for a can of water, and got the mixture ready in the sprayer. He did a thorough job of it, with Plehn assisting, put the sprayer down on the bench, and started talking shop again. I sat on a box and yawned and permitted my mind to flit around searching for honey in an idea that had occurred to me on account of one of the questions Wolfe had asked Bennett. But I hoped to heaven that wasn't the answer, for if it was we were certainly out on a limb, and as far as any hope of earning a fee from Osgood was concerned we might as well pack up and go home.

I glanced at my wrist and saw it was 10 minutes to 5, which reminded me that Lily Rowan was coming for orchids at 5 o'clock and gave me something to do, namely, devise a remark that would shatter her into bits. She had the appear- ance of never having been shattered to speak of, and it seemed to me that she was asking for it. To call a guy Escamillo in a spirit of fun is okay, but if you do so immediately after he has half-killed himself hurdling a fence on account of a bull chasing him, you have a right to expect whatever he may be capable of in return,

I never got the remark devised. The first interruption was the departure of Raymond Plehn, who was as urbane with his farewells as with other activities. The second interruption was more removed, when first noted, and much more irritating:

I saw a person pointing at me. Down the aisle maybe ten paces he stood pointing, and he was unquestionably the lanky straw- handler in overalls whom I had last seen in the Holstein shed three hours previously. At his right hand stood Captain Bar- row of the state police, and at his left District Attorney Waddell. As I gazed at them with my brow wrinkled in dis- pleasure, they moved forward.

I told Wolfe out of the comer of my mouth. "Looky. Com- pany's coming."

Apparently they had figured that the cow nurse would no longer be needed, for he lumbered off in the other di- rection, while the other two headed straight for their victim, meaning me. They looked moderately sour and nodded curtly when Wolfe and I greeted them.

Wolfe said, "I understand you have another dead man on your hands, and this time no demonstration from me is re- quired."

Waddell mumbled something, but Barrow disregarded both of them and looked at me and said, "You're the one I want a demonstration from. Get your hat and come on."

I grinned. "Where to, please?"

"Sheriff's office. I'll be glad to show you the way. Wait a minute."

He extended a paw at me. I folded my arms and stepped back a pace. "Let's all wait a minute. I have a gun and a license. The gun is legally in my possession. We don't want a lot of silly complications. Do we?"

16

WOLFE said sweetly, "I give you my word. Cap- tain, he won't shoot you in my presence. He knows I dislike violence. I own the gun, by the way. Give it to me, Archie."

I took it from the holster and handed it to him. He held it close to his face, peering at it, and in a moment said, "It's a Worthington.38, number 63092T. If you insist on having it. Captain-illegally, as Mr. Goodwin correctly says-write out a receipt and I'll let you take it from me."

Barrow grunted. "To hell with the comedy. Keep the damn gun. Come on, Goodwin."

I shook my head. "I'm here legally too. What are you after? If you want a favor, ask for it. If you want to give orders, show me something signed by somebody. You know the rules as well as I do. In the meantime, don't touch me unless you're absolutely sure you can pick up anything you drop."

Waddell said, "We know the law some, in a rustic sort of way. A murder has been committed, and Captain Barrow wants to ask you some questions."

"Then let him ask. Or if he wants a private conference let him request my company and not yap at me." I transferred to Barrow. "Hell, I know what you want. I saw that ape that came in with you pointing me out. I know he saw me this afternoon alongside a pile of straw in the Holstein shed, talking with two acquaintances. I also know, by public rumor, that a dead man has been found under a pile of straw in that shed with a pitchfork sticking in him. I suppose it was the same pile of straw, I'm lucky that way. And you want to know why I was there and what I and my acquaintances were talking about and what was my motive for sticking the pitch- fork into the man, and the doctor said the man had been dead two hours and six minutes and will I therefore give a timetable of my movements from ten o'clock this morning up to 2:37 p.m. Right?"

"Right," Barrow said agreeably. "Only we're more interested in the dead man's movements than we are in yours. When did you see him last?"

I grinned. "Try again. I abandoned that trick years ago. First tell me who he is or was."

Barrow's eyes weren't wandering from my face. "His name was Howard Bronson."

"Ill be damned." I screwed up my lips and raised my brows' in polite surprise. "Clyde Osgood's friend? Identified?"

"Yes. By Osgood and his daughter. When did you see him last?"

"At ten-thirty this morning, as he got out of Osgood's car in front of the hotel. Miss Osgood and Mr. Wolfe and I went on in the car."

"Did you know him well?"

"Never saw him before Monday afternoon."

"Any intimate relations with him?"

"Nope."

"Any close personal contacts with him?"

"Well-no."

"Well what?"

"Nothing. No,"

"Any financial transactions? Did you pay him any money or did he pay you any?" "No."

"Then will you explain how it happens that an empty brown leather wallet found in his pocket was covered with your fingerprints, inside and outside?"