Rex Stout - Some Buried Caesar

The door popped open and Nero Wolfe walked in.

He looked neat and rested, with a clean yellow shirt on and the brown tie with tan stripes which Constanza Berin had sent him from Paris, but his shoes hadn't been shined. My glance took in those details as he crossed the room to us with his cus- tomary unhurried waddle. I scratched my leg furiously.

He stopped in front of me and demanded, "What are you doing? What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I itch."

"Look at your coat. Look at your trousers. Did you sleep in them?"

"What do you think I slept in, silken raiment? I'm glad you stopped in, it's nice to see you. We've been chatting. They're just sending me back to the you know. Did you hear from my mother? She's stricken."

He muttered, "Pfui," turned from me and looked at the other two and said good morning, and cast his eyes around. Then he took a step toward Barrow and said in his best man- ner, "Excuse me. Captain, but you have the only chair that is endurable for me. I'm sure you wouldn't mind changing," Barrow opened his mouth, but shut it again and got up and moved.

Wolfe nodded thanks, sat down, and directed a composed gaze at the district attorney. "You're a hard man to catch, sir," he observed. "I spent hours last evening trying to find you. I even suspect I was being evaded."

"I was busy."

"Indeed. To any effect?"

Barrow growled. Waddell leaned forward again with his fist on his desk. "Look here, Wolfe," he said in a nasty tone. "I've concluded you're no better than a waste of time, and probably worse. Thinking over what you told me about your talk with Bronson, what does it add up to? Zero. You were stringing me. You talk about evading! For the present I've only got one thing for you: a piece of advice. Either instruct your man here to open up and spill it, or do so yourself."

Wolfe sighed. "You're in a huff. Yesterday Captain Barrow, now you. You gentlemen are extraordinarily touchy."

"I'm touchy enough to know when I'm being strung. I don't enjoy it. And you're making a mistake when you figure that with Fred Osgood behind you, you can get away with any- thing you want to. Osgood may have owned this county once, but not any more, and he may be headed for a disagreeable surprise himself."

"I know." Wolfe was mild, and look resigned. "It's incredi- ble, but judging from rumors that have reached Mr. Osgood you are actually entertaining a theory that Bronson killed his son, and the killing of Bronson was an eye for an eye. Mr. Waddell, that is infantile. It is so obviously infantile that I refuse to expound it for you. And your suggestion that I rely on Mr. Osgood's position and influence to protect me from penalties I have incurred is equally infantile. If I palaver with you at all-"

"You don't need to," Waddell snapped. "Peddle it some- where else." Abruptly he stood up. "For two cents I'd stick you in with Goodwin. Beat it. On out. The next time I listen to you it will be in a courtroom. Take Goodwin down. Cap- tain."

"Oh, no." Wolfe was still mild. "No, indeed. I bothered to see you only on Mr. Goodwin's account. You'll listen to me now."

"And who'll tell me why?"

"I will. Because I know who murdered Clyde Osgood and Howard Bronson, and you don't."

Barrow straightened. Waddell stared. I grinned, and wished Basil was there to tell me which spoon the bean was under.

"Furthermore," Wolfe went on quietly, "there is a very slim chance that you could ever find out, and no chance at all that you would ever be able to prove it. I have already found out, and I shall soon have proof. Under the circumstances, I should say it is even your duty to listen to me."

Barrow snapped, "I'd suggest having a judge listen to you."

"Pfui. For shame. Captain! You mean threaten me with the same treatment you have given Mr. Goodwin? I merely tell the judge I blathered. If he proves to be also an imbecile and holds me, I procure bail and then what do you do? You are helpless. I assure you-"

Waddell exploded, "It's a goddam cheap bluff!" Wolfe grimaced. "Please, sir. My reputation… but no, I have too much respect for my reputation-"

"You say you know who murdered Clyde Osgood? And Bronson?"

"I do."

"Then by God you're right. I'll say I'll listen to you." Wad- dell sat down and pulled his phone over, and after a moment barked into it, "Send Phillips in."

Wolfe raised his brows. "Phillips?"

"Stenographer."

Wolfe shook his head. "Oh, no. You misunderstand. I only came for Mr. Goodwin. I need him."

"You do? So do we. We're keeping him. I repeat to you what I've told him, if there's an application for bail I'll oppose it."

The door opened and a young man with pimples appeared.

Waddell nodded at him and he took a chair, opened his note- book, poised his pen, and inquired, "Names?" Waddell mut- tered at him, "Later. Take it."

Wolfe, disregarding the performance, said in a satisfied tone, "Now we've arrived at the point. It's Mr. Goodwin I want. If you hadn't eluded me last night I'd have got him then. Here are the alternatives for you to choose from. It is simplified for me by the fact that the sheriff, Mr. Lake, hap- pens to be a protege of Mr. Osgood's, while you are not. I understand you and Mr. Lake are inclined to pull in opposite directions.

"First. Release Mr. Goodwin at once. With his help I shall shortly have my proof perfected, and I'll deliver it to you, with the murderer, alive or dead.

"Second. Refuse to release Mr. Goodwin. Keep him. With- out his help and therefore with more difficulty, I'll get the proof anyway, and it and the murderer will go to Mr. Lake. I am told that the Crowfield Daily Journal will be glad to cooperate with him and see that a full and correct account of his achieve- ment is published, which is fortunate, for the public deserves to know what it gets for the money it pays its servants. It's a stroke of luck for you that you have Mr. Goodwin. But for that, I wouldn't be bothering with you at all."

Wolfe regarded the district attorney inquiringly. "Your choice, sir?"

I grinned. "He means take your pick."

Barrow growled at me, "Close your trap."

Waddell declared, "I still think it's a bluff."

Wolfe lifted his shoulders a quarter of an inch and dropped them. "Then it's Mr. Lake."

"You said you know who murdered Clyde Osgood and Howard Bronson. Do you mean one man committed both crimes?"

"That won't do. You get information after my assistant is released, not before,-and when I'm ready to give it." "In a year or two, huh?"

"Hardly that long. Say within 24 hours. Less than that, I hope."

"And you actually know who the murderer is and you've got evidence?"

"Yes, to the first. I'll have satisfactory evidence." "What kind of evidence?"

Wolfe shook his head. "I tell you it won't do. I'm not play- ing a guessing game, and I won't be pumped."

"Convincing evidence?"

"Conclusive."

Waddell sat back, pulled at his ear, and said nothing. Fi- nally he turned to the stenographer and told him, "Give me that notebook and beat it." That command having been obeyed, he sat again a minute and then looked at Barrow and demanded sourly, "What about it. Captain? What the hell are we going to do?"