Rex Stout - The Second Confesion

Wolfe shook his head. “I am not giving names, and anyway I said not far from the top.” His eyes went from right to left and back again. “I am obliged for your forbearance; these details are necessary. I have told you that I know X's name, but I have never seen him. I first got some knowledge of him eleven years ago, when a police officer came to me for an opinion regarding a murder he was working on. I undertook a little inquiry through curiosity, a luxury I no longer indulge in, and found myself on a trail leading on to ground where the footing was treacherous for a private investigator. Since I had no client and was not committed, I reported what I had found to the police officer and dropped it. I then knew there was such a man as X, and something of his activities and methods, but not his name.

“During the following eight years I saw hints here and there that X was active, but I was busy with my own affairs, which did not happen to come into contact with his. Then, early in 1946, while I was engaged on a job for a client, I had a phone call. A voice I had never heard-hard, cold, precise, and finicky with its grammar-advised me to limit my efforts on behalf of my client. I replied that my efforts would be limited only by the requirements of the job I had undertaken to do. The voice insisted, and we talked some more, but only to an impasse. The next day I finished the job to my client's satisfaction, and that ended it.” Wolfe closed his fingers into fists and opened them again. “But for my own satisfaction I felt that I needed some information. The character of the job, and a remark the voice had made during our talk, raised the question whether the voice could have been that of X himself. Not wishing to involve the men I often hire to help me, and certainly not Mr Goodwin, I got men from an agency in another city. Within a month I had all the information I needed for my satisfaction, including of course X's name, and I dismissed the men and destroyed their reports. I hoped that X's affairs and mine would not again touch, but they did. Months later, a little more than a year ago, I was investigating a murder, this time for a client-you may remember it. A man named Orchard poisoned while appearing on a radio programme?” All but Sperling nodded, and Mrs Sperling said she had been listening to the programme the day it happened. Wolfe went on: “I was in the middle of that investigation when the same voice called me on the phone and told me to drop it. He was not so talkative that second time, perhaps because I informed him that I knew his name, which was of course childish of me.

I ignored his fiat. It soon transpired that Mr Orchard and a woman who had also been killed had both been professional blackmailers, using a method which clearly implied a large organization, ingeniously contrived and ably conducted.

I managed to expose the murderer, who had been blackmailed by them. The day after the murderer was sentenced another phone call came from X. He had the cheek to congratulate me on keeping my investigation within the limits he had prescribed! I told him that his prescription had been ignored. What had happened was that I had caught the murderer, which was my job, without stretching the investigation to an attack on X himself, which had been unnecessary and no part of my commitment.” Sperling had been finding it impossible to get properly settled m his chair. Now he broke training and demanded, “Damn it, can't you cut this short?” “Not and earn my fee,” Wolfe snapped. He resumed.

“That was in May of last year-thirteen months ago. In the interval I have not heard from X, because I haven't happened to do anything with which he had reason to interfere. The good fortune ended-as I suppose it was bound to do sooner or later, since we are both associated with crime-the day before yesterday, Saturday, at 6.10 p.m. He phoned again. He was more peremptory than formerly, and gave me an ultimatum with a time limit. I responded to his tone as a man of my temperament naturally would-I am congenitally tart and thorny-and I rejected his ultimatum. I do not pretend that I was unconcerned. When Mr Goodwin returned from his weekend here, after midnight on Sunday, yesterday, and gave me his report, I told him of the phone call and we discussed the situation at length.” Wolfe looked around. “Do any of you happen to know that there are plant rooms on the roof of my house, in which I keep thousands of orchids, all of them good and some of them new and rare and extremely beautiful?” Yes, they all did, again all but Sperling.

Wolfe riodded. “I won't try to introduce suspense. Mr Goodwin and I were in my office talking, between two and three o'clock this morning, when we heard an outlandish noise. Men hired by X had mounted to the roof of a building across the street, armed with sub-machine-guns, and fired hundreds of rounds at my plant rooms, with what effect you can guess. I shall not describe it. Thirty men are there now, salvaging and repairing. That my gardener was not killed was fortuitous. The cost of repairs and replacements will be around forty thousand dollars, and some of the damaged or destroyed plants are irreplaceable. The gunmen have not been found and probably never will be, and what if they are? It was incorrect to say they were hired by X. They were hired by D or C or B-most likely a C. Assuredly X is not on speaking terms with anyone as close to crime as a gunman, and I doubt if a D is. In any-” “You say,” Sperling put it, “this just happened? Last night?” “Yes, sir. I mentioned the approximate amount of the damage because you'll have to pay it. It will be on my bill.” Sperling made a noise. “It may be on your bill, but I won't have to pay it. Why should I?” “Because you'll owe it. It is an expense occurred on the job you gave me. My plant rooms were destroyed because I ignored X's ultimatum, and his demand was that I recall Mr Goodwin from here and stop my inquiry into the activities and character of Louis Rony. You wanted me to prove that Mr Rony is a Communist. I can't do that, but I can prove that he is one of X's men, either a C or a D, and is therefore a dangerous professional criminal.” The quickest reaction was from Madeline. Before Wolfe had finished she said, “My God!” and got up, crossed impolitely in front of people to Gwenn, and put her hand on her sister's shoulder. Then Mrs Sperling was up too, but she just stood a second and sat down again. Jimmy, who had been frowning at Wolfe, shifted the frown to his father.

The Chairman of the Board sat a moment gazing at Wolfe, then gazed a longer moment at his younger daughter, and then arose and went to her and said, “He says he can prove it, Gwenn.” I am not lightning, but I had caught on quite a while back that Wolfe's real target was Gwenn, so it was her I was interested in. When Wolfe had started in, the line of her pretty lips and the stubbornness in her eyes had made it plain that she simply didn't intend to believe a word he said, but as he went on telling about a mysterious X who couldn't possibly be her Louis she had relaxed a little, and was even beginning to think that maybe it was an interesting story when suddenly Rony's name popped in, and then the shot straight at her. When she felt Madeline's hand on her shoulder she put her own hand up to place it on top of her sister's, and said in a low voice, “It's all right, Mad.” Then she spoke louder to Wolfe.

“It's a lot of bunk!” When Sperling stood in front of her, Wolfe and I couldn't see her. Wolfe stated to Sperling's back, “I've barely started, you know. I've merely given you the background. Now I must explain the situation.” Gwenn was on her feet at once, saying firmly, “You won't need me for that. I know what the situation is well enough.” They all started talking. Madeline had hold of Gwenn's arm. Sperling was out of her depth but was flapping. Jimmy was being completely ignored but kept trying.