Rex Stout - The Second Confesion

There's no problem.” He drank.

Wolfe poured beer. “Well,” he said, “now you know what this is like. The contingency I have described may never arise, but it had to be foreseen. With that understood we can proceed. Unless we have some luck this could drag on for weeks. Mr Sperling's adroit stroke in persuading a man of standing to sign that confounded statement, not merely a chauffeur or other domestic employee has made it excessively difficult. There is one possibility which I shall have explored by a specialist-none of you is equipped for it-but meanwhile we must see what we can find. Archie, tell Fred about the people who work there. All of them.” I did so, typing the names for him. If my weekend at Stony Acres had been purely social, I wouldn't have been able to give him a complete list, from the butler to the third assistant gardener, but during the examinations Monday night and Tuesday morning I had got well informed. As I briefed Fred on them he made notes on the typed list “Anyone special?” Fred asked Wolfe.

“No. Don't go to the house. Start at Chappaqua, in the village, wherever you can pick up a connection. We know that someone in that house drugged a drink intended for Mr Rony on Saturday evening, and we are assuming that someone wanted him to die enough to help it along. When an emotion as violent as that is loose in a group of people there are often indications of it that are heard or seen by servants. That's all I can tell you.” “What will I be in Chappaqua for?” “Whatever you like. Have something break on your car, something that takes time, and have it towed to the local garage. Is there a garage in Chappaqua, Archie?” “Yes, sir.” “That will do.” Wolfe drank the last of his beer and used his handkerchief on his lips. “Now Saul. You met young Sperling today.” “Yes, sir. Archie introduced us.” “We want to know what he and his mother were looking for at Mr Rony's apartment.

It was almost certainly a paper, since they were looking in books, and probably one which had supported a threat held by Mr Rony over young Sperling or his mother. That conjecture is obvious and even trite, but things get trite by occurring frequently. There is a clear pattern. A month ago Mrs Sperling reversed herself and readmitted Mr Rony to her home as a friend of her daughter, and the son's attitude changed at the same time. A threat could have been responsible for that, especially since the main objection to Mr Rony was then based on a mere surmise by Mr Sperling. But Monday afternoon they were told something which so blackened Mr Rony as to make him quite unacceptable. Yet the threat still existed. You see where that points.” “What blackened him?”Saul asked.

Wolfe shook his head. “I doubt if you need that, at least not now. We want to know what the threat was, if one existed. That's for you and Orrie with you in charge. The place to look is here in New York, and the son is far more likely than the mother, so try him first-his associates, his habits-but for that you need no suggestions from me. It's as routine as Fred's job, but perhaps more promising. Report as usual.” That finished the conference. Fred got the rest of his beer down, not wanting to offend Wolfe by leaving some. I got money for them from the safe, from the cash drawer, not disturbing the contribution from our latest client. Fred had a couple of questions and got them answered and I went to the front door to let them out.

Back in the office, Fritz had entered to remove glasses and bottles. I stood and stretched and yawned.

“Sit down,” Wolfe said peevishly.

“You don't have to take it out on me,” I complained, obeying. “I can't help it if you're a genius, as Paul Emerson says, but the best you can do is to stick Fred on the hired help and start Saul and Orrie hunting ratholes. God knows I have no bright suggestions, but then I'm not a genius. Who is my meat? Aloysius Murphy? Emerson?” He grunted. “The others replied to the question I put. You didn't.” “Nuts. My worry about this murderer, if there is one, is not what you'll do with him after you get him, but whether you're going to get him.” I gestured. “If you do, he's yours. Get him two thousand volts or a DSO-as you please. Will you need my help?” “Yes. But you may be disqualified. I told you last week to establish a personal friendship,” “So you did. So I did.” “But not with the right person. I would like to take advantage of your acquaintance with the elder Miss Sperling, but you may balk. You may have scruples.” “Much obliged. It would depend on the kind of advantage. If all I'm after is facts, scruples are out. She knows I'm a detective and she knows where we stand, so it's up to her. If it turns out that she killed Rony I'll help you pin the medal on her. What is it you want?” “I want you to go up there tomorrow morning.” “Glad to. What for?” He told me.

CHAPTER Seventeen

Like all good drivers, I don't need my mind for country driving, just my eyes and ears and reflexes. So when we're on a case and I'm at the wheel of the car in the open, I'm usually gnawing away at the knots. But as I rolled north on the parkways that fine sunny June morning I had to find something else to gnaw on, because in that case I couldn't tell a knot from a doughnut. There was no puzzle to it; it was merely a grab bag. So I let my mind skip around as it pleased, now and then concentrating on the only puzzle in sight, which was this: had Wolfe sent me up here because he thought I might really get something, or merely to get me out of the way while he consulted his specialist? I didn't know. I took it for granted that the specialist was Mr Jones, whom I had never been permitted to meet, though Wolfe had made use of him on two occasions that I knew of. Mr Jones was merely the name he had given me off-hand when I had had to make an entry in the expense book.

On the phone I had suggested to Madeline that it might be more tactful for me to park outside the entrance and meet her somewhere on the grounds, and she replied that when it got to where she had to sneak me in she would rather I stayed out.

I didn't insist, because my errand would take me near the house anyway, and Sperling would be away, at his office in New York, and I doubted if Jimmy or Mom would care to raise a howl at the sight of me since we were now better acquainted. So I turned in at the entrance and drove on up to the house, and parked on the plaza behind the shrubbery, at the exact spot I had chosen before.

The sun was shining and the birds were twittering and leaves and flowers were everywhere in their places, and Madeline, on the west terrace, had on a cotton print with big yellow butterflies on it. She came to meet me, but stopped ten feet off to stare.

“My Lord,” she exclaimed, “that's exactly what I wanted to do! Who got ahead of me?” “That's a swell attitude,” I said bitterly. “It hurts.” “Certainly it does, that's why we do it.” She had advanced and was inspecting my cheek at close range. “It was a darned good job. You look simply awful. Hadn't you better go and come back in a week or two?” “No, ma'am.” “Who did it?” “You'd be surprised.” I tilted my head to whisper in her ear. “Your mother.” She laughed a nice little laugh. “She might do the other side, at that, if you get near. You should have seen her face when I told her you were coming. How about a drink? Some coffee?” “No, thanks. I've got work to do.” “So you said. What's this about a wallet?” “It's not really about a wallet, it's a card case. In summer clothes, without enough pockets, it's a problem. You told me it hadn't been found in the house, so it must be outdoors somewhere. When we were out looking for your sister Monday night it was in my hip pocket, or it was when we started, and in all the excitement I didn't miss it until yesterday. I've got to have it because my licence is in it.” “Your driving licence?” I shook my head. “Detective licence.” “That's right, you're a detective, aren't you? All right, come on.” She moved.