Rex Stout - The Second Confesion

“So,” Gwenn went on, “I had to come and tell you. I know you can't do anything about it, because Dad got Webster to sign that statement, and that ends it, but I felt I had to tell someone, and then when I heard what Paul and Connie said I knew I had to. But you've got to understand that I'm being absolutely honest. If this was me the way I was a year ago or a week ago I'd be pretending that I only came because I think I owe it to Louis to help to bring out the truth about how he died, but if he was the kind of man you said he was I don'' really believe I owe him anything. It's only that if I'm going to be a genuine straightforward person I have to start now or I never will. I don't want ever to be afraid of anyone again, not even you.” Wolfe shook his head. “You're expecting a good deal of yourself. I'm more than twice your age, and up with you in self-esteem, but I'm afraid of someone. Don't overdo it. There are numerous layers of honesty, and the deepest should not have a monopoly. What else was said by Mr and Mrs Emerson?” “Just what I told you.” “Nothing more-uh, informative?” “I told you everything I heard. I don't-” She stopped, frowning. “Didn't I?

About his calling her an idiot?” “No.” “He did. When she said that about her reputation. He said, ‘You idiot, you might as well have told Goodwin you killed him, or that you knew I did.’ Then she hit him-or he hit her.” “Anything else?” “No. I ran.” “Had you already suspected that Mr Emerson had murdered Mr Rony?” “Why, I-” Gwenn was shocked. “I don't suspect that now.

“Do I?” “Certainly you do. You merely hadn't put it so baldly. You may have got to honesty, Miss Sperling, but there is still sagacity. If I understand you, and you say I do, you think that Mr Emerson killed Mr Rony because he was philandering with Mrs Emerson. I don't believe it. I've heard some of Mr Emerson's broadcasts, and met him at your home, and I consider him incapable of an emotion so warm and direct and explosive. You said I can do nothing about Mr Rony's death. I think I can, and I intend to try, but if I find myself reduced to so desperate an assumption as that Mr Emerson was driven to kill by jealousy of his wife, I'll quit.” “Then-” Gwenn was frowning at him. “Then what?” “I don't know. Yet.” Wolfe put his hands on the edge of his desk, pushed his chair back, and arose. “Are you going to drive back home tonight?” “Yes. But-” “Then you'd better get started. It's late. Your newborn passion for honesty is admirable, but in that, as in everything, moderation is often best. It would have been honest to tell your father you were coming here; it would be honest to tell him where you have been when you get home; but if you do so he will think that you have helped me to discredit Mr Kane's statement, and that would be false. So a better honesty would be to lie and tell him you went to see a friend.” “I did,” Gwenn declared. Tfou are a friend. I want to stay and talk.” “Not tonight.” Wolfe was emphatic. “I'm expecting a caller. Some other time.” He added hastily, “By appointment, of course.” She didn't want to go, but what could the poor girl do? After I handed her her neckpiece she stood and prolonged it a little, with questions that got answers in one syllable, but finally made the best of it.

When she had gone I proceeded immediately to tell Wolfe what I thought of him.

“You couldn't possibly ask for a better chance,” I protested hotly. “She may not be Miss America 1949, but she's anything but an eyesore, and she'll inherit millions, and she's nuts about you. You could quit work and eat and drink all day. Evenings you could explain how well you understand her, which is apparently all she asks for. You're hooked at last, and it was about time.” I extended a paw. “Congratulations!” “Shut up.” He glanced at the clock.

“In a minute. I approve of your lie about expecting a caller. That's the way to handle it, tease her on with the hard to get-” “Go to bed. I am expecting a caller.” I eyed him. “Another one?” “A man. I'll let him in. Put this stuff away and go to bed. At once.” That had happened not more than twice in five years. Once in a while I get sent out of the room, and frequently I am nagged to get off my phone, when something is supposed to be too profound for me, but practically never am I actually chased upstairs to keep me from even catching a glimpse of a visitor.

“Mr Jones?” I asked.

“Put this stuff away.” I gathered up the papers from his desk and returned them to my drawer before telling him, “I don't like it, and you know I don't. One of my functions is keeping you alive.” I started for the safe. “What if I come down in the morning and find you?” “Some morning you may. Not this one. Don't lock the safe.” “There's fifty grand in it.” “I know. Don't lock it.” “Okay, I heard you. The guns are in my second drawer but not loaded.” I told him good night and left him.

CHAPTER Nineteen

In the morning three-tenths of the fifty grand was no longer there. Fifteen thousand bucks. I told myself that before I died I must manage at least a look from a distance at Mr Jones. A guy who could demand that kind of dough for piecework, and collect in advance, was something not to be missed.

When I arose at seven I had had only five hours' sleep. I had not imitated Gwenn and taken to eavesdropping, but I certainly didn't intend to snooze peacefully while Wolfe was down in the office with a character so mysterious I couldn't be allowed to see him or hear him. Therefore, not undressing, I got the gun I keep on my bed table and went to the hall and sat at the top of the stairs. From there, two flights up, I heard his arrival, and voices in the hall-Wolfe's and one other-and the office door closing, and then, for nearly three hours, a faint mumble that I had to strain my ears to catch at all. For the last hour of it I had to resort to measures to keep myself awake. Finally the office door opened and the voices were louder, and in half a minute he had gone and I heard Wolfe's elevator. I beat it to my room. After my head touched the pillow I tossed and turned for nearly three seconds.

In the morning my custom is not to enter the office until after my half an hour in the kitchen with Fritz and food and the morning paper, but that Friday I went there first and opened the safe. Wolfe is not the man to dish out fifteen grand of anybody's money without having a clear idea of what for, so it seemed likely that something might need attention at any moment, and when, a little after eight, Fritz came down from taking Wolfe's breakfast tray up to him, I fully expected to be told that I was wanted on the second floor. Nothing doing.

According to Fritz, my name hadn't been mentioned. At the regular time, three minutes to nine, then at my desk in the office, I heard the sound of the elevator ascending. Apparently his sacred schedule, nine to eleven in the plant rooms, was not to be interrupted. He and Theodore were now handling the situation, no more outside help being needed.

There was one little cheep from him. Shortly after nine the house phone buzzed.

He asked if any of the boys had called and I said no, and he said that when they did I was to call them off. I asked if that included Fred, and he said yes, all of them. I asked if there were fresh instructions, and he said no, just tell them to quit.

That was all for then. I spent two hours with the morning mail and the accumulation in my drawer. At eleven-two he entered, told me good morning as he always did no matter how much we had talked on the phone, got installed behind his desk, and inquired grumpily, “Is there anything you must ask me?” “Nothing I can't hold, no, sir.” “Then I don't want to be interrupted. By anyone.” “Yes, sir. Are you in pain?” “Yes. I know who killed Mr Rony, and how and why.” Tfou do. Does it hurt?” “Yes.” He sighed deep. “It's the very devil. When you know all you need to know about a murderer, what is ordinarily the easiest thing to prove?” “That's a cinch. Motive.” He nodded. “But not here. I doubt if it can be done. You have known me, in the past, to devise a stratagem that entailed a hazard. Haven't you?” “That's understating it. I have known you to take chances that have given me nightmares.” “They were nothing to this. I have devised a stratagem and spent fifteen thousand dollars on it. But if I can think of a better way I'm not going to risk it.” He sighed again, leaned back, closed his eyes, and muttered, “I don't want to be disturbed.” That was the last of him for more than nine hours. I don't think he uttered more than eighty words between eleven-nine in the morning and eight-twenty in the evening. While he was in the office he sat with his eyes closed, his lips pushing out and in from time to time, and his chest expanding every now and then, I would say five inches, with a deep sigh. At the table, during lunch and dinner, there was nothing wrong with his appetite, but he had nothing to offer in the way of conversation. At four o'clock he went up to the plant rooms for his customary two hours, but when I had occasion to ascend to check on a few items with Theodore, Wolfe was planted in his chair in the potting room, and Theodore spoke to me only in a whisper. I have never been able to get it into Theodore's head that when Wolfe is concentrating on a business problem he wouldn't hear us yelling right across his nose, so long as we don't try to drag him into it.