Rex Stout - The Second Confesion

Wolfe shook his head. “I'm afraid I'll have to leave that out. In my years of work as a private detective I have formed many connections-the police, the Press, all kinds of people. I will say this: I think Reynolds made a mistake.

It's only a conjecture, but a good one I think, that he became frightened. He apprehended a mortal peril-I was responsible for that-and he did something foolish. The peril was a charge of murder. He knew the charge could be brought only if it could be shown that he was a Communist, and he thought I knew it too, and he decided to guard against that by making it appear that while pretending to be a Communist he was actually an enemy of communism and wanted to help destroy it. As I say, that is only a conjecture. But-” “Wait a minute.” Apparently Stevens never raised his voice, even when he was cutting in. “It hasn't quite got to where you can prove a man committed murder just by proving he's a Communist.” Stevens smiled, and, seeing what he regarded as a smile, I decided to have my daughter ask someone else for directions. “Has it?” “No,” Wolfe conceded. “Rather the contrary. Communists are well advised to disapprove of private murders for private motives. But in this case that's how it stood. Since we're proceeding hypothetically, I may include in the hypothesis that you know about the death of a man named Louis Rony, run over by a car on the country estate of James U. Sperling, and that you know that William Reynolds was present. May I not?” “Go on,” Harvey rumbled.

“So we don't need to waste time on the facts that have been made public. The situation is this: I know that Mr Reynolds murdered. Mr Rony. I want to have him arrested and charged. But to get him convicted it is essential to show that he is a member of the Communist Party, because only if that is done can his motive be established. You'll have to accept that statement as I give it; I'm not going to show you all my cards, for if I do so and you choose to support Mr Reynolds I'll be in a deeper hole than I am now.” “We don't support murderers,” Harvey declared virtuously.

Wolfe nodded. “I thought not. It would be not only blame-worthy, but futile, to try to support this one. You understand that what I must prove is not that William Reynolds is a member of the Communist Party; that can be done without much difficulty; but that this man who was at the scene of Mr Rony's death is that William Reynolds-whatever else he may be. I know of only two ways to accomplish that. One would be to arrest and charge Mr Reynolds and put him on trial, lay the ground by showing that membership in the Communist Party is relevant to his guilt, subpoena you and your associates-fifty of them, a hundred-as witnesses for the State, and put the question to you. ‘Is the defendant, or was he, a member of the Communist Party?’ Those of you who know him, and who answer no, will be committing perjury. Will all of you risk it-not most of you, but all of you? Would it be worth such a risk, to protect a man who murdered as a private enterprise? I doubt it. If you do risk it, I think we can catch you up. I shall certainly try, and my heart will be in it.” “We don't scare easy,” Harvey stated.

“What's the other way?” Stevens asked.

“Much simpler for everybody.” Wolfe picked up the photograph. “You write your names across this. I paste it on a sheet of paper. Below it you write, ‘This man in the above photograph, on which we have written our names, is William Reynolds, whom we know to be a member of the Communist Party of the USA.’ You both sign it. That's all.” For the first time they swapped glances.

“It's still a hypothesis,” Stevens said. “As such, we'll be glad to think it over.” “For how long?” “I don't know. Tomorrow or next day.” “I don't like it.” “The hell you don't.” Harvey's manners were showing. “Do you have to?” “I suppose not.” Wolfe was regretful. “But I don't like to leave a man around loose when I know he's a murderer. If we do it the simple way, and do it now, we'll have him locked up before midnight. If we postpone it-” Wolfe shrugged. “I don't know what he'll be doing-possibly nothing that will block us-” I had to keep a grin back. He might as well have asked them if they wanted to give Reynolds a day or two to do some more articles for the Gazette, because of course that was where he had them. Knowing that was in their minds, I tried to find some sign of it, any sign at all, in their faces, but they were old hands.

They might have been merely a couple of guys looking over a hypothesis and not liking it much.

Stevens spoke, in the same soft voice. “Go ahead and arrest him. If you don't get it the simple way you can try the other one.” “No, sir,” Wolfe said emphatically. “Without your statement it won't be easy to get him charged. It can be done, but not Just by snapping my fingers.” “You said,” Harvey objected, “that if we sign that thing that will be all, but it won't. We'd have to testify at the trial.” “Probably,” Wolfe conceded. “But only you two, as friendly witnesses for the prosecution, helping to get a murderer punished. The other way it will be you two and many more, and, if you answer in the negative, you will be shielding a murderer merely because he is a fellow Communist, which will not raise you in public esteem-in addition to risking perjury.” Stevens stood up. “We'll let you know in half an hour, maybe less.” “Good. The front room is soundproofed, or you can go upstairs.” “There's more room outdoors. Come on, Jerry.” Stevens led the way. I went to the front to let them out and then returned to the office. What I saw, re-entering, gave me an excuse to use the grin I had squelched. Wolfe had opened a drawer and got out a sheet of paper and the tube of paste.

“Before they're hatched?” I inquired.

“Bah. The screw is down hard.” “Taking candy from a baby,” I admitted. “Though I must say they're no babies, especially Stevens.” Wolfe grunted. “He's third from the top in the American Communist hierarchy.” “He doesn't look it but he acts it. I noticed they didn't even ask what evidence you've got that Reynolds did the killing, because they don't give a damn. All they want is to get the articles stopped and him burned. What I don't get, why did they just swallow the letter from a friend? Why didn't they give Reynolds a chance to answer a question?” “They don't give chances.” Wolfe was scornful. “Could he have proved the letter was a lie? How? Could he have explained the photograph of his membership card?

He could only have denied it, and they wouldn't have believed him. They trust no one, especially not one another, and I don't blame them. I suppose I shouldn't put paste on this thing until they have written their names on it.” I wasn't quite as cocksure as he seemed to be. I thought they might have to take it to a meeting, and that couldn't be done in half an hour. But apparently he knew more than I did about Stevens' rank and authority. I had let them out at six thirty-four, and at six fifty-two the bell rang and I went to let them in again. Only eighteen minutes, but the nearest phone booth was only half a block away.

They didn't sit. Harvey stood gazing at me as if there were something about me he didn't like, and Stevens advanced to the end of Wolfe's desk and announced, “We don't like the wording. We want it to read this way: “As loyal American citizens, devoted to the public welfare and the ideals of true democracy, we believe that all law-breakers should be punished, regardless of their political affiliations. Therefore, in the interest of justice, we have written our names on the above photograph, and we hereby attest that the man in that photograph is known to us as William Reynolds, and that to our knowledge he has been for eight years, until today, a member of the Communist Party of the USA. Upon learning that he was to be charged with murder, the Communist Party's executive Committee immediately expelled him.” My opinion of Stevens went up a notch, technically. With nothing to refer to, not even a cuff, he rattled that off as if he had known it by heart for years.