Rex Stout - The Second Confesion

Wolfe lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “If you like it better with all that folderol. Do you want Mr Goodwin to type it, or will you write it by hand?”

I was just as well pleased that he preferred to use his pen. It would have been an honour to type such a patriotic paragraph, but I wouldn't put anything beneath a Commie, and what if one of them happened to take a notion to pull the letter from a friend out of his pocket and compare the typing? Even with the naked eye it would have been easy to spot the 'no' slightly off line and the faint defect in the “w”. So I gladly let Stevens sit at my desk to write it. He did so, and signed it, and wrote his name on the picture. Then Harvey did likewise. Wolfe and I signed as witnesses, after Wolfe had read it over. Having the tube of paste at hand, as I have said, he proceeded to attach the photograph to the top of the sheet.

“May I see it a moment?” Stevens asked.

Wolfe handed it to him.

There's a point,” Stevens said. “We can't let you have this without some kind of guarantee that Reynolds will be locked up tonight. You said before midnight.” “That's right. He will be.” “You can have this as soon as he is.” I knew damn well they'd have a monkey wrench. If it had been something not tearable, a stone for instance, I would simply have liberated it, and Harvey could have joined in if he felt like it “Then he won't be,” Wolfe said, not upset “Why not?” “Because that's the key I'm going to lock him in with. Otherwise, would I have gone to all this trouble to get it? Nonsense. I'm about to invite some people to come here this evening, but not unless I have that document. Please don't crumple it' “Will Reynolds be here?” “Yes.” “Then we'll come and bring this with us.” Wolfe shook his head. “You don't seem to listen to me. That paper stays here, or you're out of it until you get a subpoena. Give it to me, and I'll be glad to have you and Mr Harvey come this evening. That's an excellent idea. You will be excluded from part of it, but you can be comfortable in the front room. Why don't you do that?” That was the way it was finally compromised. They were plenty stubborn but, as Wolfe had said, the screw was down hard. They didn't know what Reynolds might spill in the next article, and they wanted him nailed quick, and Wolfe stood pat that he wouldn't move without the document. So he got it. It was arranged that they would return around ten o'clock and would stay put in the front room until invited to join the party.

When they had gone Wolfe put the document in his middle drawer.

“We're overstocked on photographs,” I remarked. “So that's why Mr Jones didn't need to load up. He knew him and one look was all he needed. Huh?” “Dinner's waiting.” “Yes, sir. It would be a funny coincidence if Harvey or Stevens happened to be Mr Jones. Wouldn't it?” “No. You can find coincidence in the dictionary. Get Mr Archer on the phone.” “Now? Dinner's waiting.” “Get him.” That wasn't so simple. At my first try, the District Attorney's office in White Plains, someone answered but couldn't help me any. I then got Archer's home and was told that he was out for the evening, but I wasn't to know where, and I had to press even to sell the idea that he should be informed immediately that Nero Wolfe wanted him to call. I hung up and settled back to wait for anything from five minutes to an hour. Wolfe was sitting up straight, frowning, with his lips tight; a meal was spoiling. After a while the sight of him was getting on my nerves, and I was about to suggest that we move to the dining-room and start, when the phone rang. It was Archer.

“What is it?” He was crisp and indignant.

Wolfe said he needed his advice.

“What about? I'm dining with friends. Can't it wait until morning?” “No, sir. I've got the murderer of Louis Rony, with evidence to convict, and I want to get rid of him.” “The murderer-” A short silence. Then, “I don't believe it!” “Of course you don't, but it's true. He'll be at my office this evening. I want your advice on how to handle it. I can ask Inspector Cramer of the New York Police to send men to take him into custody, or I can-” “No! Now listen, Wolfe-” “No, listen to me. If your dinner is waiting, so is mine. I would prefer that you take him, for two reasons. First, he belongs to you. Second, I would like to clean it up this evening, and in order to do that the matter of Mr Kane's statement will have to be disposed of. That will require the presence not only of Mr Sperling and Mr Kane, but also of the others who were there the evening Mr Rony was killed. If you come or send someone, they'll have to come too. All of them, if possible; under the circumstances I don't think they'll be reluctant.

Can you have them here by ten o'clock?” “But my God, this is incredible! I need a minute to think-” “You've had a week to think but preferred to let me do it for you. I have, and acted. Can you have them here by ten o'clock?” “I don't know, damn it! You fire this at me point-blank!” “Would you rather have had me hold it a day or two? I'll expect you at ten, or as close to that as you can make it. If you don't bring them along you won't get in; after all, in this jurisdiction you're merely visitors. If ends have to be left dangling I'll let the New York Police have him.” Wolfe and I hung up. He pushed his chair back and arose.

“You can't dawdle over your dinner, Archie. If we're to keep our promise to Mr Cohen, and we must, you'll have to go to see him.”

CHAPTER Twenty-Two

As I understand it, the Commies think that they get too little and capitalists get too much of the good things in life. They sure played hell with that theory that Tuesday evening. A table in the office was loaded with liquids, cheese, nuts, home-made pate, and crackers, and not a drop or a crumb was taken by any of the thirteen people there, including Wolfe and me. On a table in the front room there was a similar assortment in smaller quantities, and Harvey and Stevens, just two of them, practically cleaned it up. If I had noticed it before the Commies left I would have called it to their attention. I admit they had more time, having arrived first, at ten sharp, and also they had nothing to do most of the evening but sit and wait.

I don't think I have ever seen the office more crowded, unless it was at the meeting of the League of Frightened Men. Either Archer had thought pressure was called for or Wolfe had been correct in assuming that none of the Stony Acres bunch would be reluctant about coming, for they were all there. I had let them choose seats as they pleased, and all three Sperling women-Mom, Madeline, and Gwenn-were on the big yellow couch in the corner, which meant that my back was to them when I faced Wolfe. Paul and Connie Emerson were on chairs side by side over by the globe, and Jimmy Sperling was seated near them. Webster Kane and Sperling were closer to Wolfe's desk. District Attorney Archer was in the red leather chair; I had put him there because I thought he rated it. What made it thirteen was the fact that two dicks were present: Ben Dykes, brought by Archer, and Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Manhattan Homicide, who had informed me that Westchester had invited him. Purley, my old friend and even older enemy, sat over by the door.

It started off with a bang. When they were all in and greetings, such as they were, had been attended to, and everyone was seated, Wolfe began his preamble.

He had got only four words out when Archer blurted, “You said the man that murdered Rony would be here!” “He is.” “Where?” “You brought him.” After that beginning it was only natural that no one felt like having a slice of cheese or a handful of nuts. I didn't blame any of them, least of all William Reynolds. Several of them made noises, and Sperling and Paul Emerson both said something, but I didn't catch either of them because Gwenn's voice, clear and strong but with a tremble under it, came from behind my back.