Rex Stout - A Right to Die

"Yes. That's why I'm here."

"Has he a lawyer?"

"Yes. He's at the district attorney's office now.

"His name, please?"

"Why?"

Wolfe turned a palm up. "Must I get it from the morning paper?"

Cramer turned both palms up. "Harold R. Oster. A Negro. Counsel for the Rights of Citizens Committee."

Wolfe's eyes came to me. "Archie, get Mr. Parker."

I got the phone. I didn't have to consult the book for either of the numbers, office or home, of Nathaniel Parker, the member of the bar. Knowing he was often at his office after hours I tried that one first and got him. Wolfe took his phone, and I stayed on.

"Mr. Parker? I need some information confidentially. You will not be quoted. Do you know a lawyer named Harold R. Oster?"

"I know of him. I've met him. He's with the Rights of Citizens Committee. He handles civil rights cases."

"Yes. How efficient would he be as counsel for a man charged with murder?"

"Oh." Pause. "Dunbar Whipple?"

"Yes."

"Are you on that? "

"I merely want information."

"You usually do. Well… confidentially, I would say no. He has ability, no doubt of that, but in my opinion he might take a wrong line in a case where-a Negro killing a white woman. I mean charged with killing her. If I were Dunbar Whipple, I would want a different kind of man. Of course I may be completely wrong, but-"

"Enough, Mr. Parker, wrong or not. Thank you. You won't be quoted." Wolfe hung up and turned. "Archie. Did Dunbar Whipple kill Susan Brooke?"

I know him so well. Anyone might suppose he was showing off to Cramer, showing him how eccentric and unique he was, but no. He merely wanted to know what I would say. If we had been alone I would have told him that one would get him ten that Dunbar was innocent, but with Cramer there I preferred to skip the odds.

"No," I said.

He nodded. "Get Mr. Whipple."

Before turning to the phone I shot a glance at Cramer. Chin down, eyes narrowed, and lips tight, he was glued to Wolfe. He knows him fairly well too, and he suspected what was coming.

It would have cramped Wolfe's style a little if Whipple hadn't been at home, but he was. He answered the phone. I started to tell him that Mr. Wolfe wanted to speak to him, but Wolfe was at his phone and cut in.

"This is Nero Wolfe, Mr. Whipple. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I owe you an apology. You were right, and I was wrong. I have just learned that your son is being held on a charge of murder. I am convinced that the charge is unfounded. If you want my services on your son's behalf, I offer them without fee. My previous undertaking to discharge my obligation to you was fatuous; I should have said no. Now I say yes."

Silence. Then: "His lawyer phoned an hour ago that he would probably be home by eight o'clock."

"His lawyer was wrong. I have more accurate information. Do you accept my offer?"

"Yes. Of course. We'll pay all we can."

"You'll pay nothing. My self-esteem needs repairs. But there's a question: the approval of your son and his lawyer."

"They'll approve. I know they will. But how did you learn-are you sure…"

"Yes. A policeman is sitting here in the chair you sat in. When you have the approval of your son and his lawyer, let me know and I'll proceed. I must talk with you and the lawyer."

"Of course. I knew this-I knew it would happen, but now that-now that-"

"Yes. Some time has been lost. Let me know." He hung up and swiveled.

Cramer asked, cold and slow, "What kind of a goddam play is this?"

Wolfe pinched his nose. "I believe I have never told you of an experience I had years ago at a place in West Virginia. I wanted to leave and come home, and I wanted a certain favoc from a certain man. A young colored man made it possible for me to realize both desires. His name was Paul Whipple. I hadn't seen him since until ten days ago-no, eleven. Now I'll even the score."

"The hell you will. You can't possibly know that Dunbar Whipple didn't kill that girl. The only way you could know that would be if you thought you knew who did kill her."

"I haven't the slightest idea who killed her."

"I don't believe you. It's obvious that when Goodwin was checking on her he dug up something that you intend to use to pull one of your goddam fancy stunts. You're not going to. I told you that if you had taken him on Goodwin would have been wanted downtown, and now I'm telling you that I'm taking you too. To the district attorney." He rose. "If you want it done right, you're under arrest as material witness. Come on."

Wolfe, in no hurry, put his hands on the desk rim to push his chair back, arose, and got the edge of his vest between thumbs and forefingers to pull it down. "We shall of course stand mute and get bail tomorrow. May we have two minutes to call Mr. Parker? Get him, Archie."

I slanted my eyes up at Cramer, waiting politely for permission, since I was under arrest. He stood and breathed for ten seconds. He spoke. "You told Whipple that the charge against his son is unfounded. Let's hear you reply to what I said, that if you say Dunbar Whipple didn't kill her you think you know who did."

"I did reply. I have no idea who killed her."

"Then why didn't he?"

"I am not obliged to account for a conclusion I have formed. But I tell you on my word of honor-a phrase I respect, as you know-that the conclusion has no evidential basis. I know nothing of the circumstances that led to the death of Susan Brooke that you don't know; indeed, I know much less than you do. I offer a suggestion. I am now committed to act in the interest of Mr. Whipple, I would like to proceed without delay, and I would rather not spend tonight and part of tomorrow in custody, mute or not. I'm going to ask Mr. Goodwin to type a full report, with all conversations verbatim, of his investigation of Susan Brooke, and I offer to send you a copy of it, with his affidavit. That should satisfy you."

"What about you?"

"Dismiss me. All my knowledge of the matter will be contained in Mr. Goodwin's report. Still my word of honor."

"When will I get the report?"

"I can't say. How long will it take, Archie?"

"It depends," I told him. "If you want it all, every word, say forty hours. Three days and evenings. I talked with many people about many things. If you want only what could possibly be relevant, ten or twelve hours should do it. The affidavit could cover it."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Cramer said. "By five o'clock."

"Maybe, but no guarantee."

He regarded Wolfe, opened his mouth and closed it again, about-faced, and was going. Wolfe raised his voice to tell his back, "We are under arrest!"

"Balls," Cramer said without stopping. As I got up and went to the hall to see that he was outside when the door shut, I was thinking that you couldn't blame him for being rude. He was facing the fact that they were slapping the big one on a man that Nero Wolfe had decided to take on. I didn't offer to help him with his hat and coat; it wouldn't have been appreciated. When he was out and the door shut I stepped back in the office. Wolfe was back in his chair, looking sour.