Rex Stout - A Right to Die

"No!" _

"I hope not. If you did, as long as I reserve that statement, I'll be withholding vital evidence; and I prefer to reserve it, tentatively. You say the police mustn't know. On the contrary, they probably must, sooner or later; but I would like to postpone it until I can name the murderer, and it's possible that by then your movements that evening will be of no consequence. I have-"

"You won't tell them?"

"Not immediately. I have a question that is of consequence. I want you to concentrate on it all your powers of observation and memory. If you didn't kill her, the person who did left the apartment and building within minutes, perhaps seconds, of the time you arrived. Possibly as you arrived. He may have been in the third-floor hall, leaving, as you mounted the stairs, and retreated to the floor above, remained there until you departed, and left the building soon after you. Or, bolder or stupider, he may have passed you on the stairs, descending as you mounted. Search your memory. Whom did you see, either while you were in the building, or leaving it after you did, as you stood and watched the entrance?"

"I didn't see anybody."

"No one at all?"

"Yes. No one in the building or leaving it."

Wolfe's head turned. "What about it, Archie?"

"Possible," I said. "Granting that she didn't enter the apartment, that she stayed in the hall, it was only about twenty minutes. It was between eight-thirty and nine, when people are set for the evening, at the movies or at home or somewhere. It's quite possible."

"Pfui." He had looked at the clock a couple of times, and he looked again. Two minutes to four. He pushed his chair back, rose, and scowled down at her. "You're in a pickle, madam. If you killed her, you're doomed. If you didn't, your chance of escaping a painful and perilous ordeal depends wholly on my competence and wit and luck." He headed for the door, but a step short of it he stopped and wheeled to say, "And Mr. Goodwin's." He turned and went. The sound of the elevator came.

She was looking at me, and from her eyes it seemed likely that she was deciding to go feminine again. Her mouth opened and closed. Finally she said, "You're Mr. Goodman."

I said, "Are you crazy?"

She stared.

"Look," I said, "if the best you can do is to tell me what my name is and get it wrong, you may not be crazy but you're pooped. There's absolutely nothing you can do except sign off and stay off." I stood up. "Since I brought you, I suppose I should take you home, but I'm expecting a caller. I'll see you to a taxi." I moved, toward the door, and she got up and came. Saul gave me a wink as I passed. It's his one had habit.

11

Like everyone else, including you, I frequently make assumptions on insufficient grounds. All I knew about William Magnus was what Rae Kallman had told me, that he was a student at the NYU law school in Washington Square, and that he had arranged a meeting for Susan Brooke to plug civil rights and the ROCC. So I knew what he would be like: earnest and honest, of course, and dedicated; probably underfed, but the fire of freedom in his eyes; either a sweater and unpressed pants, or, if he knew the importance of correct appearance, an almost-clean white shirt and gray tie and a dark gray suit, a little worn but without a spot. Perhaps I should mention that I wouldn't be caught dead in a white shirt except when an evening requires the uniform.

Therefore when the doorbell rang a little before five-o'clock and I went to the hall and saw a handsome halfback in a two-hundred-dollar camel's-hair coat, of course it wasn't Magnus. But it was. I went and opened the door. His handshake was firm and friendly, but not dedicated. His voice was full and friendly, but not pushy. When I turned from hanging the coat up, I saw as much of a custom-made blue-and-yellow-checked shirt as a two-button brown tweed jacket would let me see. When I took him to the office he flopped into the red leather chair as if it belonged to him. That made it complicated, because at my desk I would be twelve feet away, so I went and took Wolfe's chair, and he grinned and said, "You don't belong there, do you?"

I gave him the grin back. "I always belong wherever I am."

He frowned. "Who said that?"

"I did."

"No, really. You read that somewhere."

"Nope. You fed me a slider and I just happened to connect."

He grinned. "Okay, you're on base. Shall I try to pick you off?"

"I might steal on you. Let me toss one. Did Susan Brooke make a phone call at a quarter past five on Monday, March second?"

He leaned back and crossed his legs. His dark brown socks, with light brown stripes, had set him, or his old man, back four bucks. 'The trouble is," he said, "that when I am asked questions I get an irresistible itch to give trick answers. It's probably a neurosis,. you'd better just let me tell it. The cop that tried me first, and the lawyer-what's his name, wait a minute, Oster, that's it-and the assistant district attorney, they all insisted on asking questions, and I'm afraid they got somewhat confused. I don't want to confuse you too. I wish you'd tell me who said that about always belonging wherever you are. Or wrote it."

"Damn it, I did. If anyone beat me to it, I don't know who or when or where. Tell me about Susan Brooke and the phone call."

"Sure. I'm enjoying this. Nero Wolfe's office." He looked around. "That's the biggest globe I ever saw. Nice rug. Books and books. I'd love to spend a week going through all those files. It would probably teach me more than a year at law school. Anyway, I'm going into politics. I'm going to be governor of New York" Having uncrossed his legs to look around, he crossed them again. "But you want to hear about Susan Brooke."

"That was the idea,"

"Did you know her?"

"No. I met her once. Five days before she died."

"I met her a year ago. She was a lovely little dame, but I'm going to wait until I'm thirty to marry. It was on account of her I got onto civil rights. I wanted to help her, and anyway, if you're in politics you're in civil rights whether you like it or not. I set up that meeting for her that day. I am now telling you."

He uncrossed his legs, and his face changed completely. He was working. "It was in a room across the hall from an office used by members of the faculty. There's a phone in the office, extension seven-nine-three, and I had arranged to use it from four-thirty on and pay for the calls. I'm disposing of that factor. Twelve local calls were made on that phone between four-thirty and six-thirty, and I made three of them. Two of my calls were to the ROCC, but neither of them was anywhere near a quarter past five. No record was kept at the switchboard of the numbers called or the exact times. Is that covered?"

"Trick answer. Yes."

"I expected about forty people, and at five o'clock about forty were there, students and three or four faculty members. Only a few were seated. It's a big room, and we were moving around, groups here and there. I didn't call the meeting to order until Susan came, and she was late. I don't know exactly what time she arrived, and apparently no one does. I was over by a window, talking with four or five students, and she came and said, 'Here I am, late as usual.' I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes past five. So there it is. To my knowledge, it's possible that she had used the phone across the hall, but did she? I don't know. I have asked around, and I haven't found anyone who does know. Questions."