Rex Stout - Murder by the Book

Finch: "I'm afraid I can't do that. I don't own it, you know."

Corrigan: "But you have it. How did you get it?"

Finch: "Properly and legitimately, in the course of my business as a literary agent."

Corrigan: "You're not listed in the New York phone book. Two agents who were asked have never heard of you."

Finch: "Then you shouldn't be wasting time on me. Really, Mr. Corrigan, this isn't Russia and you're not the MVD. Are you?"

Corrigan: "No". What harm could it possibly do anyone for you to let me look over that manuscript?"

Finch: "It's not a question of harm. It's ordinary business ethics. An agent doesn't show his clients' manuscripts-to just anybody who would like to see them. Of course I'd gladly show it to you, in fact I'd be obliged to, if you were'represent-ing Mrs. Potter, whom I believe to be the owner of it. But as it is, nothing doing. That's final."

Corrigan: "In effect I am representing Mrs. Potter. She wrote my firm for advice. She has complete confidence in me. She refuses to engage me as her attorney only because she fears that a New York law firm would charge her a big fee. We wouldn't. We would charge her nothing."

Finch: "You should tell her that."

Corrigan: "I tried to. People here on the Coast, especially women of her class, have an ingrained suspicion of New York-e/s, you know that. It's a stupid prejudice, and Mrs. Potter is a stupid woman."

I thought to myself, brother, you couldn't be wronger. He was going on. "You may wonder why I'm making so much of this little matter, flying out here, and I'll tell you. I said other

interests may be involved, and I have good reason to think they are-important interests. I warn you now, for the record, that you may dangerously compromise both yourself and Mrs. Potter. On reliable information I believe that that manuscript is libelous. I believe that even in submitting it for sale you are risking severe penalties. I strongly advise you to get competent legal advice on it, and I assure you that I am qualified to give it. I offer it without charge, not through an impulse of benevolence, but to protect the interests I mentioned. Let me see that manuscript!"

Finch: "If I decide I need legal advice I know where to get it. I never* saw you before. I've never heard of you. How do I know what or who you are?"

Corrigan: "You don't. Naturally." Sounds indicated that he was leaving his chair. "Here. This may satisfy you. Here are- What's the matter?"

More sounds. Finch; "I'm polite, that's all. When a visitor stands, I stand. Keep your credentials, Mr. Corrigan. I don't care how good they are. As far as I'm concerned you're a stranger trying to stick his nose into my business, and I'm not having any. Flying out here because you think a manuscript may be libelous-that sounds pretty damn fishy. You'll see no manuscript that's in my care. You'll have to-uuhie!"

That's the best I can do at spelling the sound he made. Other immediate sounds were not spellable at all, though fairly in-terpretable. One was surely a chair toppling. Another was feet moving heavily and swiftly. Others were grunts. Then came three in a row that were unmistakable: a fist or fists landing, and, right after, something that was heavier than a chair hitting the floor.

Finch: "Get up and try again."

A pause with sound effects.

Corrigan: "I lost my head."

Finch: "Not yet. You may next time. Going?"

That ended the dialogue. Corrigan had no exit line that he cared to use. The only sounds that came were footsteps and the opening and closing of the door, then more footsteps and another opening of the door, and, after a wait, its closing and the lock being turned. I stayed put until the closet door swung open without my touching it.

Finch' stood grinning. "Well?" he demanded.

"You're on the honors list," I told him. "This is my lucky week, first Mrs. Potter and now you. Where did you plug him?"

"Two body jabs and one on the side of the neck."

"How did he invite it?"

"He swung first and then tried to lock me. That wasn't much, but the strain of that talk, with you listening-I'm hungry. I want some lunch."

"You won't get any, not now, unless it's a sandwich in a taxi. It's your move. He'll see that manuscript or bust, and one will get you ten he's on his way to Mrs. Potter, who he thinks is stupid. You will get there first, if you step on it, and stay there. The address is twenty-eight-nineteen Whitecrest Avenue, Glendale. I'll phone her. Get going!"

"But what-"

"Scoot, damn it! Write me a letter."

He moved. He got hat and raincoat from the closet and was gone. I uprighted the chair that had toppled, straightened a rug, went to the closet for my shoes, and put them on. Then I sat in the armchair by the phone and called the Glendale number.

"Mrs. Potter? Archie Goo-"

"Did he come?"

"He did. I hid in the closet while Finch talked with him. He would give his diploma from law school to see that manuscript. When he saw there was nothing doing he tried to lay Finch out and got knocked down. He left in a hurry, and I'm giving ten to one that he's on his way to you, so I sent Finch and I'm hoping he'll get there before Corrigan does. What-"

"Really, Mr. Goodwin, I'm not afraid!"

"Don't I know it. But Corrigan will bear down hard for you to name him your counsel, and it will take most of the pressure off if Finch is there. Anyway, I think you'll like Finch, he's not coarse and crude like me. You may have to give him some lunch. If you make Corrigan your attorney, no matter what he says, I'll come and throw rocks through your windows."

"That would be coarse and crude, wouldn't it? I honestly think you have no confidence in me at all."

"Little you know. If Corrigan gets there first, stall him until Finch comes, and don't forget Finch has been there before."

"I won't."

We hung up.

Going to a window and seeing with pleasure that it was raining only about half as hard as it had been, I opened it a good four inches to get some air. I raised the question whether to phone Wolfe and decided to await further developments.

Having had no opportunity for a look at the morning papers, I phoned down for some, and, when they came, got comfortable. The papers were no damn good, except the sports pages, but I gave them enough of a play to make sure that nothing had happened which required my immediate attention and then picked up Finch's book, Twilight of the Absolute, and gave it a try. I got the impression that it probably made sense, but I ran across nothing that convinced me that I had been wrong in trying to get along without it.

The phone rang. It was Finch. He was calling from Mrs. Potter's. He began by reminding me that he had not accepted my offer of ten to one. I agreed. "I know you didn't. He came, did he?"

"Yes. I was in ahead by five minutes. He was surprised to see me and not delighted. He insisted on talking with Mrs. Potter alone, but I listened in from the kitchen with her knowledge and consent. He poured it on about the danger of libel and how it wouldn't cost her anything for him to read the manuscript and give her his professional advice, and the way he put it, it was hard for her to handle. She couldn't brush him off as a stranger, as I had. You should have heard her."