Rex Stout - Murder by the Book

"I would have liked to. What was her line?"

"Simple. She said if there was libel in the manuscript she didn't want to know it and didn't want me to, because then it wouldn't be right to sell it to the movies, but if we just go ahead and sell it, it will be up to the movie people and surely they have good lawyers. He couldn't get it into her head that even so she would be responsible."

"I'll bet he couldn't. Kiss her for me."

"I wouldn't mind a bit. She is sitting here. Frankly, it was a waste of taxi fare to send me out here."

"No. Of course Corrigan has left?"

"Yes. He kept his taxi."

"He may be back. He came to get his hands on that manuscript and he intends to. If he does go back there's no telling what he'll try. Stick around. Stay until you hear from me."

"I think Mrs. Potter feels that her husband doesn't like the idea of men in the house while he's away, especially one at a time."

"He wouldn't, the bubblehead. You stay and do the housework for her. While you're at it, straighten up that tree that's just been planted in the back. It's crooked. I'll see that you get away before Bubblehead gets home."

He said I'd better.

I stretched out my legs, clasped my hands behind my head, and frowned at my toes. It seemed that a call to Wolfe was in order. As far as I could see it was Corrigan's move, but Wolfe might have something to suggest besides sitting on my prat waiting for it. On the other hand, I still had room within the framework of my instructions, and if I could think up one that would be worthy of Mrs. Potter I ought to do it. So I sat and invented bright ideas, but none that really shone, and was working away at the fourth or fifth when I became aware of a noise at the door. A key had been inserted and was being turned. As I was shaping the thought that chambermaids should be trained always to knock before entering a room, the door swung open, and there, facing me, was James A. Corri-gan.

He saw me, of course, but I wasn't quick-witted enough to realize instantly that with the light from the window at my back he hadn't recognized me, so when he said something like, "Oh, I beg your pardon, the wrong room," I thought he was showing enough presence of mind for both of us, with some left over. But then he did recognize me and he goggled. Also he gaped.

I arose and spoke. "No, this is it. Come on in."

He stood, frozen.

"Shut the door and come on in," I insisted. "You might as well. I was expecting you. Did you think Finch would be fool enough to run off to Glendale and leave the manuscript here in a drawer unguarded?" He moved, and I added quickly, "If you dash off I won't chase you. I'll call downstairs, and if necessary I'll call the cops, and we'll not only find you but also find out how you got that key. I don't think it's breaking and entering, but by God it's something, and I'll hang it on you."

He hooked his elbow on the edge of the door and swung it. It didn't quite close, and he backed against it until it did. Then he walked on in and stopped at arm's length.

"So you followed me here," he stated. He was a little hoarse. s With his jockey's physique and prizefighter's jaw and hungry eyes, he was certainly not imposing. The top of his head was a good inch below my eye level.

He repeated it, this time as a question. "You followed roe here?"

I shook my head. "I can't think of a single question you could ask that I would feel like answering. Nor do I want to

ask any, except maybe one: why don't you call Nero Wolfe and talk it over with him? Reverse the charge. There's a phone."

He sat down, not to be sociable. It was probably his knees. "This is persecution," he said.

"Not in the statutes," I objected. "But what you just did is, getting a key to another man's hotel room, whether by bribery or just asking for it. Have you anything to say?" "No."

"Absolutely nothing?" "No."

"Are you going to call Mr. Wolfe?" "No."

"Then I'll use the phone myself. Excuse me." I got the phone book, looked up a number, lifted the receiver, and asked for it. A female voice answered, and I gave my name and asked to speak to Mr. Dolman. In a moment he was on.

"Dolman? Archie Goodwin. I'm in Room Twelve-sixteen at the South Seas Hotel. A man named James A. Corrigan is here with me, but will soon be leaving, and I want him tailed right. Send me three good men at once, and have three more ready to take over as required. He'll prob-" "What the hell, is he there hearing you?" "Yes, so don't send Gibson. He'll probably be moving around, so they should have a car. Step on it, will you?"

I hung up, because I was through and also because Corrigan had already started to move around. He was heading for the door. I got to him, gripped a shoulder and hauled him back, and faced him.

He didn't lose his head. "This is assault," he stated. "Persecution and assault," I agreed. "How can I prove you entered this room illegally if I let you leave it? Shall I get the house dick up here?"

He stood, breathing, his hungry eyes on me. I was between him and the door. He turned, went to a chair, and sat. I stayed on my feet.

"They can't get here in less than a quarter of an hour," 1 told him. "Why not say something?"

Not a word. His big jaw was clamped. I leaned against the closet door and contemplated him.

It Was nearer half an hour than a quarter before there was a knock on the door. I went and opened it and invited them to enter, and they filed in past me, and I'll be damned if the

third of the trio wasn't Gibson. He grinned at me as he went by. Leaving the door open, I detoured around them and took a look. One of them, a wiry little guy with a crooked nose, spoke.

"I'm Phil Buratti. I'm in charge."

"Good," I told him. "It's a straight tailing job." I jerked a thumb. "This is James A. Corrigan, a lawyer from New York. He'll be leaving any minute. Since he knows you, keep as close as you like. Report direct to me, here."

Buratti stared at me. "He's the subject?"

"Right. Don't lose him."

Gibson let out a guffaw that rattled the windows. Corrigan got up and marched. His direct route to the door was between the trio and me, and he took it. He went on out. The trio didn't move.

"Are you," I demanded, "waiting for the hounds?"

"Loony," Buratti said. "Come on, boys."

He led the way, and they followed.

I shut the door and went to the armchair and sat. Before I phoned Wolfe I wanted to make up my mind how thick I had been to sit there and let Corrigan walk in on me. I looked at my watch and saw 12:20, which meant 3:20 in New York. I decided that I had probably not been brilliant but there was no point in advertising it, and put in a call. The circuits were busy. Of course it was the worst time of day for it, with Los Angeles and Hollywood wanting to get New York before lunch and New York wanting to get the coast on returning from lunch. I sat, walked back and forth, and sat some more. Every ten or fifteen minutes the operator called to say the circuits were still busy. One o'clock came, and a quarter after. Finally my call got through, and I had Wolfe's voice.