Rex Stout - Murder by the Book

They were ten minutes late, so Wolfe was in the office when they arrived. Before any conversation got started I noticed an interesting little item. Off the end of Wolfe's desk, facing it, the big red leather chair is the most convenient spot for a visitor, and when there are two or more visitors that is obviously the seat for whoever has priority. When that group had been there before, Corrigan, the senior partner, had occupied it, but this time who should pop into it but the white-haired blinking Briggs, Helen Troy's Uncle Fred. Apparently no one remarked it but me, and that was equally interesting. As they sat, Emmett Phelps, the long-armed six-foot encyclopedia, was nearest me; Corrigan was next; then the sleepy-eyed slumpy Louis Kustin, successor to Conroy O'Malley as the firm's trial man; and then the disbarred O'Malley with a bitter twist to his mouth.

Wolfe's eyes went from left to right and back again. "Well, gentlemen?"

Three of them spoke at once.

"I can't converse with bedlam," Wolfe said testily.

Frederick Briggs, in the red leather chair, blinking, took the ball. "At our previous visit," he said slowly and distinctly, "I came with my associates under protest. On that occasion you were invited to question us. This time we have questions to ask you. You may remember that I characterized your methods as unethical and reprehensible, and you justified that criticism when you fabricated a notation on Dykes's letter of resignation, imitating the handwriting of one of us, and gave it to the police. What defense do you offer for that action?"

Wolfe's brows were up. "None, Mr. Briggs."

Briggs blinked furiously. "That is not acceptable. I insist- we insist-on an answer."

"Then I'll give you one." Wolfe was not aroused. "As you say, the notation was in Mr. Corrigan's hand. There are three possible explanations of how it was made. One, by Mr. Corrigan himself some time ago. Two, by me recently. Three, by any one of you, including Mr. Corrigan, either before or after I asked to see the letter. The letter was easily accessible, there in your office files. You, sir, can't possibly know which explanation- is correct, unless you made the notation yourself. Questioned by the police, all of you have denied making it. I

deny making it." Wolfe flipped a hand. "Surely you don't credit me with a monopoly in mendacity?"

"That's evasive. I insist-"

"Forget it, Fred," Kustin cut in irritably. His sleepy eyes were awake. "I told you, you won't get anywhere with that, and there's no jury to work on even if you knew how to do it. Get to the point."

"He won't." Phelps, the indifferent scholar, was irritated too. "Let Con do it."

O'Malley shook his head. His mouth kept its twist even when he spoke. "Thanks, Emmett, but I'm disbarred. You forget?"

"Go on, Fred," Corrigan told his junior-not in years.

"In my opinion," Briggs maintained, "we should demand an answer on that, but I defer under protest." He blinked at Wolfe. "To proceed. All five of us, including Mr. O'Malley, have a mutual and common interest, to protect the reputation and welfare of our firm. In that interest we are indissolubly joined. Your position, openly stated, has been that a major factor in the death of Leonard Dykes was the manuscript of a novel, presumably written by him under an assumed name; that the manuscript was also a major factor in the deaths of two women; and that one or more members of this firm have guilty knowledge of the manuscript and therefore, inferen-tially, of the deaths. Is that correct?"

Wolfe nodded. "It's badly put, but I'll pass it."

"Tell your man to take his notebook, and I'll restate it."

"Damn it, Fred," Kustin objected, "he accepted it. What more do you want? Get on."

Briggs blinked at him. "I want to proceed as agreed, without unnecessary interruptions." He went to Wolfe. "Very well, you accept it. Then the contents of that manuscript are a vital element in your investigation. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And therefore the contents of the manuscript are of vital importance to us, the members of the firm, and Mr. O'Malley. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And therefore, if we were presented with an opportunity to learn the contents of the manuscript it would be natural and proper for us to make every effort to take advantage of it. Is that true?"

Wolfe rubbed his nose. "I don't want to quibble, but though it would indeed be natural, its propriety might be questioned. If to protect legitimate interests, yes. If to shield a criminal, no."

"There is no question of shielding a criminal."

Wolfe shrugged. "If that is stipulated, what you said is true."

"Very well. It was in furtherance of that effort that Mr. Corrigan went to California. It is in furtherance of that effort that we are here now. We don't know how you managed to anticipate Mr. Corrigan's effort, but you did. Your man not only got there but got inside of him. Since he succeeded in preventing Mr, Corrigan from seeing the manuscript, it may fairly be assumed that he himself did see it, and that therefore you and he are now acquainted with its contents. It was you who involved our firm in this affair. It was you who persuaded the police that we were involved. It was you who forged a notation on a letter we sent you-"

"Withdraw that," Wolfe snapped.

"That won't help, Fred," O'Malley advised him. "Don't drag it in."

Briggs blinked at him and then at Wolfe. "On consideration I withdraw that remark pro tempore, without prejudice. But that doesn't affect my conclusion, that our demand is justified, to be told the substance of that manuscript. You involved us. We demand that you warrant that involvement."

Briggs blinked around. "Well?" he challenged. "Is that clear and cogent?"

They agreed that it was.

Wolfe grunted. "Clear enough," he assented, "but it took you long enough to say it. You gentlemen are making an extraordinary pother, coming here in a body like this. Why the devil didn't one of you merely phone rae and ask me to tell you what's in that manuscript? It would have taken you five seconds to ask it and me two seconds to answer it."

"What would you have answered?" Kustin demanded.

"That I'm not quite ready."

"Not quite ready for what?"

"To act."

To appreciate the full effect of those two little words you would have had to hear Wolfe pronounce them. He didn't snarl them or snap them, his voice kept its normal pitch, but if any-. one present had anything to fear the full menace of it was in

those two calm, precise syllables. They looked at one another.

Briggs asked indignantly, "Do you mean you refuse to tell us anything about it?"

Wolfe nodded. "At the moment, yes. I'm not quite ready. As practicing attorneys, you gentlemen know that the potency of knowledge depends on how and when it is used. I went to some trouble to get this and I intend to get full value from it."

Emmett Phelps stood up. "I told you fellows, didn't I? We're wasting time on him."

"Mr. Phelps is bored," Wolfe said dryly.

"Buy it from him," O'Malley suggested. "Make him an offer. It can be deducted as a legitimate expense, can't it, Emmett?" He left his chair. "Only don't expect me to contribute. I'm broke."