Rex Stout: The Final Deduction

Going to the kitchen, I got the tape and the playback from the cupboard and took them to the office. Wolfe sat and scowled at me as I got things ready, switched it on, ran it through to what might be the spot, and turned on the sound. Wolfe’s voice came.

“… in the instant heat of uncontrollable passion. But killing your husband is another matter. That was planned and premeditated and ruthlessly executed; and for a sordid end. Merely for money. You killed him in cold blood because he was going to deprive you of the fruit of your swindle. That, I submit, was execrable. That would be condemned even by-”

“That’s not true. That’s not true!”

“I advised you to say nothing, madam. That could be condemned even-”

“But it’s not true! It wasn’t the money! He could have had the money. I told him he could. He wouldn’t. It was Dinah. He was going to leave me because I had-because of Dinah. That was why-it wasn’t the money.”

It went on to the end, good and clear, as it should have been, since that installation had cost twelve hundred smackers. As I turned it off Wolfe said, “Satisfactory. Take it to Mr Cramer.”

“Now?”

“Yes. That wretch may be dead within the hour. If he isn’t at his office, have him summoned. I don’t want him storming in here tomorrow to bark at me for delaying delivery of a confession of a murderer.”

I reached for the tape.

Chapter 16

She not only wasn’t dead within the hour; she’s not dead yet. That was three months ago, and last week a jury of eight men and four women stayed hung for fifty-two hours and then gave up. It stood seven for conviction of first-degree murder and five for acquittal. Whether this report gets published or not depends on the jury at the second trial. If it hangs too, or acquits, this script will have to go into a locked drawer in my room, with several others to keep it company.

If you care about whether I took another trip to White Plains, I did-Tuesday noon, escorted by Ben Dykes. By then Mrs Vail had been taken to the District Attorney’s office, but everyone was too busy to worry about me. I was out on bail by five o’clock, but I had had my fingerprints taken for the nineteenth time. It took a week before the charge was quashed, and the cost of the bail cut Wolfe’s hundred grand down to $99,925. Even so, I’m having plenty of time to go for walks, getting angles on people and things. Having reached that bracket by the first of May, Wolfe relaxed and has stayed relaxed. If you offered him ten thousand bucks to detect who swiped your hat at a cocktail party yesterday he wouldn’t even bother to glare at you.

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