Rex Stout - Fer-De-Lance

I pretended I didn’t notice it, just waited with my pencil. She said, "I don’t know. Really I don’t remember."

"Probably in the truck," I said. "Since he wasn’t much of a fan he probably wouldn’t bother with it in the car. Where is it now?"

I expected that would tighten her up some more, but it didn’t. She was calm but a little determined. "I don’t know that either. I supposed you knew it can’t be found."

"Oh," I said. "The golf bag can’t be found?"

"No. The men from White Plains and Pleasantville have searched everywhere, this whole house, the club, even all over the links; they can’t find it."

Yes, I thought to myself, and you, young lady, you’re damn well pleased they can’t! I said, "Do you mean to say that no one remembers anything about it?"

"No. That is, yes." She hesitated. "I understand that the boy who was caddying for Father says that he put the bag in the car, by the driver’s seat, when they-when Larry and Dr. Bradford brought Father home. Larry and Dr. Bradford do not remember seeing it."

"Strange. I know I am not here to collect opinions, only facts, Miss Barstow, but if you will permit me, doesn’t that strike you as strange?"

"Not at all. They were not likely to notice a golf bag at such a time."

"But after they got here it must have been removed sometime-some servant, the chauffeur…"

"No one remembers it."

"I may speak with them?"

"Certainly." She was scornful. I didn’t know what kind of a career she had mapped out, but I could have warned her not to try the stage.

That was that. It looked to me as if the kernel was gone, leaving practically no nut at all. I switched on her.

"What kind of a driver did your father use? Steel shaft or wooden?"

"Wood. He didn’t like steel."

"Face plain or inset?"

"Plain, I think. I think so. I’m not sure I remember. Larry’s has an inset, so has mine."

"You seem to remember your brother’s all right."

"Yes." Her eyes were level at me. "This is not an inquisition, I believe, Mr. Goodwin."

"Pardon." I grinned at her. "Excuse it please, I’m upset. Maybe I’m even sore. There’s nothing in Westchester County I’d rather look at than that golf bag, especially the driver."

"I’m sorry."

"Oh no, you’re not. It raises a lot of questions. Who took the bag out of the car? If it was a servant, which one, and how loyal and incorruptible is he? Five days later, when it became known that one of the clubs had performed the murder it had been designed for, who got the bag and hid it or destroyed it? You or your brother or Dr. Bradford? You see the questions I’m up against. And where is it hid or how was it destroyed? It isn’t easy to get rid of a thing as big as that."

She had got up while I was talking and stood very composed and dignified. Her voice was composed too. "That will do. It wasn’t in the agreement that I was to listen to idiotic insinuations.

"Bravo, Miss Barstow." I stood up too. "You’re absolutely right, but I meant no offense, I’m just upset. Now, if I could see your mother for a moment. I’ll not get upset any more.

"No. You can’t see her."

"That was in the agreement."

"You have broken it."

"Rubbish." I grinned. "It’s the agreement that makes it safe for you to let me take liberties with it. I’ll take no liberties with your mother. While I may be a roughneck, I know when to keep my gloves on."

She looked at me. "Will five minutes be enough?"

"I don’t know. I’ll make it as short as possible."

She turned and started for the path that led toward the house, and I followed her. On the way I saw a lot of pebbles I wanted to kick. The missing golf bag was a hot one. Of course I hadn’t expected to have the satisfaction of taking that driver back to Wolfe that evening, since Anderson would certainly have copped it. I gave him credit for being able to put two and two together after they have been set down for him ready to add; and I had counted on a request from Sarah Barstow to persuade him to let me give it the once over. But now-the whole damn bag was gone! Whoever had done it, it not only gave me a pain, it struck me as pretty dumb. If it had been just the driver it would have made sense, but why the whole bag?

The house inside was swell. I mean, it was the kind of a house most people never see except in the movies. While there were plenty of windows, the light didn’t glare anywhere, it came in soft, and the rugs and furniture looked very clean and careful and expensive. There were flowers around and it smelled good and seemed cool and pleasant, for outdoors the sun was getting hot. Sarah Barstow took me through a big hall and a big room through to another hall, and on the other side of that through a door. Then we were in a sort of sun-room, with one side all glazed, though most of the blinds were pulled down nearly to the floor so there wasn’t much sunshine coming in. There were some plants, and a lot of wicker chairs and lounges. In one chair a woman sat by a table sorting out the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Miss Barstow went over to her.

"Mother. This is Mr. Goodwin. I told you he was coming." She turned to me and indicated a chair. I took it. Mrs. Barstow let the jigsaw pieces drop from her fingers and turned to look at me.

She was very handsome. She was fifty-six, her daughter had told me, but she looked over sixty. Her eyes were gray, deep-set and far apart, her hair was nearly white, and while her face with its fine features was quite composed, I got the impression that there was nothing easy or natural about that, it came from the force of a strong personal will. She kept looking at me without saying anything until I was guessing that I didn’t look very composed myself. Sarah Barstow had taken a chair some distance away. I was about ready to open up from my end when Mrs. Barstow suddenly spoke: "I know your business, Mr. Goodwin."

I nodded. "It really isn’t my business, it is that of my employer, Mr. Nero Wolfe. He asked me to thank you for permitting me to come."

"He is welcome." The deep-set gray eyes never left me. "Indeed, I am grateful that someone-even a stranger whom I shall never see-should acknowledge my authority over the doors of my house."

"Mother!"

"Yes, Sarah. Don’t be offended, dear; I know-and it is of no importance whether this Mr. Goodwin does or not-that the authority has not been usurped. It was not you who forced me to resign, it was not even your father. According to Than, it was God; probably His hands were idle and Satan furnished the mischief."

"Mother, please." Sarah Barstow had got up and approached us. "If you have anything to ask, Mr. Goodwin…"

I said, "I have two questions. May I ask you two questions, Mrs. Barstow?"

"Certainly. That is your business."

"Good. The first one is easy to ask, but may be hard to answer. That is, it may require thought and a long memory. Of all people, you are the one probably have wanted to kill Peter Oliver Barstow? Who had a grievance against him, a new one or maybe a very old one? What enemies did he have? Who hated him?"