Rex Stout - Death of a Dude

"Neither did I," DuBois said, "but of course I can't prove it."

"Had either of you had any previous contact with Mr Brodell?"

They both said no. Wolfe's eyes went to the right. "Had you, Dr Amory? Had you ever seen Mr Brodell before he arrived that Monday?"

"I had not." Amory's deep full voice would have been just right for Colihan.

"Had you, Mrs Amory?"

"No."

He stayed at her. "What was your opinion of him?"

"Of Philip Brodell?"

"Yes."

"Well… I could make something up for that because you can't see inside my skull either. But I'm on your side, you know. I don't think anyone here killed him, why would they, but I'm rooting for you. My opinion of him-you see, we knew he was coming, and we knew he was the father of that girl's baby, so I had an idea of him before I saw him. You know how a woman's mind works."

"I do not. No one does. Why are you rooting for me?"

"Oh, they're all so cocksure about it. A he-man father and his daughter's honour, hurray. As for Philip Brodell, I was so busy trying to see what he had that had made it so easy for him to seduce that girl-I suppose you know everybody thought she was what they call a good girl-that I don't really know what my opinion was. Anyway it wouldn't help you any, would it?"

"It might if I could get it. One possibility that has been suggested to Mr Goodwin is that Mr Brodell seduced you, and your husband learned of it and removed him. That has the attraction that he has no alibi."

The Amorys had both made noises. His was a scornful grunt, and hers was an amused snort. "Of course," she said, "the Greve girl would suggest that. Naturally. I doubt if he could have seduced me in three years. But in three days?" She looked at me. "Why didn't you ask me?"

"I was deciding how to put it," I said. "The suggestion didn't come from Miss Greve."

"I am aware," Amory told Wolfe, "that anyone remotely involved in a murder investigation must expect impertinences and absurdities, but we don't have to encourage them. I covered some ten miles up the river that afternoon, and I had no gun, and my wife was with Mr Farnham, as you know. Neither of us has any knowledge of anything that could possibly be relevant. I live in another state, but investigating procedure is basically the same everywhere in the West, and I'd like to know how you fit in. If a law officer asks ridiculous questions a citizen might as well answer them and get rid of him, but why you? If you told the county attorney something that made him think that man Greve may not be guilty, you should tell us if you expect us to respect your authority. Why did he give you official standing?"

"Disaster insurance," Wolfe said.

"Insurance? Against what?"

"Against the possibility of a demonstration that I deserve my reputation. You must know, Dr Amory, that the validity of a reputation depends on its nature. The renown of a champion runner or discus thrower has a purely objective basis-the recordings of stopwatches or tape measures. Consider your own profession. The renown of a practicing physician is partly objective-how many of the people he treats get well and how many die-but there are other factors that can't be objectively measured. A doctor who has many patients and is trusted and well regarded by them may be disdained by his colleagues. With a professional investigator, his public repute may have very little objective foundation, if any; his admired feats could have resulted exclusively from luck. Take me. Fewer than a dozen people are qualified to say if my reputation has been fairly earned."

"Archie Goodwin is," DuBois said.

"Yes, he's qualified, but he's biased. An ex parte judgment is always suspect." Wolfe's eyes went right and left. "Mr Jessup was well advised to facilitate my inquiry by giving me a lever. Sensibly, he didn't try to insist on knowing why Mr Goodwin and I reject the plerophory that Mr Greve is a murderer; he knew we would reserve our grounds until we had impressive evidence. As for this conversation, our coming here for some talk, we're not so naпve as to suppose that anything could be learned by asking you routine questions. Mutual alibis among possible culprits are ignored by a competent investigator. Mr DuBois. You invited me to harass you. If I do it won't be by inane questions."

His eyes took them in again. "There was the chance that meeting you here, together, would give us a hint of frictions that might be fruitful. It's difficult for five people to live under one roof for three days without getting the skins of their egos scratched. I needed to decide if I should take the time and trouble to spend hours with each of you, tкte-а-tкte, reviewing every minute, every word spoken, during the three days Mr Brodell was with you. I doubt it. If, for instance, Mr Colihan or Dr Amory heard a comment by one of you, or saw a gesture, suggestive of more knowledge of Mr Brodell than had been disclosed, would he tell me? I doubt it. I have seen no indication of animus that would move any of you to risk such involvement. If one of you had previous contact with Mr Brodell, evidence of it probably won't be found here. It may be necessary to go to St. Louis, his home, or send someone. I hope not."

"I wouldn't object to spending hours with you tкte-а-tкte," DuBois said. "Any time you say."

"Neither would I," Mrs Amory said. "If you-"

"By God, I would," Farnham blurted. "If you ask me, you're just a jawbox. The sooner you go to St. Louis the better. All right, you've met us. The door's over there."

Wolfe nodded at him. "It's probably only your temperament, but it could be apprehension of what I might expose. Before I leave I must talk with the one man who may say something helpful. But first, Mr Magee, a routine question for you. You were with Mr DuBois and Mr Colihan across the river that Thursday afternoon?"

Bert Magee nodded. "That's right."

"All afternoon? Continuously?"

"Yep."

"What time did you get back here?"

"Six o'clock, just about."

"You know what I'm after: something, anything, to support my assumption that it wasn't Mr Greve who shot that man. Can you help me?"

"Nope. Of course Harvey should've shot him, and he did, and I hope they turn him loose."

"That's humane but not civilized. Mr Peacock. I have many questions for you, mostly routine, because I understand you are best equipped to answer them. You were often with Mr Brodell during those three days?"

Sam Peacock looked even smaller than he was, between those two huskies, Farnham on his right and Magee on his left, and the red and white bandanna didn't hide his scrawny neck, it called attention to it. His squinty gray eyes darted a glance at Farnham before they went to Wolfe. "Uhuh," he said. "I guess you could say often. Last year I gave him a fly that got him a six-pound rainbow, and that made me turtle feathers. When he came this year Bill sent me to Timberburg to get him, and the first thing he said, he wanted to know if I had another one corralled."

"What time did he arrive that Monday?"

"He got to Timberburg on the noon bus, but he had to scare up a pile of things, duds and tackle and I don't know what all, so we didn't get here until… I guess it was… what time was it, Bill?"