Rex Stout - Death of a Dude

"I had Gilbert Haight in my political-science class for two years," she said. "When I started teaching thirty-eight years ago, they called it history."

I gave her a cordial smile. Evidently we weren't going to bother about approach, but I asked if she would like to see my credentials from the county attorney.

She shook her head, making glints dart at me as the light from a window bounced from the thick lenses of her gold-rimmed cheaters, which were too big for her little round face. "Gilbert saw it," she said. "He just told me on the phone. Of course it wouldn't have been proper for me to talk when you were here before, since you were just a stranger I knew nothing about, but now I'll be glad to. Some people are criticizing Tom Jessup for getting outsiders like Nero Wolfe and you to help, but that's parochial and narrow-minded. I thoroughly approve. Tom's a good boy, I had him back in nineteen forty-three, a war year. We are all citizens of this great Republic, and it's your Constitution just as much as it's mine. What do you want to know?"

"Just a few little facts," I said. "Since you teach political science of course you know that when a crime is committed, for instance homicide, anyone with a known motive is asked some questions, and his answers should be checked. Gilbert Haight says he was here with you for part of a certain afternoon a couple of weeks ago. So of course he was. Right?"

"Yes. He came about half past two and left about half past four."

"What day of the week was it?"

"It was a Thursday. Thursday, July twenty-fifth."

"How sure are you it was that day?"

Her lips parted to show two even rows of little white teeth. I wouldn't have called it a grin, but she probably thought it was. "I suppose," she said, "there is no man or woman anywhere who has answered more questions than I have in the last thirty-eight years. You get so you know exactly what questions to expect, and I decided the best way to answer that one would be to tell you the whole thing. When I heard the next day about that man being shot I said to myself, 'Now Gilbert won't have to tar and feather him.' "

"Oh," I said.

She nodded and I got more glints. "You probably want to know why he was here two whole hours that day. It took that long to persuade him. I won't say he looks on me as his mother-he was only four years old when his mother died-because I'm not cut out to be a mother, I'm too intellectual, but I'm not bragging when I say that. Gilbert isn't the only boy who has come to me for advice when he had a problem. He had told me all about that problem-that girl he wanted to marry, and that man. When he came here that day he was all worked up because the man had come back and he had decided he had to do something but didn't know what. The first thing he asked me, he wanted my advice how he could force him to marry her."

"He must have a shotgun."

"Of course, every boy has a shotgun, but the trouble was more her than the man. With her it was double trouble. One trouble was Gilbert still wanted to marry her himself, and the other was that she was saying that she hated Philip Brodell and never wanted to see him again. So I told him he didn't need anybody's advice on that because he couldn't take it, no matter what it was. Even if he could somehow force him, there was no possible way he could force her, and on top of that, if he still wanted to marry her himself where would he be if she had a husband? I told him he wasn't thinking it through. I always tell my boys and girls the first thing to learn is to think things through. George Washington did and John Adams did and Abraham Lincoln did."

"And you do."

"I certainly try to. So then he proposed another idea. Did you know that more than ninety per cent of the duels fought in this country took place west of the Mississippi?"

"If you mean on television, yes."

"I don't mean television, I mean history. I have researched it. They didn't call them duels, but that's what they were, and they didn't happen often until our forefathers got west of that river. It's an important historical fact, and my boys and girls are always interested in it. I don't think…" She shut her eyes and compressed her lips.

She opened her eyes and went on. "I was trying to remember if Gilbert used that word that day, 'duel.' I'm pretty sure he didn't. He just said he would take two guns, hand guns, and he would give one to Philip Brodell and they would shoot it out, and he wanted my advice on the details, how to arrange it, and where, and how many cartridges in each gun-he said he would need only one-all the details. Of course I had to talk him out of it."

"Why of course?"

"Well, there were several things wrong with it, but the worst one was that historically-I mean our Western history-each man used his own gun, and probably Brodell didn't have one, and who was going to check the one Gilbert gave him? There would have to be at least two other men in on the preparations, and who would they be, willing to get involved in violent death like that? Because Gilbert can shoot, and he would have killed him. So I had to talk him out of it, but I had to suggest something else and I did."

"Let me guess. Tar and feathers."

"That's not a guess, I already told you. Tarring and feathering isn't as Western as the American duel, because it didn't always move along with the frontier. I've never been sure it was a good idea to give it up. If it was done by law, not just by a mob, and if you want a penalty to be effective, especially as a deterrent, tarring and feathering would be better than a fine or a month in jail. Wouldn't you think twice before you'd risk being tarred and feathered?"

"I think twice before I risk a fine. Tarring and feathering, three times at least."

She nodded and the glints came. "The way it looked to me, the main point was to get that man away from here, so he would stay away, and if he was tarred and feathered, that should do it. Gilbert tried to argue that it wouldn't settle anything, but that was just talk, he really liked the idea because the one thing he couldn't stand was the man coming back. He knew he was back ten minutes after he got off the bus that Monday. Some friend told him. You have friends like that, we all have. We decided he would need eight or ten boys to help him-he said he could get as many as he wanted-and the best time would be Saturday night at Lame Horse because Brodell would almost certainly be there, at Woody's. I suppose you know about Saturday nights at Woody's."

"Yes."

"We decided all the details-where to get the tar and feathers."

"Homer Dowd and Jimmy Negron."

Her chin jerked up and she frowned. "You knew all about it." From her tone, she would have sent me to the principal's office if it had been handy.

Not wanting to leave under a cloud, I explained. "No, I only knew where he said he went when he left here-to the Dowd Roofing Company and Negron's chicken farm, but I didn't know why." I rose. "So he was completely sold on tar and feathers?"

"He wasn't sold. He didn't have to be. He just realized it was the best solution for his problem. Are you going? I haven't told you much. All I've done, you asked me how sure I was it was that day, and I told you. What else do you want to know?"

"I want to know who shot Philip Brodell." I sat down. "You said Gilbert-I'll quote it-you said, 'He had told me all about that problem, that girl he wanted to marry and that man.' If you can spare the time I would appreciate it if you'll tell me everything he told you about Brodell."