Rex Stout - Death of a Dude

"Well… there was the question of rape. Statutory rape. She was eighteen years old. But Gilbert couldn't start an action."

"I know, and Mr and Mrs Greve didn't. But what did he say about Brodell? You may know that I don't believe Harvey Greve shot him, and I'm trying to think it through. Gilbert might have said something about him that would give me a hint."

"Not to me. I feel sorry for you, Mr Goodwin. You have my sympathy. But I can't help you with your problem."

"Of course you think Harvey Greve shot him."

"Did I say I do?"

"No."

"Then don't you say it. He's innocent until a jury of his peers says he's guilty. That's one of the glories of our great Republic."

"It sure is. So are you. Citizens like you." I stood up. I wasn't exactly sore at her; it was just that a man doesn't like having a gate shut in his face any better than a horse does. I said, "I don't quite see how you fit advising him to commit assault and feathers, which is a felony, into the Constitution of our great Republic, but that's your problem. Think it through."

I didn't thank her for the time. I departed, not on the run, but fast enough to get outside and to the car without hearing any remarks. I pulled the car door shut and looked at both my wrist and the dash clock, a habit. Seventeen minutes past eleven. By the time I got to Main Street, only three short blocks, I had the situation analyzed. For the Dowd Roofing Company, which was a few doors from the library, I should turn right. For the road to Lame Horse I should turn left. I turned left.

I took my time on the curves and bumps and ups-and-downs, and when I reached the end of the black top at Vawter's General Store it was three minutes after noon. Three o'clock Saturday afternoon in New York, and Saul might have found Manhattan so empty for the summer weekend that he had called it a day, so I pulled up in front of the Hall of Culture, went in, and got permission from Woody to use the phone. The arrangement was that Saul was not to call us unless he had something urgent; we were to call him. But all I got on two tries was no answer, so I returned to the car and headed for the cabin. In time for lunch, I thought.

There wasn't any lunch. There was no one on the terrace, and no one in the big room, or in Lily's room, or in mine, or in Wolfe's. But there were noises in the kitchen, and I found Wade there, at the can opener, opening a can of clam chowder. I asked him if it was enough for two, and he said no but there was more in the storeroom. I went and opened the small refrigerator for a survey, and got out a Boone County ham-what there was left of one. As I got a knife from a drawer I asked, "Are they all riding range?"

He was dumping the chowder into a pot. "No, they're on wheels. A car from the ranch. If I got it straight, you and Wolfe are going across to the ranch this afternoon?"

"That was the idea. Late this afternoon."

"Well, Mrs Greve came and said she would like to give Wolfe a real Montana trout deal if she had some trout, and they collected some tackle and grub and took off for the river."

"Including Mr Wolfe?"

"No, Lily and Diana and Mimi. And Mrs Greve. Wolfe, I don't know. I was in my room, but I heard him in the kitchen and the storeroom around ten o'clock, so wherever he is he's not starving. Beer or coffee?"

I said neither one, thanks, I'd have milk.

We ate our snacks in the kitchen, and he probably thought my mind was wandering, because it was. It wasn't likely that Wolfe had hiked the three miles to Farnham's, to harass DuBois and others, but where was he? Worthy said there had been no phone call that he knew of, but he had been in his room. In addition to the Wolfe problem there was the Worthy problem. I had been floundering around for two full weeks and hadn't got a smell, and now Gil Haight's alibi was tight as a drum, and there I was having a bite and chatting with a man who had had both means and opportunity. Instead of a sociable chat, what I wanted to say to him was this:

"Since we're fellow guests I ought to tell you that at my request a man named Saul Panzer, who is better at almost anything than anyone else I know, is working on you in New York. If you ever had any contact there with Philip Brodell, he'll get it, so you might as well tell me now. I'm going to phone him between six and seven today and every day."

I had to use will power to keep from saying it. I wanted and needed some action, and I might get some by saying that to him. Of course if I did and there really was something that Saul could find, something good enough, it was more than possible that Worthy would no longer be around when six o'clock came, but then it would be just a chase, and that would suit me fine. But I used will power and vetoed it. Wolfe was paying me, and I was supposed to act on intelligence guided by experience only when he couldn't be consulted. So Worthy probably thought my mind was wandering.

After doing the dishes, the few we had used, he went to his room and I went outdoors. The question was how well did I know Nero Wolfe? and in two minutes I had answered it. If he had decided to do something desperate like phoning to Lame Horse or Timberburg for a car, or starting off on foot for Farnham's, he would have left a note for me and he hadn't. But he hadn't known when to expect me back from Timberburg, and he would want to know how I had made out with Gil Haight, so he wouldn't want me to roam around looking for him. Therefore I knew where he was. I went in and changed my shoes and slacks, left by the creek terrace, and started the climb. For the first few hundred yards I went right along, but when I got near the picnic spot I took it easy-not quiet enough to stalk a deer, but easy. The creek was only some thirty feet away from that rock, and along there it was fairly noisy.

He wasn't on the rock, but his coat and vest were, and a book, and a knapsack. He wasn't in sight. I advanced to the edge of the creek bank, which sloped down a little steep ten or twelve rocky feet in August, and there he was, perched on a boulder surrounded by water dancing along, his pants rolled up above his knees, his feet in the water, and the sleeves of his yellow shirt rolled up.

I said, raising my voice above the creek's noise, "You'll freeze your toes."

His head turned. "When did you get back?"

"Half an hour ago. I ate something and came straight here. Where are your cuff links?"

"In my coat pocket."

I went to the rock, lifted the coat, and found them in the right-hand pocket. Those two Muso emeralds, bigger than robin eggs, had once been in the earrings of a female who had later died and left them to Wolfe in her will. Only a year ago a man had offered him thirty-five grand for them, and I didn't want that to be added to the cost of his getting me back to New York. I put them in my pocket, and as I put his coat down I noticed that the book was The First Circle, by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Not the one about Indians. I went back to the rim of the bank and said, "I met a woman who could tell you all about red men, especially the tribes west of the Mississippi River. Incidentally, she gave Gil Haight's alibi two good legs and a coat of feathers."

"Meaning?"

"Forget him."

He slid his feet around under eight inches of fast water, moved them right and left and out and back, feeling for a good spot, got upright, and faced the bank. Knowing how easy it was to take a tumble walking those loose rocks of all sizes, not only in the fast water where you couldn't see them but even on the dry bank where you could, I made it five to one that he would go down. But he didn't. He made it to a big flat slab of granite halfway up the bank, where he had left his shoes and socks, sat, and said, "Report."