by Rex Stout
“I advise against it, madam. Mr Goodwin has informed me thoroughly.” Wolfe sent his eyes around. “I know, from Mr Goodwin, how each of you spent that Thursday afternoon-what he has been told. I know that all of you, except Mrs Amory, think it likely that Mr Greve killed that man. Mr Goodwin and I think he didn’t. Mr Jessup, the county attorney, knows that, but he also knows that we don’t intend to try to concoct evidence to support our opinion; we intend only to find it if it exists, and the best place to start is here, with those closest to Mr Brodell during his last three days and nights. First, Mr Farnham, a point you can cover best. As you know, no bullets were found, but the nature of the wounds indicated the kind of gun that fired the shots. You own such a gun?”
“Sure I do. So do a lot of other people.”
“Where is yours kept?”
“In a closet in my room.”
“Is it accessible? Is the closet locked?”
“No.”
“Is the gun usually loaded?”
“Of course not. Nobody keeps a gun loaded.”
“Is ammunition accessible?”
“Yes. Naturally. A gun’s no good without ammunition. On a shelf in the closet.”
“Was there, that Thursday, any other gun on your premises-to your knowledge?”
“None that could have done that to Brodell’s shoulder and neck. I’ve got two shotguns and a revolver, and Bert Magee has a shotgun, but that’s all.”
“You told Mr Goodwin that you and Mrs Amory spent that afternoon on horseback on what is called the Upper Berry Creek trail. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Most of the afternoon?”
“All of it from two o’clock on.”
“Then you don’t know how your gun spent the afternoon. Anyone could have taken it and used it and put it back. When you next saw it, was it precisely as you had left it?”
“Balls.” Farnham’s voice was raised. “If you ask me, you’re a lousy investigator. If I say yes, it was, then you say the only way I could know it was would be if I went and looked when I knew about Brodell, and if I did that I must have thought that someone that belongs here shot him. You’re not tough, you’re just half-assed tricky.” He got up and took a step. “You might as well beat it. These folks are my guests and my men, and we don’t have to take your brand of crap. Drag it.”
Wolfe’s shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. “I thought it preferable,” he said, “both for you and for us, to do it this way. To summon you to the county attorney’s office as material witnesses, probably singly, would be a nuisance for me and an inconvenience for you. If you resent my implying that one of the people in this room might have killed Mr Brodell you’re a nincompoop. Why else would I come here in a downpour? I said I came to inquire, not to harass, but inquiries about homicide are rarely bland. Shall we go on, here and now, or not?”
“That’s not crap, Bill,” DuBois said. “We all think Greve probably killed him, all but Mrs Amory, but Nero Wolfe is not a gump. As I’ve said before, it seemed to me that the sheriff could have been a little more curious about your gun. He didn’t even look at it.”
“Yes he did.” Farnham was still on his feet. “The next day. Friday afternoon.”
“Well, that was lousy investigating. Sit down and cool it.” DuBois turned to Wolfe. “Do me while he counts ten. Joe Colihan and I were across the river that afternoon with Bert Magee, climbing mountains, so we alibi each other, but we’re close friends and he’d lie for me any day. Harass me. I’ll try to stick it.”
“Later,” Wolfe said. “I haven’t finished with Mr Farnham.” He tilted his head to look up at him. “We can dispose of the gun, for now, with one question. Did you at any time, after Mr Brodell’s body was found, thinking it conceivable that your gun had been used, go and look at it and the supply of ammunition?”
“Of course I did.” Farnham sat down. “That night. Anyone with any sense would. To see if it was there. It was, and it hadn’t been fired, and no ammunition was gone.”
Wolfe nodded. “I don’t ask if, when the possibility that your gun had been used entered your mind, the name of an individual entered with it. You would say no, and only you know what happened inside your skull. I do ask: during the three days that Mr Brodell was here alive had there been any noticeable conflict between him and anyone else?”
“No.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Bill.” Joseph Colihan’s high-pitched voice didn’t go with his broad shoulders and square jaw. “The man wants the facts.” To Wolfe: “Brodell and I had some words the day he got here. Monday. I had been here two weeks and I was riding the horse he had had last year, and he wanted it, and I liked it. When I went out Tuesday morning he had his saddle on it, and I took it off, and he tried to stop me. He swung a bridle at me and skinned my ear with the bit, and I roughed him up a little. After that we didn’t speak, but I kept the horse, so I didn’t have to shoot him. Anyway I’m not a hunter and I wouldn’t know how to load Farnham’s gun. I didn’t even know he had one.”
“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 na��ve 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, t��te-��-t��te, 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 t��te-��-t��te,” 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?”
“Around five,” Farnham said.
“Maybe. I would have said a little later.”
“Were you present when he met the others? Dr and Mrs Amory and Mr DuBois and Mr Colihan?”
“No sir, I wasn’t. I guess I was in the kitchen eating supper with Bert. After supper Phil asked me to go to the river with him, and I didn’t have to, but I didn’t want to say no, so I went.”
“You called him by his first name?”
“Uhuh. He asked me to even before he got the rainbow. Some do and some don’t.”
“Were you with him on Tuesday?”
“Yes sir, I was.” Peacock sent a glance at Colihan. His tongue was slow but his eyes were quick. “That was the morning there was some trouble about the Monty horse. Phil told me to saddle him and I did, and here comes Mr Colihan, and like he told you, they mixed it some. So I went to the corral and got Teabag for Phil, and we went downriver beyond the flats. All day, we made it back just in time for supper. Phil and the Teabag horse didn’t get along any too good, but I guess I’m telling you more than you want to know. Anyway I told Archie all this.”
Wolfe nodded. “Sometimes he’s careless about details. You couldn’t tell me more than I want to know. Did you see Mr Brodell after supper Tuesday?”
“No sir, I didn’t. He was played out and anyway I wasn’t here. I was off and around.”
“The next day? Wednesday?”
“Uhuh, that was better. Phil and me left early and went upriver on two laigs apiece. He didn’t get no six-pound rainbow, but he filled a big creel and it was a real good day any way you look at it. Up at the falls he slipped on a rock and got dunked, but the sun soon dried him and no bones was broke. Of course he was draggin’ his ass by the time we saw the chimney smoke comin’ in, and his back hadn’t forgot the day he had spent on Teabag, so when I asked him what he had in mind for the next day he said the way he felt right then he might not get out of bed even for meals. But he did. Next morning Connie told me he had stowed away a stack of ulcer patches and three fish for breakfast.”
“Who is Connie?”
“She’s the cook.”
“He was with you Thursday morning?”
“No sir, he wasn’t. He said he was goin’ to mosey over for a look at Berry Creek and I would set too fast a pace. Then after lunch he said-”
“If you please. How long was he gone in the morning?”
“I’d say two hours, maybe more. Then after-”
“Did he go up Berry Creek, or down?”
“If he said, I didn’t listen. It’s an easy trail over to the bend and then up or down, take your pick. I’d say he didn’t go up to the pool because he didn’t take tackle.”
“Did he mention meeting anyone?”
“No sir, he didn’t.” Peacock tugged at a corner of the neck rag. “You got a lot of questions, mister.”
“I once asked a woman ten thousand questions. That Thursday morning is of interest because apparently it was the only time Mr Brodell was off alone-except the afternoon. The easy trail to the creek-is it near the road at any point?”
“Uhuh. Where it circles around to miss a climb.”
“So he may not have got to the creek, if he met someone on the road. You spoke with him when he returned?”
“Not when he returned. After lunch.”
“Did you gather from what he said that he had been to the creek?”
“I don’t do much gatherin’ from what a man says. Now if he said he saw a fourteen-inch Dolly Varden in the pool above the bend you might say he had been to the creek, but you got to figure maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. A man can say things like that jus
t because it sounds good. Anyhow we didn’t talk much after lunch. I was out by the corral trimmin’ a post and he comes and says he was goin’ up the ridge to get some berries. That was at five minutes after three. Connie says it was five after when he left the house, but I keep my watch right.” He looked at his wrist. “Right now it’s nine minutes to ten.
“And you didn’t see him again-alive?”
“No sir, I didn’t.”
“Where were you the next five hours?”
“I was around. It took a while to get that post in and then there was a loose shoe on a horse, and a saddle had to have a new cinch, and some other little things.”
“You didn’t leave the premises?”
“Now that’s quite a word, that ‘premises.’ If you mean did I go up the ridge with a gun and shoot Phil, no sir, I didn’t. That wasn’t on my program. Any time Connie had opened the door and yelled for me she’d ‘a’ got me.”
“And you saw no one with a gun?”
“That’s correct. That’s a fair statement. The first man I saw was Bill when he come in with Mrs Amory and I took the horses. I was in my room washin’ up when Bert and his two got in. Right after supper Bill asked me again about Phil but I couldn’t tell him any more than I already had. When the sun was gone we thought we’d better look around and Bill and Bert and me went up the ridge. I knew the spots Phil liked better than they did, so it was me that found him.”
Wolfe turned his head to look at me. His unasked question was, “Has he varied any, with the others present, from what he told you, and if so, do you challenge him now?” I shook my head and said, “Nothing to add, even with credentials.”
He sent his eyes around and told a bare-faced lie. “I suppose I should intermit. Before proceeding beyond this preamble I must consult Mr Jessup; as he said, the inquiry is under his supervision and control. I think it quite likely that at least one of you is withholding material facts, but I doubt if prolonging this through the night would disclose them. An obvious point: you have all been placed, provisionally, for that Thursday afternoon, but where were you that morning during the two hours when Mr Brodell was off alone?”