Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe - Second Confession

by The Second Confession (lit)

  As for you, I can't say, except that I don't blame you a bit for not liking to start fires under people like the Sperlings. If nothing else, they hire only the best lawyers. As for this bird in uniform named Noonan, you may be a church member and I'd better keep within bounds.” “You see what he's like, sir,” Noonan said under restraint. “I told you he thinks he's tough. It you had let me take him to the barracks—” “Shut up!” Archer squeaked.

  It may not be fair to call it a squeak, but it was close to it. He was harassed and I felt sorry for him. In addition to everything else, he was going to be late at court, as he realized when he took another look at his watch. He ignored me and spoke to Dykes.

  “I've got to go, Ben. Take care of these papers. If anyone wants to leave the place you can't hold them, the way it stands now, but ask them not to leave the jurisdiction.” “What about Wolfe and Goodwin?” “I said anyone. We can't hold them without a warrant, and that will have to wait. But the car stays where it is. Immobilize it and keep a guard on it. Have you tried it for prints?” “No, sir, I thought—” “Do so. Thoroughly. Keep a man at the car and one at the entrance, and you stay.

  You might have another try at the servants, especially that assistant gardener.

  Tell Mr Sperling that I'll be back sometime between five and six—depends on when court adjourns. Tell him I would appreciate it if they can all find it convenient to be here.” He trotted out without even glancing at me, which I thought was uncalled for.

  I grinned at Ben Dykes, strolled insolently out of the room, and went in search of Wolfe, to do a little mild bragging. I found him out at the greenhouse, inspecting some concrete benches with automatic watering.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  A couple of hours later Wolfe and I were up in the bedroom. He had found that the biggest chair there, while it would do for a short stretch, was no good for a serious distance, and therefore he was on the bed with his book, flat on his back, though he hated to read lying down. His bright yellow shirt was still bright but badly wrinkled, worse than it ever was at home, since he changed every day; and both his yellow socks showed the beginnings of holes at the big toes, which was no wonder, considering that they hadn't been changed either and were taking the push of more than an eighth of a ton for the second day.

  I had finally got around to the magazines I had brought upstairs the previous evening. There was a knock at the door and I said come in.

  It was the Chairman of the Board. He closed the door and approached. I said hello. Wolfe let his book down to rest on his belly but otherwise stayed put.

  “You look comfortable,” Sperling said like a host.

  Wolfe grunted. I said something gracious.

  Sperling moved a chair around to a different angle and sat.

  “So you talked yourself out of it?” he asked.

  “I doubt if I rate a credit line,” I said modestly. “The picture was out of focus, that's all. It would have needed too much retouching, and all I did was point that out.” He nodded. “I understand from Dykes that the District Attorney offered to guarantee immunity if you would sign a statement.” “Not quite. He didn't offer to put it in writing. Not that I think he would have crossed me, but I liked the immunity I already had. As I heard a guy say once, virtue is never left to stand alone.” “Where did you get that?” Wolfe demanded from his pillows. “That's Confucius.” I shrugged. “It must have been him I heard say it.” Our host gave me up and turned to Wolfe. “The District Attorney will be back between five and six. He left word that he would like all of us to be here. What does that mean?” “Apparently,” Wolfe said dryly, “it means that he feels compelled to annoy you some more, much as he would prefer not to. By the way, I wouldn't underrate Mr Archer. Don't let the defects of his personality mislead you.” “They haven't. But what evidence has he got that this was anything but an accident?” “I don't know, beyond what he hinted to you. Possibly none. Even if he accepts it as an accident, he needs to find out who was driving the car. Being a man in your position, Mr Sperling, a man of wealth and note, bestows many advantages and privileges, but it also bestows handicaps. Mr Archer knows he cannot afford to have it whispered that he winked at this affair because you are such a man.

  The poor devil.” “I understand that.” Sperling was controlling himself admirably, considering that he had stated before witnesses that he would pay for the damage to the plant rooms. “But what about you? You have spent three hours this afternoon questioning my family and guests and servants. You have no intention of running for office, have you?” “Good heavens, no.” From Wolfe's tone you might have thought he had been asked if he intended to take up basketball. “But you have hired me to investigate Mr Rony's death. I was trying to earn my fee. I admit it doesn't look much like it at this moment, but I had a hard night Sunday, and I'm waiting to learn what line Mr Archer is going to take. What time is it, Archie?” “Quarter past four.” “Then he should be here in an hour or so.” Sperling stood up. “Things are piling up at my office,” he said, just stating a fact, and strode out of the room.

  “On him a crown looks good,” I remarked.

  “It doesn't chafe him,” Wolfe agreed, and went back to his book.

  After a while it began to irritate me to see the toes of the yellow socks sticking up with holes started, so I tossed the magazines on a table, wandered out of the room, on downstairs, and outdoors. Sounds came from the direction of the swimming pool, and I went that way. The wind was no longer even a breeze, the sun was warm and friendly, and for anyone who likes grass and flowers and trees better than sidewalks and buildings it would have been a treat.

  Connie Emerson and Madeline were in the pool. Paul Emerson, in a cotton shirt and slacks, not too clean, was standing on the marble at the edge, scowling at them. Gwenn, in a dress dark in colour but summery in weight, was in a chair under an umbrella, her head leaning back and her eyes closed.

  Madeline interrupted an expert crawl to call to me, “Come on in!” “No trunks!” I called back.

  Gwenn, hearing, swivelled her head to give me a long straight look, had nothing to say, turned her head back as before, and shut her eyes.

  “You not getting wet?” I asked Emerson.

  “I got cramps Saturday,” he said in an irritated tone, as if I should have had sense enough to know that. “How does it stand now?” “What? The cramp situation?” “The Rony situation.” “Oh. He's still dead.” “That's surprising.” The eminent broadcaster flicked a glance at me, but liked the sunlight on the water better. “I bet he rises from the grave. I hear it was your car.” “Mr Wolfe's car, yeah. So they say.” “Yet here you are without a guardian, no handcuffs. What are they doing, giving you a medal?” “I'm waiting and hoping. Why, do you think I deserve one?” Emerson tightened his lips and relaxed them again, a habit he had. “Depends on whether you did it on purpose or not. If it was accidental I don't think you ought to get more than honourable mention. How does it stand? Would it help any if I put in a word for you?” “I don't—excuse me, I'm being paged.” I stooped to grab the hand Madeline was putting up at me, braced myself, and straightened, bringing her out of the water on to the marble and on up to her feet.

  “My, you're big and strong,” she said, standing and dripping. “Congratulations!”

  “Just for that? Gee, if I wanted to I could pull Elsa Maxwell—” “No, not that. For keeping out of jail. How did you do it?” I waved a hand. “I've got something on the DA.” “No, really? Come and sit while I let the sun dry me, and tell me about it.” She went and stretched out on the grassy slope, and I sat beside her. She had been doing some fast swimming but wasn't out of breath, and her breast, with nothing but the essentials covered, rose and fell in easy smooth rhythm.

  Even with her eyes closed for the sun she seemed to know where I was looking, for she said complacently, “I expand three inches. If that's not your type I'll smoke more and get it down. Is it true that you were driving the car when it ran over Louis?” “Nope. Not gu
ilty.” “Then who was?” “I don't know yet. Ask me tomorrow and keep on asking me. Call my secretary and make appointments so you can keep on asking me. She expands four inches,” “Who, your secretary?” “Yes, ma'am.” “Bring her up here. We'll do a contest and the winner gets you. What would you advise me to do?” Her eyes, opened from force of habit, blinked in the sun and went shut again. I asked, “You mean to train for the contest?” “Certainly not. I won't have to. I mean when the District Attorney comes to ask more questions. You know he's coming?” “Yeah, I heard about it.” “All right, what shall I do? Shall I tell him that I may have a suspicion that I might have an idea about someone using your car?” “You might take a notion that you might try it. Shall we make it up together?

  Who shall we pick on?” “I don't want to pick on anybody. That's the trouble. Why should anyone pay a penalty for accidentally killing Louis Rony?” “Maybe they shouldn't.” I patted her round brown soft firm shoulder to see if it was dry yet. There I'm right with you, ma'am. But the hell of it—” “Why do you keep on calling me ma'am?” “To make you want me to call you something else. Watch and see if it don't work.

  It always does. The hell of it is that both the DA and Nero Wolfe insist on knowing, and the sooner they find out the sooner we can go on to other things like athletic contests. Knowing how good you are at dare-base, I suppose you do have an idea about someone using my car. What gave it to you?” She sat up, said, “I guess my front's dry,” turned over on to a fresh spot, and stretched out again, face down. The temptation to pat was now stronger than before, but I resisted it.

  “What gave it to you?” I asked as if it didn't matter much.

  No reply. In a moment her voice came, muffled. “I ought to think it over some more.” “Yeah, that never does any harm, but you haven't got much time. The DA may be here any minute. Also you asked my advice, and I'd be in better shape to make it good if I knew something about your idea. Go ahead and describe it.” She turned her head enough to let her eyes, now shielded from the sun, take me in at an angle. “You could be clever if you worked at it,” she said. “It's fun to watch you going after something. Say I saw or heard something last night and now I tell you about it. Within thirty seconds, for as you say there isn't much time, you would have to go in to wash your hands, and as soon as you're in the house you run upstairs and tell Nero Wolfe. He gets busy immediately, and probably by the time the District Attorney gets here the answer is all ready for him—or if it doesn't go as fast as that, when they do get the answer it will be Nero Wolfe that started it, and so the bill he sends my father can be bigger than it could have been otherwise. I don't know how much money Dad has spent on me in my twenty-six years, but it's been plenty, and now for the first time in my life I can save him some. Isn't that wonderful? If you had a widowed middle-aged daughter whose chest expanded three inches, wouldn't you want her to act as I am acting?” “No, ma'am,” I said emphatically.

  “Of course you would. Call me something else, like darling or little cabbage.

  Here we are, locked in a tussle, you trying to make money for your boss and me trying to save money for my father, and yet we're—” She sat up abruptly. “Is that a car coming? Yes, it is.” She was on her feet.

  “Here he comes, and I've got to do my hair!” She streaked for the house.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  I walked into the bedroom and announced to Wolfe, “The law haft arrived. Shall I arrange to have the meeting held up here?” “No,” he said testily. “What time is it?” “Eighteen minutes to six.” He grunted. “I'd have a devil of a time getting anywhere on this from the office, with these people here for the summer. You'd have to do it all, and you don't seem to take to this place very well. You gulp down drinks that have been drugged, plan and execute hold-ups, and leave my car where it can be used to kill people.” “Yep,” I agreed cheerfully, “I'm no longer what I used to be. If I were you I'd fire me. Am I fired?” “No. But if I'm to spend another night here, and possibly more, you'll have to go home to get me some shirts and socks and other things.” He was gazing gloomily at his toes, “Have you seen those holes?” “I have. Our car's immobilized, but I can borrow one. If you want to keep up with developments you'd better shake a leg. The elder daughter thinks she saw or heard something last night that gave her an idea about someone using your car, and she's making up her mind whether to tell the DA about it. I tried to get her to tell me, but she was afraid I might pass it on to you. Still another proof I've seen my best days. At least you can be there when she spills it, if you'll get off that bed and put your shoes on.” He pushed himself up, swung his legs around, and grunted as he reached for his shoes. He had them on and was tying a lace when there was a knock at the door, and before I uttered an invitation it swung open. Jimmy Sperling appeared, said, “Dad wants you in the library,” and was gone, without closing the door.

  Apparently his visits to mines had had a bad effect on his manners.

  Wolfe took his time about getting his shirt-tail in and putting on his tie and vest and jacket. We went along the hall to the stairs, and down, and took the complicated route to the library without seeing a soul, and I supposed they had already assembled for the meeting, but they hadn't. When we entered there were only three people there: the District Attorney, the Chairman of the Board, and Webster Kane. Again Archer had copped the best chair and Wolfe had to take second choice. I was surprised to see Webster Kane and not to see Ben Dykes, and pleased not to see Madeline. Maybe there would still be time for me to finagle a priority on her idea.

  Wolfe spoke to Archer, “I congratulate you, sir, on your good judgement. I knew that Mr Goodwin was incapable of such a shenanigan, but you didn't. You had to use your brain, and you did so.” Archer nodded. “Thanks. I tried to.” He looked around. “I had a bad afternoon in court, and I'm tired. I shouldn't be here, but I said I'd come. I'm turning this matter over to Mr Gurran, one of my assistants, who is a much better investigator than I am. He was tied up today and couldn't come with me, but he would like to come and talk with all of you tomorrow morning. Meanwhile—” “May I say something?” Sperling put in.

  “Certainly. I wish you would.” Sperling spoke easily, with no tension in his voice or manner. Td like to tell you exactly what happened. When Dykes came in this morning and said he had evidence that it was Wolfe's car, I thought that settled it. I believe I said so. Naturally I thought it was Goodwin, knowing that he had driven to Chappaqua last evening. Then when I learned that you weren't satisfied that it was Goodwin, t was no longer myself satisfied, because I knew you would have welcomed that solution if it had been acceptable. I put my mind on the problem as it stood then, with the time limit narrowed as it was, and I remembered something. The best way to tell you about it is to read you a statement.” Spelling's hand went to his inside breast pocket and came out with a folded paper. “This is a statement,” he said, unfolding it, 'dated today and signed by Mr Kane. Webster Kane.” Archer was frowning. “By Kane?” “Yes. It reads as follows: “On Monday evening, June 20,1949, a little before half-past nine, I entered the library and saw on Mr Sperling's desk some letters which I knew he wanted mailed. I had heard him say so. I knew he was upset about some personal matter and supposed he had forgotten about them. I decided to go to Mount Kisco and mail them in the post office so they would make the early morning train. I left the house by way of the west terrace, intending to go to the garage for a car, but remembered that Nero Wolfe's car was parked near by, much closer than the garage, and decided to take it instead.

  “The key was in the car. I started the engine and went down the drive. It was the last few minutes of dusk, not yet completely dark, and, knowing the drive well, I didn't switch the lights on. The drive is a little downhill, and I was probably going between twenty and twenty-five miles an hour. As I was approaching the bridge over the brook I was suddenly aware of an object in the drive, on the left side, immediately in front of the car. There wasn't time for me to realize, in the dim light, that
it was a man. One instant I saw there was an object, and the next instant the car had hit it. I jammed my foot on the brake, but not with great urgency, because at that instant there was no flash of realization that I had hit a man. But I had the car stopped within a few feet. I jumped out and ran to the rear, and saw it was Louis Rony. He was lying about five feet back of the car, and he was dead. The middle of him had been completely crushed by the wheels of the car.