Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe - Second Confession

by The Second Confession (lit)

  They didn't sit. Harvey stood gazing at me as if there were something about me he didn't like, and Stevens advanced to the end of Wolfe's desk and announced, “We don't like the wording. We want it to read this way: “As loyal American citizens, devoted to the public welfare and the ideals of true democracy, we believe that all law-breakers should be punished, regardless of their political affiliations. Therefore, in the interest of justice, we have written our names on the above photograph, and we hereby attest that the man in that photograph is known to us as William Reynolds, and that to our knowledge he has been for eight years, until today, a member of the Communist Party of the USA. Upon learning that he was to be charged with murder, the Communist Party's executive Committee immediately expelled him.” My opinion of Stevens went up a notch, technically. With nothing to refer to, not even a cuff, he rattled that off as if he had known it by heart for years.

  Wolfe lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “If you like it better with all that folderol. Do you want Mr Goodwin to type it, or will you write it by hand?”

  I was just as well pleased that he preferred to use his pen. It would have been an honour to type such a patriotic paragraph, but I wouldn't put anything beneath a Commie, and what if one of them happened to take a notion to pull the letter from a friend out of his pocket and compare the typing? Even with the naked eye it would have been easy to spot the 'no' slightly off line and the faint defect in the “w”. So I gladly let Stevens sit at my desk to write it. He did so, and signed it, and wrote his name on the picture. Then Harvey did likewise. Wolfe and I signed as witnesses, after Wolfe had read it over. Having the tube of paste at hand, as I have said, he proceeded to attach the photograph to the top of the sheet.

  “May I see it a moment?” Stevens asked.

  Wolfe handed it to him.

  There's a point,” Stevens said. “We can't let you have this without some kind of guarantee that Reynolds will be locked up tonight. You said before midnight.” “That's right. He will be.” “You can have this as soon as he is.” I knew damn well they'd have a monkey wrench. If it had been something not tearable, a stone for instance, I would simply have liberated it, and Harvey could have joined in if he felt like it “Then he won't be,” Wolfe said, not upset “Why not?” “Because that's the key I'm going to lock him in with. Otherwise, would I have gone to all this trouble to get it? Nonsense. I'm about to invite some people to come here this evening, but not unless I have that document. Please don't crumple it' “Will Reynolds be here?” “Yes.” “Then we'll come and bring this with us.” Wolfe shook his head. “You don't seem to listen to me. That paper stays here, or you're out of it until you get a subpoena. Give it to me, and I'll be glad to have you and Mr Harvey come this evening. That's an excellent idea. You will be excluded from part of it, but you can be comfortable in the front room. Why don't you do that?” That was the way it was finally compromised. They were plenty stubborn but, as Wolfe had said, the screw was down hard. They didn't know what Reynolds might spill in the next article, and they wanted him nailed quick, and Wolfe stood pat that he wouldn't move without the document. So he got it. It was arranged that they would return around ten o'clock and would stay put in the front room until invited to join the party.

  When they had gone Wolfe put the document in his middle drawer.

  “We're overstocked on photographs,” I remarked. “So that's why Mr Jones didn't need to load up. He knew him and one look was all he needed. Huh?” “Dinner's waiting.” “Yes, sir. It would be a funny coincidence if Harvey or Stevens happened to be Mr Jones. Wouldn't it?” “No. You can find coincidence in the dictionary. Get Mr Archer on the phone.” “Now? Dinner's waiting.” “Get him.” That wasn't so simple. At my first try, the District Attorney's office in White Plains, someone answered but couldn't help me any. I then got Archer's home and was told that he was out for the evening, but I wasn't to know where, and I had to press even to sell the idea that he should be informed immediately that Nero Wolfe wanted him to call. I hung up and settled back to wait for anything from five minutes to an hour. Wolfe was sitting up straight, frowning, with his lips tight; a meal was spoiling. After a while the sight of him was getting on my nerves, and I was about to suggest that we move to the dining-room and start, when the phone rang. It was Archer.

  “What is it?” He was crisp and indignant.

  Wolfe said he needed his advice.

  “What about? I'm dining with friends. Can't it wait until morning?” “No, sir. I've got the murderer of Louis Rony, with evidence to convict, and I want to get rid of him.” “The murderer—” A short silence. Then, “I don't believe it!” “Of course you don't, but it's true. He'll be at my office this evening. I want your advice on how to handle it. I can ask Inspector Cramer of the New York Police to send men to take him into custody, or I can—” “No! Now listen, Wolfe—” “No, listen to me. If your dinner is waiting, so is mine. I would prefer that you take him, for two reasons. First, he belongs to you. Second, I would like to clean it up this evening, and in order to do that the matter of Mr Kane's statement will have to be disposed of. That will require the presence not only of Mr Sperling and Mr Kane, but also of the others who were there the evening Mr Rony was killed. If you come or send someone, they'll have to come too. All of them, if possible; under the circumstances I don't think they'll be reluctant.

  Can you have them here by ten o'clock?” “But my God, this is incredible! I need a minute to think—” “You've had a week to think but preferred to let me do it for you. I have, and acted. Can you have them here by ten o'clock?” “I don't know, damn it! You fire this at me point-blank!” “Would you rather have had me hold it a day or two? I'll expect you at ten, or as close to that as you can make it. If you don't bring them along you won't get in; after all, in this jurisdiction you're merely visitors. If ends have to be left dangling I'll let the New York Police have him.” Wolfe and I hung up. He pushed his chair back and arose.

  “You can't dawdle over your dinner, Archie. If we're to keep our promise to Mr Cohen, and we must, you'll have to go to see him.”

  CHAPTER Twenty-Two

  As I understand it, the Commies think that they get too little and capitalists get too much of the good things in life. They sure played hell with that theory that Tuesday evening. A table in the office was loaded with liquids, cheese, nuts, home-made pâté, and crackers, and not a drop or a crumb was taken by any of the thirteen people there, including Wolfe and me. On a table in the front room there was a similar assortment in smaller quantities, and Harvey and Stevens, just two of them, practically cleaned it up. If I had noticed it before the Commies left I would have called it to their attention. I admit they had more time, having arrived first, at ten sharp, and also they had nothing to do most of the evening but sit and wait.

  I don't think I have ever seen the office more crowded, unless it was at the meeting of the League of Frightened Men. Either Archer had thought pressure was called for or Wolfe had been correct in assuming that none of the Stony Acres bunch would be reluctant about coming, for they were all there. I had let them choose seats as they pleased, and all three Sperling women—Mom, Madeline, and Gwenn—were on the big yellow couch in the corner, which meant that my back was to them when I faced Wolfe. Paul and Connie Emerson were on chairs side by side over by the globe, and Jimmy Sperling was seated near them. Webster Kane and Sperling were closer to Wolfe's desk. District Attorney Archer was in the red leather chair; I had put him there because I thought he rated it. What made it thirteen was the fact that two dicks were present: Ben Dykes, brought by Archer, and Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Manhattan Homicide, who had informed me that Westchester had invited him. Purley, my old friend and even older enemy, sat over by the door.

  It started off with a bang. When they were all in and greetings, such as they were, had been attended to, and everyone was seated, Wolfe began his preamble.

  He had got only four words out when Archer blurted, “You said the man that murdered Rony would b
e here!” “He is.” “Where?” “You brought him.” After that beginning it was only natural that no one felt like having a slice of cheese or a handful of nuts. I didn't blame any of them, least of all William Reynolds. Several of them made noises, and Sperling and Paul Emerson both said something, but I didn't catch either of them because Gwenn's voice, clear and strong but with a tremble under it, came from behind my back.

  “I told my father what I told you that evening!” Wolfe ignored her. This will go faster,” he told Archer, “if you let me do it.” “The perfect mountebank!” Emerson sneered.

  Sperling and Archer spoke together. A growl from the side made their heads turn.

  It was Sergeant Stebbins, raising his voice from his seat near the door. He got all eyes.

  “If you take my advice,” he told them, “you'll let him tell it. I'm from the New York Police, and this is New York. I've heard him before. If you pester him he'll string it out just to show you.” “I have no desire to string it out,” Wolfe said crossly. His eyes went from left to right and back. “This shouldn't take long if you'll let me get on. I wanted you all here because of what I said to you up there in my bedroom eight days ago, the evening Mr Rony was killed. I thereby assumed an obligation, and I want you to know that I have fulfilled it.” He took the audience in again. “First I'll tell you why I assumed that Mr Rony was killed not accidentally but deliberately. While it was credible that the driver of the car might not have seen him until too late, it was hard to believe that Mr Rony had not been aware of the car's approach, even in the twilight, and even if the noise of the brook had covered the noise of the car, which could not have been going fast. Nor was there any mark on the front of the car. If it had hit him when he was upright there would probably, though not certainly, have been a mark or marks.” “You said all this before,” Archer cut in impatiently.

  “Yes, sir. The repetition will take less time if you don't interrupt. Another point, better than either of those, why was the body dragged more than fifty feet to be concealed behind a shrub? If it had been an accident, and the driver decided not to disclose his part in it, what would he have done? Drag the body off the road, yes, but surely not fifty feet to find a hiding place.” “You said that before too,” Ben Dykes objected. “And I said the same argument would apply just as well to a murderer.” “Yes,” Wolfe agreed, “but you were wrong. The murderer had a sound reason for moving the body where it couldn't be seen from the drive if someone happened to pass.” “What?” “To search the body. We are now coming to things I haven't said before. You preferred not to show me the list of articles found on the body, so I preferred not to tell you that I knew something had been taken from it. The way I knew it was that Mr Goodwin had himself made an inventory when he found the body.” “The hell he had!” “It would have been better,” Archer said in a nasty voice for him, “to tell us that. What had been taken?” “A membership card, in the name of William Reynolds, of the American Communist Party.” “By God!” Sperling cried, and left his chair. There were exclamations from others. Sperling was following him up, but Archer's voice cut through.

  “How did you know he had one?” “Mr Goodwin had seen it, and I had seen a photograph of it.” Wolfe pointed a finger. “Please let me tell this without yanking me around with questions. I have to go back to Saturday evening a week ago. Mr Goodwin was there ostensibly as a guest, but actually representing me on behalf of my client, Mr Sperling. He had reason to believe that Mr Rony was carefully guarding some small object, not letting it leave his person. There were refreshments in the living-room. Mr Goodwin drugged his own drink and exchanged it for Mr Rony's. He drank Mr Rony's. But it had been drugged by someone else, as he found to his sorrow.” “Oh!” A little cry came from behind me, in the voice of the little cabbage.

  Wolfe frowned past my shoulder.

  “Mr Goodwin had intended to enter Mr Rony's room that night to learn what the object was, but didn't because he was himself drugged and Mr Rony was not.

  Instead of swallowing his drink, Mr Rony poured it into the ice bucket. I am still giving reasons why I assumed that he was not killed by accident, and that's one of them: his drink had been drugged and he either knew it or suspected it. Mr Goodwin was mortified, and he is not one to take mortification lightly; also he wanted to see the object. The next day, Sunday, he arranged to have Mr Rony return to New York in his car, and he also arranged for a man and woman—both of them have often worked for me—to waylay them and blackjack Mr Rony.” That got a reaction from practically everybody. The loudest, from Purley Stebbins, reached me through the others from twenty feet off. “Jeez! Can you beat him?” Wolfe sat and let them react. In a moment he put up a hand.

  That's a felony, I know, Mr Archer. You can decide what to do about it at your leisure, when it's all over. Your decision may be influenced by the fact that if it hadn't been committed the killer of Mr Rony wouldn't have been caught.” He took in the audience, now quiet again. “All they took from him was the money in his wallet. That was necessary in order to validate it as a hold-up—and by the way, the money was spent in my investigation of his death, which I think he would regard as fitting. But Mr Goodwin did something else. He found on Mr Rony the object he had been guarding, and took some photographs of it, not taking the object itself. It was a membership card, in the name of William Reynolds, in the American Communist Party.” Then I was right!” Sperling was so excited and triumphant that he yelled it. “I was right all the time!” He glared indignantly, sputtering, “Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't—” “You were as wrong,” Wolfe said rudely, “as a man can be. You may be a good business man, Mr Sperling, but you had better leave the exposure of disguised Communists to competent persons. It's a task for which you are disqualified by mental astigmatism.” “But,” Sperling insisted, “you admit he had a membership card—” “I don't admit it, I announce it. But it would have been witless to assume that William Reynolds was necessarily Louis Rony. In fact, I had knowledge of Rony that made it unlikely. Anyway, we have the testimony of three persons that the card was in his possession—you'll find that a help in the courtroom, Mr Archer.

  So at that time the identity of William Reynolds—whether it was Mr Rony or another person—was an open question.” Wolfe turned a hand up. “But twenty-four hours later it was no longer open.

  Whoever William Reynolds was, almost certainly he wasn't Louis Rony. Not only that, it was a workable assumption that he had murdered Rony, since it was better than a conjecture that he had dragged the body behind a bush in order to search it, had found the membership card, and had taken it. I made that assumption, tentatively. Then the next day, Tuesday, I was carried a step further by the news that it was my car that had killed Rony. So if William Reynolds had murdered Rony and taken the card, he was one of the people there present. One of those now in this room.” A murmur went around, but only a murmur.

  “You've skipped something,” Ben Dykes protested. “Why did it have to be Reynolds who murdered and took the card?” “It didn't,” Wolfe admitted. These were assumptions, not conclusions. But they were a whole; if one was good, all were; if one was not, none. If the murderer had killed and searched the body to get that card, surely it was to prevent the disclosure that he had joined the Communist Party under the name of William Reynolds, a disclosure threatened by Rony—who was by no means above such threats. That's where I stood Tuesday noon. But I was under an obligation to my client, Mr Sperling, which would be ill met if I gave all this to the police—at least without trying my own hand at it first. That was what I had decided to do'—Wolfe's eyes went straight to Sperling—”when you jumped in with that confounded statement you had coerced Mr Kane to sign. And satisfied Mr Archer, and fired me.” His eyes darted to Kane. “I wanted you here for this, to repudiate that statement. Will you? Now?” “Don't be a fool, Web,” Sperling snapped. And to Wolfe, “I didn't coerce him!” Poor Kane, not knowing what to do, said nothing. In spite of all the trouble he had caused us, I nearly felt sorry
for him.

  Wolfe shrugged. “So I came home. I had to get my assumptions either established or discredited. It was possible that Mr Rony had not had the membership card on his person when he was killed. On Wednesday Mr Goodwin went to his apartment and made a thorough search—not breaking and entering, Mr Stebbins.” “You say,” Purley muttered.

  “He had a key,” Wolfe asserted, which was quite true. The card wasn't there; if it had been, Mr Goodwin would have found it. But he did find evidence, no matter how or what, that Mr Rony had had in his possession one or more objects, probably a paper or papers, which he had used as a tool of coercion on one or more persons here present. It doesn't matter what his demands were, but in passing let me say that I doubt that they were for money; I think what he required, and was getting, was support for his courtship of the younger Miss Sperling—or at least neutrality. Another—” “What was the evidence?” Archer demanded.

  Wolfe shook his head. “You may not need it; if you do, you may have it when the time comes. Another assumption, that Mr Rony was not upright when the car hit him, also got confirmed. Although the car had not struck his head, there was a severe bruise above his right ear; a doctor hired by me saw it, and it is recorded on the official report. That helped to acquit the murderer of so slapdash a method as trying to kill a lively and vigorous young man by hitting him with a car. Obviously it would have been more workmanlike to ambush him as he walked up the drive, knock him out, and then run the car over him. If that—” “You can't ambush a man,” Ben Dykes objected, “unless you know he'll be there to ambush.” “No,” Wolfe agreed, “nor can you expect me ever to finish if you take no probabilities along with facts. Besides the private telephone lines in Mr Sperling's library there are twelve extensions in that house, and Miss Sperling's talk with Mr Rony, arranging for his arrival at a certain hour for a rendezvous on the grounds, could have been listened to by anyone. William Reynolds could certainly have heard it; let him prove he didn't. Anyhow, the ambush itself is no longer a mere probability. By a brilliant stroke of Mr Goodwin's, it was established as a fact. On Thursday he searched the grounds for the instrument used for laying Mr Rony out, and he found it, in the presence of a witness.” “He didn't!” It was Madeline's voice from behind me. “I was with him every minute and he didn't find anything!” “But he did,” Wolfe said dryly. “On his way out he stopped at the brook and found a stone. The question of the witness, and of the evidence that the stone had been in contact with a man's head, can wait, but I assure you there's no doubt about it. Even if the witness prefers to risk perjury we'll manage quite well without her.” His eyes made an arc to take them in. “For while such details as the head bruise and the stone will be most helpful and Mr Archer will be glad to have them, what clinches the matter is a detail of a different sort. I have hinted at it before and I now declare it: William Reynolds, the owner of that card, the Communist, is in this room. You won't mind, I hope, if I don't tell you how I learned it, so long as I tell you how I can prove it, but before I do so I would like if possible to get rid of a serious embarrassment. Mr Kane. You're an intelligent man and you see my predicament. If the man who murdered Mr Rony is charged and put on trial, and if that statement you signed is put in evidence by the defence, and you refuse to repudiate it, there can be no conviction. I appeal to you: do you want to furnish the shield to a Communist and a murderer? No matter who he is. If you are reluctant to credit my assertion that he is a Communist, consider that unless that can be proven to the satisfaction of a judge and jury he will not be in jeopardy, for that is essential to the case against him. But as long as your statement stands it would be foolhardy even to arrest him; Mr Archer wouldn't dare to move for an indictment.” Wolfe got a paper from a desk drawer. “I wish you would sign this. It was typed by Mr Goodwin this evening before you came. It is dated today and reads, ‘I, Webster Kane, hereby declare that the statement signed by me on June twenty-first, nineteen forty-nine, to the effect that I had killed Louis Rony accidentally by driving an automobile over him, was false. I signed it at the suggestion of James U. Sperling, Senior, and I hereby retract it.’ Archie?” I got up to reach for the paper and offer it to Kane, but he didn't move a hand to take it. The outstanding economist was in a hole, and his face showed that he realized it.