A Right To Die

by Rex Stout

  "You don't have to clown it, Goodwin. Is this straight, Marjorie Ault is a murderer?"

  "My neck's out far enough."

  "When are you leaving?"

  "There's a plane from Louisville at five p.m. I have a car I rented there. I'd like to ask that lawyer, Littauer, a couple of questions." I stood. "How long have you been on the force?"

  "Twenty-six years."

  "Then what the hell, you don't have to spell your name. I would deeply appreciate it if you'd leave the monkey wrench in the drawer. Say we leave at one-thirty?"

  He wasn't sure, he would ring me around noon, but from the look in his eye and the grip in his hand as we shook I was satisfied that I would have a companion for the trip home.

  It was exactly three o'clock when, after leaving a call for seven-forty-five, I got between sheets in the hotel room, and I certainly needed a nap, but there was something on my mind. Not whether it was in the bag, that was okay, but how we got it. Had it been luck or genius or what? It had been years since I had given up trying to figure how Wolfe's mind worked, but this was special. I hadn't happened to notice that there was an au in four of the names: Paul, Ault, Maud, and Vaughn, but I might have; anybody might. That was nothing special. The point was, if I had noticed it, then what? I would have filed it as just coincidence, and probably Wolfe had too. But although filed, that au in four of the names was still somewhere in his mind later, when it got really tough, so in going over and over it, every detail and every factor, that popped up. Okay, but then what? Did he deliberately team them up?

  Paul and Ault

  Paul and Maud

  Paul and Vaughn

  Ault and Maud

  Ault and Vaughn

  Maud and Vaughn

  Then did he consider each pair and finally decide that the one that might not be just coincidence was Ault and Maud, because if a woman named Ault changed her name she might pick one that had au in it? No. I could have done that myself. I hadn't, but I could. What had happened in his mind that had made him phone Samuel Vaughn and Otto Drucker, and send me to Evansville, was something that had never happened in mine and never would. He had said "tenuous almost to nullity." But there I was in Evansville, and I knew who had killed Susan Brooke and Peter Vaughn, and probably I never would have known if Wolfe hadn't started reflecting on a diphthong. Reflecting that I had been wasting some precious time, I turned over to go to sleep, but jor butted in. She had not only used the Ault au in Maud, she had also used the Marjorie jor in Jordan. If Wolfe had known Mrs. Ault's name was Marjorie he would have sewed it up a week ago. On that I slept.

  I had left a call for 7:45 because on 35th Street it would be 8:45 and I wanted to get Wolfe before he went up to the plant rooms. I did. Fritz answered and relayed it to Wolfe's room, and his voice came, gruff.

  "Yes?"

  "Me. I've had four hours' sleep and I need more, so I'll make it brief. If I talked for an hour you'd like every word of it. Wrapped up. Not a single snag. Reserve a room at the Churchill for Mr. George Sievers." I spelled it. "He'll arrive around eight-thirty this evening and so will I. Tell Fritz not to keep my dinner warm; I'll eat with Sievers on the plane."

  "Are there any relatives in Evansville?"

  "No. She's alone in the world, as she told you."

  He grunted. "Very satisfactory." He hung up.

  Sometimes I think he overdoes it. I admit everything had been said that needed saying, but he might at least have asked how the weather was or if my bed was all right. It was. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

  It wasn't absolutely essential to see H. Ernest Littauer, and I don't know when I would have moved again if the phone hadn't rung. As I reached for it I glanced at my wrist: 10:42. It was Lieutenant Sievers. He said he had fixed it to go, and there was an hour's difference between Evansville and Louisville, so we should roll by one o'clock to make the five-o'clock plane. I made it to my feet with the help of a healthy groan and headed for the bathroom.

  Perhaps the trouble with my experiences with lawyers is that I am never a prospective client, ready with a checkbook for a retainer. All I ever have is questions, usually questions they would prefer not to answer, and so it was with H. Ernest Littauer, in a big sunny room with a fine view of the Ohio River. I merely wanted to know if he had been in communication with Mrs. Marjorie Ault during the past year or so, and he merely didn't want to tell me. And he didn't, but I gathered that he had no idea where she was and didn't care.

  When I got to the parking lot at a quarter to one, Sievers was already there, with a suitcase big enough to last at least a week, and I suspected I had been a little too hospitable. It wasn't going to be billed to a client. But he was going to help clean up the mess, so he was welcome. He was good enough company, though not in the class of Otto Drucker. By the time we touched concrete at Idlewild—I mean Kennedy International Airport—it was obvious that he was only a good working cop, which was why after twenty-six years he was still a lieutenant. He said he preferred to handle his evening himself if he wasn't needed, so I taxied him to the Churchill and proceeded to 35th Street.

  It was only eight-forty, but Wolfe was in the office with coffee, and that deserved a grin. Business was not to be mentioned at meals, so he had either started dinner early or speeded it up in order to be away from the table when I arrived. There was a hint of feeling in his look and voice as he greeted me, as there always is when I return safe and sound from a trip in long-distance machines. I stood in the middle of the rug and took a good stretch, and said, "My God, it's cold around here, much colder than down on the Ohio River. The warmth in this room is wonderful, even if I had no personal connection with its production. I admit that the rapid advance of automation may result—"

  "Sit down and report!"

  I did so, verbatim. He didn't lean back and shut his eyes; there was no need to, since it was only the happy ending. When I finished by saying that we might be stuck for a week in town by Lieutenant Sievers he didn't bat an eye.

  He picked up his coffee cup and emptied it and put it down. "Archie," he said, "I tender my apologies. I noticed that confounded diphthong Monday evening, and I could have sent you to Evansville then. Three wretched days."

  "Yeah. Well, you finally got around to it. I accept the apology. It's too bad it's Friday night, the weekend, and some of them may not be available tomorrow, maybe none of them. I suggest that they deserve to be present, all the ROCC crowd, even Oster. Also Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Brooke. And why not Susan's mother? In a way, her more than anyone else. She was there in the house with Susan when Richard Ault shot himself on the porch. According to Drucker, she helped Susan give him the boot. She ought to—"

  I stopped short.

  Wolfe asked, "What?"

  "Nothing. But that's what you thought about the diphthong: it wasn't worth considering. What if she decided to get the mother too and picked tonight for it? That would be just great."

  I swiveled. I didn't have Mrs. Matthew Brooke's number on the card and had to look in the book. I got it, and dialed, and sat and listened to fourteen buzzes, two more than my usual allowance. I don't dial wrong numbers, so I didn't try again but dialed another number, one that was on the card, and that time got an answer, a voice that I recognized, saying, "Mrs. Brooke's residence."

  "This is Archie Goodwin," I said, "at Nero Wolfe's office. Mr. Wolfe wants to ask Mrs. Matthew Brooke a question, and I just dialed her number and got no answer. I thought she might be with you. Is she?"

  "No. What does he want to ask her?"

  "Nothing very important, just a routine question, but it would help to have the answer now. Do you know where I can get her?"

  "No, I don't. But it's odd…"

  Silence. After five seconds of it I asked, "What's odd?"

  "I thought perhaps— Where are you?"

  "Nero Wolfe's office."

  "She isn't there?"

  "No."

  "I thought perhaps it was him she was going to see. She phoned about an hour ago a
nd asked to use my car—she often does—and she said she was going to see someone who could tell her something about Susan, and I asked her if it was Nero Wolfe, and she wouldn't say. She said she had promised not to. Are you sure—"

  "And she took the car?"

  "I suppose so, of course. Have you—"

  "The blue sedan?"

  "Yes. Have you—"

  "Sorry, I'm being interrupted." I hung up and turned. "As I said, just great. About an hour ago Mrs. Matthew Brooke took Mrs. Kenneth Brooke's car to go to meet someone who had phoned her that she could tell her something about Susan. She may still be alive. Of all the lousy breaks. Do I talk to Cramer or do you?"

  "What for?"

  "For God's sake! A stop-and-take on the goddam car!"

  "It isn't necessary. Saul."

  "What do you mean, Saul? He can't—"

  "He is covering Miss Jordan. As you know, he was told yesterday to inquire about her. He telephoned this morning shortly after you had reported from Evansville, and I told him to get Fred and Orrie and keep her under constant surveillance."

  I returned to my pocket the key ring I had got out. Its collection included the key to the locked drawer from which I had been going to get the license number of the blue sedan. "Damn it, you might have told me."

  "That's querulous, Archie."

  "If that means peevish, I am. How would you feel or I feel or Cramer feel if she added another one to the list after we had her tagged? And you realize that any dimwit can lose a tail, even if it's Saul Panzer. You'd like to deliver her wrapped up, sure, so would I. But it would be nearly as good and a lot safer to ring him now and say the woman who killed Susan Brooke and Peter Vaughn is now somewhere in your territory in a blue Heron sedan with Mrs. Matthew Brooke and is going to kill her. The car's number is here in the drawer."

  He called me. He asked, merely wanting information, "Do you wish to do that?"

  "Of course I don't wish to!"

  "Would Saul?"

  "If he has lost her, yes. If he's still on her, no."

  He turned a palm up. "Then it's simple. We determine our action or inaction by the extent of our confidence in Saul's craft and sagacity. Mine, though not infinite, is considerable, and he knows she has killed two people. Yours?"

  "I don't have to tell you. When did he last call in?"

  "At twenty minutes past six, from a booth on Lexington Avenue. She was in the building where she lives. Fred and Orrie had followed her there from the building where she works, and Saul had relieved Fred at six o'clock. He had—"

  The doorbell rang.

  I went to the hall for a look, swallowed something that had been wanting to be swallowed for ten minutes, turned my head, and said, "Mr. Panzer and Miss Jordan. Have they an appointment?"

  Chapter 15

  AS I APPROACHED I saw through the one-way glass that Saul had a hold on her right arm, so as I opened the door I was prepared to take her left one if necessary, but she crossed the sill without any help. Saul said, "Orrie's in the car with Mrs. Brooke. Do you want her?" I said no, Orrie had better see her home, and he went to tell him. I mentioned somewhere that I don't mind helping a murderer with a coat, but Maud Jordan shook her head when I offered. She was keeping it on. Thinking that Saul should have the honor of escorting her to the office, I waited until he came back in and then followed them. Saul moved up one of the yellow chairs for her and started for one for himself, but Wolfe told him to take the red leather. Before he did so he took an object from his pocket and put it on Wolfe's desk, and Wolfe made a face at it and told me to take it. It was a snub-nosed Haskell .32, and I took a look to see if it was loaded. It was, and I dropped it in a drawer. Saul said, "It was in her coat pocket," and sat.

  She hadn't opened her mouth. She did now, and spoke to the point. "I haven't got a permit for that gun," she said. "That's against the law, having a gun without a permit, but it doesn't justify this kind of treatment." Her eyes darted to Saul and back to Wolfe. "I was getting into a car at the invitation of the woman driving it, and that man assaulted me."

  Wolfe ignored her and asked Saul, "Should you report?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think it's necessary, unless you want the details, where and when. We closed in when she opened the car door and was getting in, and I put her in the back seat with me, and Orrie got in front with Mrs. Brooke. That's all there was to it. There was no commotion. Mrs. Brooke made a little noise, but we calmed her down. Orrie's good at that. It was in Central Park. Do you want details?"

  "Not now. Probably never." Wolfe turned. "This need not be prolonged, Mrs. Ault. Since it can easily be—"

  "My name is Maud Jordan."

  "So it is. There's nothing immutable about a name. A man's name is whatever he chooses to call himself. If you resent being addressed by your former name, Marjorie Ault, I'll refer to it—"

  "My name has always been Maud Jordan."

  "That won't do. There's a man at the Churchill Hotel, my guest, who arrived about an hour ago. Lieutenant Sievers, George Sievers, of the Evansville police. If he isn't immediately available he will be shortly. Shall we postpone the conversation until Mr. Goodwin brings him?"

  I have seen a lot of faces do a lot of things, but what hers did in twenty seconds, maybe a little more, was amazing. When she heard the name, Sievers, her eyes shut, tight, and I swear I could see the color go from her skin, though I wouldn't have said, before, that it had any color. I don't often get fancy, but it was exactly as if what I saw going was not color, but life. It wasn't like just turning pale; it was quite different. I didn't enjoy it. I looked at Saul and saw that he was seeing it too, and he wasn't enjoying it either.

  In another half a minute her eyes opened, at Wolfe, but I had her in profile and couldn't see if they had changed too. "George Sievers was in my class at school," she said.

  Apparently she thought that called for comment. Wolfe grunted.

  "Anyway," she said, "I can talk. You don't know how hard it's been. The niggers. Sometimes I thought I would choke, with Mr. Henchy and Mr. Ewing and Mister Mister Mister. But I did it, I killed her. She had a right to die, and I killed her."

  "I advise you, Miss Jordan, not to—"

  "My name is Marjorie Ault!"

  "As you will. I advise you not to speak until you are more composed."

  "I haven't been as composed for years as I am now. Since the day my Richard died. I'm glad you found out about me because now I can talk. I thought you would. Do you know when I thought you would?"

  "No."

  "The day I was here with the niggers, the first time, when you asked so much about the phone call, about it being Susan's voice. I thought you knew then that she hadn't made the call, that nobody had, that there hadn't been any phone call. Didn't you?"

  "No. If I had …" Wolfe let it go. No use trying to explain when she wanted only to talk, not listen.

  She talked. "I knew someday I would be telling about it, but I didn't know it would be you. I want you to know, I want everybody to know, that I didn't decide to kill her just on account of my Richard. All I decided was that I wanted to see her, to know about her. That's why I sold the business and— You know I had a good business?"

  "Yes."

  "That's why I sold it and got it all in cash and came to New York and changed my name. But after I got here I saw it wouldn't be so easy because I didn't want to be friends with her. Then when she started working for that ROCC, that was my chance. I had plenty of money, and I made a big contribution and offered to work for them. That was hard, I want you to understand that, and I want you to understand that up till then I didn't intend to kill her. I didn't have any idea of killing her. I didn't even want to hurt her; I just wanted to know her. Do you understand that?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you understand how hard it was, there with them?"

  "Yes."

  "I want to be sure you do. I had had some niggers working in my factory, sweeping floors, that kind. I'll see if you understand. Why did I
decide to kill her?"

  "That's obvious. Because she was going to marry a Negro."

  She nodded. "You do. My Richard wasn't good enough for her, she and her mother had driven my Richard out of their house, to kill himself there on their porch, and she was going to marry a nigger. It came to me in a funny way. She was always talking about civil rights, all she cared about was civil rights, and now she was going to marry a nigger. Then she had a right, she had a right to die, so I decided to kill her. Won't everybody understand that?"

  "Certainly. Especially Negroes. It may be more difficult to understand why you killed Peter Vaughn. Did he recognize you when he came there Wednesday morning?"

  "He thought he did but wasn't sure. He had seen me twice, years ago, when I went to see my Richard at college. They were classmates. On his way out he asked me some questions, and my answers didn't satisfy him, and I arranged to meet him that evening."

  "To kill him."

  She frowned. "I don't think so."

  "You took the gun along."

  She passed her tongue over her lips. "I'm not going to talk about that."

  "And you had it again this evening, for Mrs. Brooke. The same gun?"

  "Of course. It was my husband's. He always carried it when he brought money from the bank for the payroll. I don't want to talk about that, I want to talk about Susan. She called me Maud, you know, and I called her Susan. Of course my Richard had called her Susan, he told me all about her, but I had never met her. I have two pictures of her that he had, one with him. I'm not sure you understand how I felt about her. I'm not saying I loved her because my Richard had, that wasn't it exactly, but I wanted to be close to her, I wanted to see her every day. Do you understand that?"