Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe - Second Confession

by The Second Confession (lit)

  “Here we go,” I said. “It'll hurt but it won't last long.” Saul walked over and tapped Jimmy's wrist underneath, and the gun fell to the floor. Saul picked it up and backed off. Jimmy started for me. When the distance was right I threw his mother at him. Then she was in his arms instead of mine, and for the first time she saw Saul. The damn fool actually hadn't known I wasn't alone until then.

  “Go look at your face,” Saul told me.

  I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, and was sorry I had let her off so easy. It started just below my left eye and went straight down a good three inches. I dabbed cold water on it, looked for a styptic and found none, and took a damp towel back to the living-room with me. Jimmy and Mom were at bay over by the table, and Saul, with Jimmy's gun, was at ease near the arch.

  I complained. “What for?” I demanded. “All I said was hello. Why the scratching and shooting?” “He didn't shoot,” Mrs Sperling said indignantly.

  I waved it aside. “Well, you sure scratched. Now we've got a problem. We can search your son all right, that's easy, but how are we going to search you?” “Try searching me,” Jimmy said. His voice was mean and his face was mean. I had tagged him as the one member of the family who didn't count one way or another, but now I wasn't so sure.

  “Nuts,” I told him. “You're sore because you didn't have the guts to shoot, which shows how thick you are. Sit down on that couch, both of you.” I used the damp towel on my face. They didn't move. “Will I have to come and sit you?” Mom pulled at his arm and they went to the couch, sidewise, and sat. Saul dropped the gun in his pocket and took a chair.

  “You startled us, Andy,” Mom said. “That was all. I was so startled I didn't recognize you.” It was a nice little touch that no man would ever have thought of. She was putting us back on our original basis, when I had been merely a welcome guest at her home.

  I refused to revert. “My name's Archie now, remember? And you've' fixed me so that no one will recognize me. You certainly react strong to being startled.” I moved a chair and sat. “How did you get in here?” “Why, with a key!” “Where did you get it?” “Why, we—we had one—” “How did you get in?” Jimmy demanded.

  I shook my head at him. “That won't get you anywhere. I suppose you know that your father fired Mr Wolfe. We now have another client, one of Rony's associates. Do you want to make a point of this? Like calling a cop? I thought not. Where did you get the key?” “None of your damn business!” “I just told you,” Mom said reproachfully, “we had one.” Having quit using logic on women the day I graduated from high school, I skipped that. “We have a choice,” I informed them. “I can phone the precinct and get a pair of city detectives here, a male and a female, to go over you and see what you came after, which would take time and make a stink, or you can tell us—by the way, I believe you haven't met my friend and colleague, Mr Saul Panzer.

  That's him on the chair. Also by the way, don't you ever go to the movies? Why don't you wear gloves? You've left ten thousand prints all over the place. Or you can tell us where you got the key and what you came for—only it will have to be good. One reason you might prefer us is that we don't really have to search you, because you were still looking, so you haven't found it.” They looked at each other.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Saul inquired.

  “Yes, indeed.” “Maybe they'd rather have us phone Mr Sperling, to ask—” “No!” Mom cried.

  “Much obliged,” I thanked Saul. “You remind me of Mr Wolfe.” I returned to them.

  “Now it will have to be even better. Where did you get the key?” “From Rony,” Jimmy muttered sullenly.

  “When did he give it to you?” “A long while ago. I've had it—” “That's a swell start,” I said encouragingly. “He had something here, or you thought he had, which you wanted so much that you two came here to get it the first possible chance after he died, but he gave you a key long ago so you could drop in for it some day while he was at his office. Mr Panzer and I don't go for that. Try another one.” They exchanged glances.

  “Why don't you try this?” I suggested. “That you borrowed it from your younger sister, and—” “You sonofabitch,” Jimmy growled, rising and taking a step. “No, I didn't shoot, but by God— “You shouldn't get nasty, Andy,” Mom protested.

  “Then give us something better.” I had drawn my feet back for leverage in case Jimmy kept coming, but he didn't. “Whatever it is, remember we can always check it with Mr Sperling.” “No you can't!” “Why not?” “Because he knows nothing about it! I'm just going to tell you the truth! We persuaded the janitor to lend us a key.” “How much did it take to persuade him?” “I offered—I gave him a hundred dollars. He'll be downstairs in the hall when we go out, to see that we don't take anything.” “You got a bargain,” I declared, “unless he intends to frisk you. Don't you think we ought to meet him, Saul?” “Yes.” “Then get him. Bring him up here.

  Saul went. As the three of them sat and waited Mom suddenly asked, “Does your face hurt, Andy?” I thought of three replies, all good, but settled for a fourth because it was shortest.

  “Yes,” I said.

  When the outside door opened again I stood up, thinking that the janitor's arrival would make it two to two, even not counting Mom, and he might be an athlete. But as soon as I saw him I sat down again. He was a welterweight, his expansion would have been not more than half of Madeline's, and his eyes refused to lift higher than a man's knees.

  “His name's Tom Fenner,” Saul informed me. “I had to take hold of him.” I eyed him. He eyed my ankles. “Look,” I told him, “this can be short and simple. I represent an associate of Mr Rony. As far as I know these people have done no harm here, and I'll see that they don't. I don't like to get people into trouble if I don't have to. Just show me the hundred bucks they gave you.” “Jeez, I never saw a hundred bucks,” Fenner squeaked. “Why would they give me a hundred bucks?” “To get a key to this apartment. Come on, let's see it.” “They never got a key from me. I'm in charge here. I'm responsible.” “Quit lying,” Jimmy snapped.

  “Here's the key,” Mom said, displaying it. “You see, that proves it!” “Give it here.” Fenner took a step. “Let me take a look at it.” I reached for his arm and swivelled him. “Why drag it out? No matter how brave and strong you are, three of us could probably hold you while the lady goes through your pockets. Save time and energy, Mac. Maybe they planted it on you when you weren't looking.” He was so stubborn and game that his eyes got nearly as high as my knees before he surrendered. Then they dropped again, and his hand went into his pants pocket and emerged with a tight little roll between his fingers. I took it and unrolled it enough to see a fifty, two twenties, and a ten, and offered it back. That was the only time his eyes got higher; they came clear up to mine, wildly astonished.

  “Take it and beat it,” I told him. “I just wanted a look. Wait a minute.” I went to get the key from Mom and handed that to him too. “Don't lend it again without phoning me first. I'll lock up when I leave.” He was speechless. The poor goof didn't have enough wits left even to ask my name.

  When he had gone Saul and I sat down again. “You see,” I said genially, “we're easily satisfied as long as we get the truth. Now we know how you got in. What did you come for?” Mom had it ready and waiting, having been warned it was going to be required.

  “You remember,” she said, “that my husband thought Louis was a Communist?” I said I did.

  “Well, we still thought so—I mean, after what Mr Wolfe told us Monday afternoon.

  We still thought so.” “Who is we?” “My son and I. We talked it over and we still thought so. Today when my husband told us that Mr Wolfe didn't believe what Webster said in his statement and it might mean more trouble about it, we thought if we came here and found something to prove that Louis was a Communist and showed it to Mr Wolfe, then it would be all right.” “It would be all right,” I asked, “because if he was a Communist Mr Wolfe wouldn't care w
ho or what killed him? Is that it?” “Of course, don't you see?” I asked Saul, “Do you want it?” “Not even as a gift,” he said emphatically.

  I nodded. I switched to Jimmy. “Why don't you take a stab at it? The way your mother's mind works makes it hard for her. What have you got to offer?” Jimmy's eyes still looked mean. They were straight at mine. “I think,” he said glumly, “that I was a boob to stumble in here like this.” “Okay. And?” “I think you've got us, damn you.” “And?” “I think we've got to tell you the truth. If we don't—” “Jimmy!” Mom gripped his arm. “Jimmy!” He ignored her. “If we don't you'll only think it's something worse. You brought my sister's name into this, insinuating she had a key to this apartment. I'd like to push that down your throat, and maybe I will some day, but I think we've got to tell you the truth, and I can't help it if it concerns her. She wrote him some letters—not the kind you might think—but anyhow my mother and I knew about them and we didn't want them around. So we came here to get them.” Mom let go of his arm and beamed at me. “That was it!” she said eagerly. “They weren't really bad letters, but they were—personal. You know?” If I had been Jimmy I would have strangled her. The way he had told it, at least it wasn't incredible, but her gasping at him when he said he was going to tell the truth, and then reacting that way when he went on to tell it, was enough to make you wonder how she ever got across a street. However, I met her beam with a deadpan. From the expression of Jimmy's eyes I doubted if another squeeze would produce more juice, and if not, it ought to be left that their truth was mine.

  So my deadpan was replaced with a sympathetic grin.

  “About how many letters?” I asked Jimmy, just curious.

  “I don't know exactly. About a dozen.” I nodded. “I can see why you wouldn't want them kicking around, no matter how innocent they were. But either he destroyed them or they're some place else. You won't find them here. Mr Panzer and I have been looking for some papers—nothing to do with your sister or you—and we know how to look. We had just finished when you arrived, and you can take it from me that there's no letter from your sister here—let alone a dozen. If you want me to sign a statement on that I'd be glad to.” “You might have missed them,” Jimmy objected, 'You might,” I corrected him. “Not us.” “The papers you were looking for—did you find them?” “No.” “What are they?” “Oh, just something needed for settling his affairs.” “You say they don't concern—my family?” “Nothing to do with your family as far as I know.” I stood up. “So I guess that ends it. You leave empty-handed and so do we. I might add that there will be no point in my reporting this to Mr Sperling, since he's no longer our client and since you seem to think it might disturb him.” “That's very nice of you, Andy,” Mom said appreciatively. She arose to come to inspect me. “I'm so sorry about your face!” “Don't mention it,” I told her. “I shouldn't have startled you. It'll be okay in a couple of months.” I turned. “You don't want that gun, do you, Saul?” Saul took it from his pocket, shook the cartridges into his palm, and went to Jimmy and returned his property.

  “I don't see,” Mom said, “why we can't stay and look around some more, just to make sure about those letters.” “Oh, come on,” Jimmy said rudely.

  They went.

  Saul and I followed soon after. On our way down in the elevator he asked, “Did any of that stick at all?” “Not on me. You?” “Nope. It was hard to keep my face straight.” “Do you think I should have kept on trying?” He shook his head. “There was nothing to pry him loose with. You saw his eyes and his jaw.” Before leaving I had gone to the bathroom for another look at my face, and it was a sight. But the blood had stopped coming, and I don't mind people staring at me if they're female, attractive, and between eighteen and thirty; and I had another errand in that part of town. Saul went with me because there was a bare possibility that he could help. It's always fun to be on a sidewalk with him because you know you are among those present at a remarkable performance. Look at him and all you see is just a guy walking along, but I honestly believe that if you had shown him any one of those people a month later and asked him if he had ever seen that man before, it would have taken him not more than five seconds to reply, “Yes, just once, on Wednesday, June twenty-second, on Madison Avenue between Thirty-ninth and Fortieth Streets.” He has got me beat a mile.

  As it turned out he wasn't needed for the errand. The building directory on the wall of the marble lobby told us that the offices of Murphy, Kearfot and Rony were on the twenty-eighth floor, and we took the express elevator. It was the suite overlooking the avenue, and everything was up to beehive standard. After one glance I had to reconsider my approach because I hadn't expected that kind of a set-up. I told the receptionist, who was past my age limit and looked good and tough, that I wanted to see a member of the firm, and gave my name, and went to sit beside Saul on a leather couch. Before long another one, a good match for the receptionist only older, appeared to escort me down a hall and into a corner room with four big double windows.

  A big broad-shouldered guy with white hair and deep-set blue eyes, seated at a desk even bigger than Wolfe's, got up to shake hands with me.

  “Archie Goodwin?” he rumbled cordially, as if he had been waiting for this for years. “From Nero Wolfe's office? A pleasure. Sit down. I'm Aloysius Murphy.

  What can I do for you?” Not having mentioned any name but mine to the receptionist, I felt famous. “I don't know,” I told him, sitting. “I guess you can't do anything.” “I could try.” He opened a drawer. “Have a cigar?” “No, thanks. Mr Wolfe has been interested in the death of your junior partner, Louis Rony.” “So I understand.” His face switched instantly from smiling welcome to solemn sorrow. “A brilliant career brutally snipped as it was bursting into flower.” That sounded to me like Confucius, but I skipped it. “A damn shame,” I agreed.

  “Mr Wolfe has a theory that the truth may be holding out on us.” “I know he has. A very interesting theory.” “Yeah, he's looking into it a little. I guess I might as well be frank. He thought there might be something around Rony's office—some papers, anything—that might give us a hint. The idea was for me to go and look. For instance, if there were two rooms and a stenographer in one of them, I could fold her up—probably gag her and tie her—if there was a safe I could stick pins under her nails until she gave me the combination—and really do a job. I brought a man along to help, but even with two of us I don't see how we can—” I stopped because he was laughing so hard he couldn't hear me. You might have thought I was Bob Hope and had finally found a new one. When I thought it would reach him I protested modestly, “I don't deserve all that.” He tapered off to a chuckle. “I should have met you long ago,” he declared.

  “I've been missing something. I want to tell you, Archie, and you can tell Wolfe, you can count on us here—all of us—for anything you want.” He waved a hand. “The place is yours. You won't have to stick pins in us. Louis's secretary will show you anything, tell you anything—all of us will. We'll do everything we can to help you get at the truth. For a high-minded man truth is everything. Who scratched your face?” He was getting on my nerves. He was so glad to have met me at last, and was so anxious to help, that it took me a full five minutes to break loose and get out of the room, but I finally made it.

  I marched back to the reception room, beckoned to Saul, and, as soon as we were outside the suite, told him, “The wrong member of the firm got killed. Compared to Aloysius Murphy, Rony was the flower of truth.”

  CHAPTER Sixteen

  The pictures came out pretty well, considering. Since Wolfe had told me to order four prints of each, there was about half a bushel. That evening after dinner, as Saul and I sat in the office inspecting and assorting them, it seemed to me there were more of Madeline than I remembered taking, and I left most of them out of the pile we were putting to one side for Wolfe. There were three good ones of Rony—one full-face, one three-quarters, and one profile—and one of the shots of the membership ca
rd was something to be proud of. That alone should have got me a job on Life. Webster Kane wasn't photogenic, but Paul Emerson was.

  I remarked on that fact to Wolfe as I went to put his collection on his desk. He grunted. I asked if he was ready for my report for the afternoon, and he said he would go through the pictures first.

  Paul Emerson was one of the causes for the delay on my report. Saul and I had got back to the office shortly after six, but Wolfe's schedule had been shattered by the emergency on the roof, and he didn't come down until 6.28. At that minute he strode in, turned the radio on and dialled to WPIT, went to his chair behind the desk, and sat with his lips tightened.

  The commercial came, and the introduction, and then Emerson's acid baritone: “This fine June afternoon it is no pleasure to have to report that the professors are at it again—but then they always are—oh, yes, you can count on the professors. One of them made a speech last night at Boston, and if you have anything left from last week's pay you'd better hide it under the mattress. He wants us not only to feed and clothe everybody on earth, but educate them also...” Part of my education was watching Wolfe's face while Emerson was broadcasting.

  His lips, starting fairly tight, kept getting tighter and tighter until there was only a thin straight hairline and his cheeks were puffed and folded like a contour map. When the tension got to a certain point his mouth would pop open, and in a moment close, and it would start over again. I used it to test my powers of observation, trying to spot the split second for the pop.

  Minutes later Emerson was taking a crack at another of his pet targets: “...they call themselves World Federalists, this bunch of amateur statesmen, and they want us to give up the one thing we've got left—the right to make our own decisions about our own affairs. They think it would be fine if we had to ask permission of all the world's runts and funny looking dimwits every time we wanted to move our furniture around a little, or even to leave it where it is...” I anticipated the pop of Wolfe's mouth by three seconds, which was par. I couldn't expect to hit it right on the nose. Emerson developed that theme a while and then swung into his finale. He always closed with a snappy swat at some personality whose head was temporarily sticking up from the mob.