Some Buried Caesar

by Rex Stout

  "Perhaps we'd better take the last one first and get it out of the way. I'm always open to a reasonable suggestion."

  "As you please, sir." Wolfe's lips pushed out, and in again. "You have a paper signed by Clyde Osgood. You showed it to Miss Osgood this morning."

  "A receipt for money I paid him."

  "Specifying the services he was to perform in return."

  "Yes."

  "The performance of which would render him likewise a blackguard… in the estimation of his father."

  "That's right."

  Wolfe stirred. "I want that paper. Now wait. I offer no challenge to your right to expect your money back. I concede that right. But I don't like your methods of collection. You may have a right to them too, but I do not like them. Miss Osgood aroused my admiration this afternoon, which is rare for a woman, and I want to relieve the pressure on her. I propose that you hand the paper to Mr. Goodwin; it will be safe in his custody. Within 10 days at the outside I shall either pay you the $10,000, or have it paid, or return the paper to you. I make that pledge without reservation." Wolfe aimed a thumb at me. "Give it to him."

  The blackguard shook his head, slowly and positively. "I said a reasonable suggestion."

  "You won't do it?"

  "No."

  "The security is superlative. I rarely offer pledges, because I would redeem one, tritely, with my life."

  "I couldn't use your life. The security you offer may be good, but the paper signed by Osgood is better, and it be- longs to me. Why the deuce should I give it up?"

  I looked at Wolfe inquiringly. "I'd be glad to under- take-"

  "No, thanks, Archie. We'll pass it, at least for the present. – I hope, Mr. Bronson, that your antagonism will find-"

  "I'm not antagonistic," Bronson interrupted. "Don't get me wrong. I said I'm not a fool, and I would be a fool to an- tagonize you. I know very well I'm vulnerable, and I know what you can do. If I make an enemy of you I might as well leave New York. I've only been there two months, but if you wanted to take the trouble to trace me back I don't deny you could do it. You wouldn't find that a cell is waiting for me anywhere, but you could collect enough to make it damned hard going… too hard. I've had a bad break on this Clyde Osgood thing, but I can try again and expect better luck, and God knows I don't want you hounding me, and you wouldn't go to the expense and trouble just for the fun of it. Believe me, I'm not antagonistic. You have no right to get sore about my not surrendering that paper, because it's mine, but otherwise I'm for you. If I can help any I will."

  "No finesse, Mr. Bronson?"

  "None."

  "Good. Then tell me first, where were you bom?"

  Bronson shook his head. "I said help you, not satisfy your curiosity."

  "You've admitted I can trace you back if I care to take the trouble,"

  "Then take the trouble."

  "Very well, I'll be more direct. Have you ever handled cattle?"

  Bronson stared, then let out a short laugh and said, "My God, must I take it back about your not being a fool? Do you mean to say you're trying to fit me in that thing?"

  "Have you ever handled cattle?"

  "I've never had the slightest association with cattle. I know where milk and beef come from only because I read it some- where."

  "Where is the club you were carrying last night when you accompanied Clyde Osgood to Pratt's place?"

  "Club?"

  "Yes. A rough club, a length of sapling."

  "Why… I don't think… Oh yes. Sure, I remember. It was leaning up against a shed as we went by, and I just-"

  "Where is it?"

  "You mean now? After all-"

  "Where did you leave it?"

  "Why… I don't… Oh! Sure. When we got to the fence, where the trees ended, Clyde went on and I came back. He took the club with him."

  "What for?"

  Bronson shrugged. He had himself collected again. "Just to have it, I suppose. I notice you carry a heavy walking stick. What for?"

  "Not to knock myself unconscious with. Did Clyde ask for the club? Did you offer it to him?"

  "I don't know. It was quite casual, one way or the other, Why, was he knocked on the head? I thought he was killed with a pick, according to your-"

  "You're supposed to be helping, sir, not chattering. I need the truth about that club."

  "You've had it."

  "Nonsense. You were obviously disconcerted, and you stalled." Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. "If you don't want my antagonism, beware. This is the most favorable chance you'll have to tell the truth, here privately with me in comparative amity. Isn't it a fact that you yourself carried the club to Mr. Pratt's place?"

  "No. I didn't go there."

  "You stick to that?"

  "It's the truth."

  "I warn you again, beware. But say we take that, for the moment, for truth, tell me this: why was Clyde going to Pratt's? What was he going to do there?"

  "I don't know."

  "What did he say he was going to do?"

  "He didn't say."

  Wolfe shut his eyes and was silent. I saw the tip of his index finger making little circles on the arm of his chair, and knew he was speechless with fury. After a minute Bron- son began:

  "I may as well-"

  "Shut up!" Wolfe's lids quivered as he opened his eyes. "You're making a mistake. A bad one. Listen to this. You were demanding immediate repayment of your money. Clyde, unable to raise the sum in New York, came here to appeal to his father, and you were in such a hurry, or mistrusted him so greatly, or both, that you came along. You wouldn't let him out of your sight. His father refused his appeal, since Clyde wouldn't tell him what the money was needed for-to save the Osgood honor would be correct phrasing-and you were ready to disclose the facts to the father and collect your debt direct from him. Then Clyde, in desperation, made a bet. He couldn't possibly win the bet and pay you for 6 days, until the week expired, and what acceptable assurance could he give you that he would win it at all? Only one assurance could have induced you to wait: a satisfactory explanation of the method by which he expected to win. So he gave it to you. Don't try to tell me he didn't; I'm not a gull. He told you how he expected to win, and the steps he proposed to take. Very well, you tell me."

  Bronson shook his head. "All I can say is, you're wrong. He didn't tell-"

  "Pfui. I'm right. I know when I'm right. Beware, sir."

  Bronson shrugged. "It won't get you anywhere to keep telling me to beware. I can't tell you what I don't know."

  "Did Clyde Osgood tell you how and why he expected to win the bet?"

  "No."

  "Or what he intended to do at Pratt's or whom he expected to see there?"

  "No."

  "Did he make any remark, drop any hint, that led you to guess?"

  "No."

  "You're making a bad blunder."

  "No, I'm not. I may be getting in bad with you, but I can't help it. For God's sake-"

  "Shut up. You're a fool after all." Wolfe turned and snapped at me: "Archie, get that paper."

  He might have prepared me by one swift glance before putting it into words, but when I complained to him about such things he always said that my speed and wit required no preparation, and I retorted that I could put up with less sarcastic flattery and more regard for my convenience.

  On this occasion it didn't matter much. Bronson was about my size but I doubted if he was tough. However, it was a murder case, and Wolfe had just been insinuating that this gentleman had been on the scene of hostilities with a club in his hand, so I got upright and across to his neighborhood quick enough to forestall any foolish motions he might make. I stuck my hand out and said:

  "Gimme."

  He shook his head and got up without haste, kicking his chair back without looking at it, looking instead at me with his eyes still steady and clever.

  "This is silly," he said. "Damned silly. You can't bluff me like this."

  I asked without turning my head, "Do you want it,
Mr. Wolfe?"

  "Get it."

  "Okay. – Reach for the moon. I'll help myself."

  "No you won't." His eyes didn't nicker. "If you try taking it away from me, I won't fight. I'm not much of a coward, but I'm not in condition and I'd be meat for you. Instead I'll yell, and Osgood will come, and of course he'll want a look at the paper that's causing the trouble." He smiled.

  "You will?"

  "I will."

  "Back at you. If you do, I'll show you how I make sausage. I warn you, one bleat and I'll quit only when the ambulance comes. After Osgood reads the paper he'll offer to pay me to do it again. Hold that pose."

  I started to reach, and I'll be damned if he didn't try a dive with his knee up, and without flashing a flag. He was- fairly quick, but I side-stepped in time. It wasn't absolutely essen- tial to punch him, but a guy as tricky as he was needed a lesson anyway, so I let him have it, a good stiff hook that lifted him out of his dive and turned him over. I was beside him, bending over him, by the time he got his eyes open again.

  "Stay there," I told him. "I don't know which pocket it's in. Do you think you can remember that? If so, gimme."

  His hand started for his inside breast pocket, and I reached in ahead of him and pulled out something that proved to be a handsome brown leather wallet with a monogram on it in platinum or maybe tin. He grabbed for it and I jerked away and told him to get up and sit down, and backed off a little to examine the loot.

  "My word." I whistled. "Here's an accumulation of cur- rency out of all proportion. A couple of thousand or more. Pipe down, you. I don't steal from blackguards. But I don't see… ah, here we are. Secret compartments you might say." I unfolded it and ran my eye over it, and handed it to Wolfe. "Return the balance?"

  He nodded, reading. I handed the wallet back to Bronson, who was back on his feet. He looked a little disarranged, but he met my eye as he took the wallet from me, and I had to admit there was something to him, although misplaced; it isn't usual to meet the eye of a bird who has just knocked you down and made you like it. Wolfe said, "Here, Archie," and handed me the paper, and from my own breast pocket I took the brown ostrich cardcase, gold-tooled, given to me by Wolfe on a birthday, in which I carried my police and fire cards and operator's license. I slipped the folded paper in- side and returned it to my pocket.

  Wolfe said, "Mr. Bronson. There are other questions I meant to ask, such as the purpose of your trip to Mr. Pratt's place this afternoon, but it would be futile. I am even begin- ning to suspect that you are now engaged in an enterprise which may prove to be a bigger blunder than your conduct here with me. As for the paper Mr. Goodwin took from you, I guarantee that within 10 days you will get it back, or your money. Don't try any stratagems. I'm mad enough already. Good night, sir."

  "I repeat… I've told you…"

  "I don't want to hear it. You're a fool. Good night."

  Bronson went.

  Wolfe heaved a deep sigh. I poured out a glass of milk, and sipped, and saw that he had an eye cocked at me. In a minute he murmured:

  "Archie. Where did you get that milk?"

  "Refrigerator."

  "In the kitchen?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well?"

  "Yes, sir. There's 5 or 6 bottles in there. Shall I bring you one?"

  "You might have saved yourself a trip." His hand dived into his side coat pocket and came out clutching a flock of beer bottle caps. He opened his fist and counted them, frown- ing, and told me, "Bring two."

  14

  AT 10 O'CLOCK the next morning, Wednesday, a motley group piled into Osgood's sedan, bound for Crowfield. All except Nero Wolfe looked the worse for wear- I couldn't say about me. Osgood was seedy and silent, and during a brief talk with Wolfe had shown an inclination to bite. Bronson no longer looked disarranged, having again donned the Crawnley suit he had worn Monday, but the right side of his jaw was swollen and he was sullen and not amused. Nancy, who took the wheel again, was pale and had blood- shot eyes and moved in jerks. She had already made one trip to Crowfield and back, for a couple of relatives at the rail- road station. The funeral was to be Thursday afternoon, and the major influx of kin would be 24 hours later. Apparently Wolfe had changed his mind about immediately relieving the pressure on the woman he admired, for I had been in- structed that there was no hurry about telling Miss Osgood that the paper her brother had signed was in my possession. Which, considering how I had got it, was in my judgment just as well.

  During the 30-minute drive to Crowfield no one said a word, except for a brief discussion between Osgood and Nancy to arrange for meeting later in the day, after errands had been performed. First we dropped Osgood on Main Street in front of an establishment with palms and ferns in the win- dow and a small sign painted down in a corner which said Somebody or other, MORTICIAN. Our next stop was two blocks down, at the hotel, where Bronson left us, in a dismal all-around silence and unfriendly atmosphere that is prob- ably the chief occupational hazard of the blackguard business.

  Nancy muttered at me, "Thompson's Garage, isn't it?" and I told her yes, and three minutes later she let me out there, around on a side street, the idea being that since there might be a delay about the car she would proceed to deliver Wolfe at the exposition grounds, for which I was grateful, not want- ing him muttering around underfoot.

  The hill was $66.20, which was plenty, even including the towing in. Of course there was no use beefing, so I con- tented myself with a thorough inspection to make sure every- thing was okay, filled up with gas and oil; paid in real money, and departed.

  Then I was supposed to find Lew Bennett, secretary of the National Guernsey League. I tried the hotel and drew a blank, and wasted 20 minutes in a phone booth, being met with busy lines, wrong numbers, and general ignorance. There seemed to be an impression that he was somewhere at the exposition, so I drove out there and after a battle got the car parked in one of the spaces reserved, for exhibitors. I plunged into the crowd, deciding to start at the exposition offices, where I learned that this was a big cattle day and Bennett was in up to his ears. He would be around the exhibition sheds, which were at the other end of the grounds. Back in the crowd again, I fought through men, women, children, balloons, horns, pop- corn and bedlam, to my objective.

  I hadn't seen this part before. There was a city of enormous" sheds, in a row, each one 50 yards long or more and half as wide. There weren't many people around. I popped into the first shed. It smelled like cows, which wasn't surprising, be- cause it was full of them. A partition 5 feet high ran down the middle of the shed its entire length, and facing it, tied to it, were cattle, on both sides. Bulls and cows and calves. Two more rows of them faced the walls. But none of them looked like the breed I was most familiar with after my association with Hickory Caesar Grindon. A few spectators straggled down the long aisle, and I moseyed along to where a little squirt in overalls was combing tangles out of a cow's tail, and told him I was looking for Lew Bennett of the Guernsey League.

  "Guernsey?" He looked contemptuous. "I wouldn't know. I'm a Jersey man."

  "Oh. Excuse me. Personally, I fancy Guernseys. Is there a shed where they allow Guernseys?"

  "Sure. Down beyond the judging lot. He might be at the lot. They're judging Ayrshires and Belted Swiss this morning, but they begin on Guernseys at 1 o'clock."

  I thanked him and proceeded. After I had passed three sheds there was a large vacant space, roped off into divisions, and that was where the crowd was, several hundred of them, up against the ropes. Inside were groups of cattle, black with belts of white around their middles, held by men and boys with tie-ropes. Other men walked or stood around, frowning at the cattle, accompanied by still others armed with foun- tain pens and sheets of cardboard. One guy was kneeling down, inspecting an udder as if he expected to find the Clue of the Month on it. I couldn't see Bennett anywhere.

  I found him in the second shed ahead, which was devoted to Guernseys. It was full of activity and worriment- brushing coats, washing hoofs and
faces, combing tails, discussing and arguing. Bennett was rushing back and forth. He didn't rec- ognize me, and I nearly had to wrestle him to stop him. I re- minded him of our acquaintance and said that Nero Wolfe wanted to see him at the main exhibits building, or some more convenient spot, as soon as possible. Urgent.

  "Out of the question," he declared, looking fierce. "I haven't even got time to eat. They're judging us at 1 o'clock."

  "Mr. Wolfe's solving a murder for Mr. Frederick Osgood. He needs important information from you."

  "I haven't got any."

  "He wants to ask you."

  "I can't see him now. I just can't do it. After 1 o'clock… when they start judging… you say he's at the main exhibits building? I'll see him or let him know…"

  "He'll lunch at the Methodist tent. Make it soon. Huh?"

  He said just as soon as possible.

  It was noon by the time I got to our space in the main ex- hibits building. It was judgment day for more than Guernseys, as 4 o'clock that afternoon was zero hour for the orchids. Wolfe was there spraying and manicuring. The sprayer was a pippin, made specially to his order, holding two gallons, with a compression chamber and a little electric motor, weigh- ing only 11 pounds empty. His rival and enemy. Shanks, was with him admiring the sprayer when I joined them. I told him the car was okay and named the extent of the damage, and described the plight of Mr. Bennett.

  He grimaced. "Then I must wait here."

  "Standing is good for you."

  "And the delay. It is Wednesday noon. We have nothing left but shreds. I telephoned Mr. Waddell. The club carried to Mr. Pratt's place has not been found, and the police took no photographs of the bull. Pfui. Inspector Cramer's inde- fatigable routine has its advantages. Miss Osgood reports that none of the servants saw Bronson return. Our next move depends on Mr. Bennett."