The Second Confesion

by Rex Stout

  “I could offer a long extenuation of what I did then, but it will serve just as well to put it into one sentence and simply say that I lost my head. I won't try to describe how I felt, but will tell what I did. When I had made certain that he was dead, I dragged the body off the drive and across the grass to a shrub about fifty feet away, and left it on the north side of the shrub, the side away from the drive. Then I went back to the car, drove across the bridge and on to the entrance, turned around, drove back up to the house, parked the car where I had found it, and got out.

  “I did not enter the house. I paced up and down the terrace, trying to decide what to do, collecting my nerves enough to go in and tell what had happened.

  While I was there on the terrace Goodwin came out of the house, crossed the terrace, and went in the direction of the place where the car was parked. I heard him start the engine and drive away. I didn't know where he was going. I thought he might be going to New York and the car might not return. Anyway, his going away in the car seemed somehow to make up my mind for me. I went into the house and up to my room, and tried to compose my mind by working on an economic report I was preparing for Mr Sperling.

  “This afternoon Mr Sperling told me that he had noticed that the letters on his desk, ready for mailing, were gone. I told him that I had taken them up to my room, which I had, intending to have them taken to Chappaqua early this morning, but that the blocking of the road by the police, and their guarding of all the cars, had made it impossible. But his bringing up the matter of the letters changed die whole aspect of the situation for me, I don't know why. I at once told him, of my own free will, all of the facts as herein stated. When he told me that the District Attorney would be here later this afternoon, I told him that I would set down those facts in a written statement, and I have now done so. This is that statement.” Sperling looked up. “Signed by Webster Kane,” he said. He stretched forward to hand the paper to the District Attorney. “Witnessed by me. If you want it more detailed I don't think he'll have any objection. Here he is-you can ask him.” Archer took it and ran his eye over it. In a moment he looked up and, with his head to one side, gazed at Kane. Kane met the gaze.

  Archer tapped the paper with a finger. “You wrote and signed this, did you, Mr Kane?” “I did,” Kane said clearly and firmly but without bragging.

  “Well-you're a little late with it, aren't you?” “I certainly am.” Kane did not look happy, but he was bearing up. The fact that he let his hair do as it pleased was of some advantage to him, for it made it seem less unlikely that a man with the head and face of a young statesman-that is, young for a statesman-would make such a fool of himself. He hesitated and then went on, “I am keenly aware that my conduct was indefensible. I can't even explain it in terms that make sense to me now. Apparently I'm not as good in a crisis as I would like to think I am.” “But this wasn't much of a crisis, was it? An unavoidable accident? It happens to lots of people.” “I suppose it does-but I had killed a man. It seemed like a hell of a crisis to me.” Kane gestured. “Anyhow, you see what it did to me. It threw me completely off balance.” “Not completely.” Archer glanced at the paper. “Your mind was working well enough so that when Goodwin went to the car and drove away, down that same drive, only fifteen minutes after the accident, you thought there was a good chance that it would be blamed on him. Didn't you?” Kane nodded. “I put that in the statement deliberately, even though I knew it could be construed like that. I can only say that if that thought was in my mind I wasn't conscious of it How did I put it?” Archer looked at the paper. Tike this: “His going away in the car seemed somehow to make up my mind for me. I went into the house and up to my room,” and so on.”

  “That's right.” Kane looked and sounded very earnest. “I was simply trying to be thoroughly honest about it, after behaviour of which I was ashamed. If I had in me the kind of calculation you have described I didn't know it.” “I see.” Archer looked at the paper, folded it, and sat holding it. How well did you know Rony?” “Oh-not intimately. I had seen him frequently the past few months, mostly at the Sperling home in New York or here.” “Were you on good terms with him?” “No.” It was a blunt uncompromising no. Archer snapped, “Why not?” “I didn't like what I knew of the way he practised his profession. I didn't like him personally-I just didn't like him. I knew that Mr Sperling suspected him of being a Communist, and while I had no evidence or knowledge of my own, I thought that the suspicion might easily be well founded.” “Did you know that Miss Gwenn Sperling was quite friendly with him?” “Certainly. That was the only reason he was allowed to be here.” “You didn't approve of that friendship?” “I did not, no, sir-not that my approval or disapproval mattered any. Not only am I am employee of Mr Sperling's corporation, but for more than four years I have had the pleasure and honour of being a friend-a friend of the family, if I may say that?” He looked at Sperling. Sperling nodded to indicate that he might say that.

  Kane went on: “I have deep respect and affection for all of them, including Miss Gwenn Sperling, and I thought Rony wasn't fit to be around her. May I ask a question?” “Certainly.” “I don't know why you're asking about my personal opinion Rony unless it's because you suspect me of killing him, not accident, but intentionally. Is that it?” “I wouldn't say I suspect that, Mr Kane. But this statement disposes of the matter with finality, and before I accept it as it stands-” Archer puckered his lips. “Why, do you resent my questions?” “I do not,” Kane said emphatically. “I'm in no position to resent questions, especially not from you. But it-” “I do,” Sperling blurted. He had been restraining himself. “What are you trying to do, Archer, make some mud if you can't find any? You said this morning it wasn't the policy of your office to go out of the way to make trouble for men of my standing. When did you change your policy?” Archer laughed. It was even closer to a giggle than it had been in the morning, but it lasted longer and it sounded as if he was enjoying it more.

  “You're entirely justified,” he told Sperling. Tm tired and I was going on merely through habit. I also said this morning that if it was an accident no one would be better pleased than me but I had to know who was responsible. Well, this certainly should satisfy me on that.” He put the folded paper in his pocket. “No, I don't want to make mud. God knows enough gets made without me helping.” He got to his feet. “Will you call at my office in White Plains tomorrow morning, Mr Kane-say around eleven o'clock? If I'm not there ask for Mr Gurran.” “I'll be there,” Kane promised.

  “What for?” Sperling demanded.

  “For a formality.” Archer nodded. “That's all, a formality. I'll commit myself to that now. I can't see that any good purpose would be served by a charge and a prosecution. I'll phone Gurran this evening and ask him to look up the motor vehicle statutes regarding an accident occurring on private property. It's possible there will have to be a fine or suspension of driving licence, but under all the circumstances I would prefer to see it wiped off.” He extended a hand to Sperling. “No hard feelings, I hope?” Sperling said not. Archer shook hands with Kane, with Wolfe, and even with me.

  He told us all that he hoped that the next time he saw us it would be on a more cheerful occasion. He departed.

  Wolfe was sitting with his head tilted to one side, as if it needed too much energy to keep it straight, and his eyes were shut. Kane and Sperling and I were standing, having been polite enough to arise to tell Archer good-bye, unlike Wolfe.

  Kane spoke to Sperling. “Thank God that's over. If you don't need me any more I'll go and see if I can get some work done. I'd rather not show up at dinner.

  Of course they'll have to know about it, but I'd prefer not to face them until tomorrow,” “Go ahead,” Sperling agreed. “I'll stop by your room later.” Kane started off. Wolfe opened his eyes, muttered, “Wait a minute,” and straightened his head.

  Kane halted and asked, “Do you mean me?” “If you don't mind.” Wolfe's tone wasn't as civil as his words. “Can your work wait a li
ttle?” “It can if it has to. Why?” Td like to have a little talk with you.” Kane sent a glance at Sperling, but it didn't reach its destination because the Chairman of the Board had taken another piece of paper from his pocket and was looking at it. This one was unfolded, oblong, and pink in colour. As Kane stood hesitating, Sperling stepped to Wolfe and extended his hand with the paper in it.

  “You earned it,” he said. Tm glad I hired you.” Wolfe took the paper, lowered his eyes to it, and looked up. “Indeed,” he said.

  “Fifty thousand dollars.” Sperling nodded, as I nod to a bootblack when I tip him a dime. “Added to five makes fifty-five. If it doesn't cover your damage and expenses and fee, send me a bill.” “Thank you, I'll do that. Of course I can't tell what expenses are still to come. I may-” “Expenses of what?” “Of my investigation of Mr Rony's death. I may-” “What is there to investigate?” “I don't know.” Wolfe put the cheque in his pocket. “I may be easily satisfied.

  I'd like to ask Mr Kane a few questions.” “What for? Why should you?” “Why shouldn't I?” Wolfe was bland. “Surely I'm entitled to as many as Mr Archer. Does he object to answering a dozen questions? Do you, Mr Kane?” “Certainly not.” “Good. I'll make it brief, but I do wish you'd sit down.” Kane sat, but on the edge of the chair. Sperling did not concede that much. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at Wolfe with no admiration.

  “First,” Wolfe asked, “how did you determine that Mr Rony was dead?” “My God, you should have seen him!” “But I didn't; and you couldn't have seen him any too well, since it was nearly dark. Did you put your hand inside and feel his heart?” Kane shook his head. I wasn't surprised he didn't nod it, since I had learned for myself that Rony's upper torso had been in no condition for that test, with his clothes all mixed up with his ribs. That was how I had described it to Wolfe.

  “I didn't have to,” Kane said. “He was all smashed.” “Could you see how badly he was smashed, in the dark?” “I could feel it. Anyhow it wasn't pitch dark-I could see some.” “I suppose you could see a bone, since bones are white. I understand that a humerus-the bone of the upper arm-had torn through the flesh and the clothing and was protruding several inches. Which arm was it?” That was a pure lie. He understood no such thing, and it wasn't true.

  “My God, I don't know,” Kane protested. “I wasn't making notes of things like that.” “I suppose not,” Wolfe admitted. “But you saw, or felt, the bone sticking out?” “I-perhaps I did-I don't know.” Wolfe gave that up. “When you dragged him across to the shrub, what did you take hold of? What part of him?” “I don't remember.” “Nonsense. You didn't drag him a yard or two, it was fifty feet or more. You couldn't possibly forget. Did you take him by the feet? The head? The coat collar? An arm?” “I don't remember.” “I don't see how you could help remembering. Perhaps this will bring it back to you: when you got him behind the shrub was his head pointing towards the house or away from the house?” Kane was frowning. “I should remember that.” “You should indeed.” “But I don't.” Kane shook his head. “I simply don't remember.” “I see.” Wolfe leaned back. That's all, Mr Kane.” He flipped a hand. “Go and get on with your work.” Kane was on his feet before Wolfe had finished. “I did the best I could,” he said apologetically. “As I said, I don't seem to measure up very well in a crisis. I must have been so rattled I didn't know what I was doing.” He glanced at Sperling, got no instructions one way or another, glanced again at Wolfe, sidled between two chairs, headed for the door, and was gone.

  When the door had closed behind him Sperling looked down at Wolfe and demanded, “What good did that do?” Wolfe grunted. “None at all. It did harm. It made it impossible for me, when I return home, to forget all this and set about restoring my plants.” He slanted his head back to get Sperling's face. “He must owe you a great deal-or he would hate to lose his job. How did you get him to sign that statement?” “I didn't get him to. As it says, he wrote and signed it of his own free will.” Tfui. I know what it says. But why should I believe that when I don't believe anything in it?” “You're not serious.” Sperling smiled like an angel. “Kane is one of this country's leading economists. Would a man of his reputation and standing sign such a statement if it weren't true?” “Whether he would or not, he did.” Wolfe was getting peevish. “With enough incentive, of course he would; and you have a good supply. You were lucky he was around, since he was ideal for the purpose.” Wolfe waved a hand, finishing with Mr Kane. “You handled it well; that statement is admirably drafted. But I wonder if you fully realize the position you've put me in?” “Of course I do.” Sperling was sympathetic. “You engaged to do a job and you did it well. Your performance here yesterday afternoon was without a flaw. It persuaded my daughter to drop Rony, and that was all I wanted. The accident of his death doesn't detract from the excellence of your job.” “I know it doesn't,” Wolfe agreed, “but that job was finished. The trouble is, you hired me for another job, to investigate Mr Rony's death. I now-” “That one is finished too.” “Oh, no. By no means. You've hoodwinked Mr Archer by getting Mr Kane to sign that statement, but you haven't gulled me.” Wolfe shook his head and sighed. “I only wish you had.” Sperling gazed at him a moment, moved to the chair Archer had used, sat, leaned forward, and demanded, “Listen, Wolfe, who do you think you are, Saint George?” “I do not.” Wolfe repudiated it indignantly. “No matter who killed a wretch like Mr Rony, and whether by accident or design, I would be quite willing to let that false statement be the last word. But I have committed myself. I have lied to the police. That's nothing, I do it constantly. I warned you last night that I withhold information from the police only when it concerns a case I'm engaged on; and that commits me to stay with the case until I am satisfied that it's solved. I said you couldn't hire me one day and fire me the next, and you agreed. Now you think you can. Now you think you can drop me because I can no longer get you in a pickle by giving Mr Archer a true account of the conversation in this room yesterday afternoon, and you're right. If I went to him now and confessed, now that he has that statement, he would reproach me politely and forget about it. I wish I could forget about it too, but I can't.

  It's my self-conceit again. You have diddled me, and I will not be diddled.” “I've paid you fifty-five thousand dollars.” “So you have. And no more?” “No more. For what?” “For finishing the job. I'm going to find out who killed Mr Rony, and I'm going to prove it.” Wolfe aimed a finger at him. “If I fail, Mr Sperling-” He let the finger down and shrugged. “I won't. I won't fail. See if I do.” Suddenly, without the slightest preliminary, Sperling got mad. In a flash his eyes changed, his colour changed-he was a different man. Up from the chair, on his feet, he spoke through his teeth.

  “Get out! Get out of here!” Evidently there was only one thing to do, get out. It was nothing much to me, since I had had somewhat similar experiences before, but for Wolfe, who had practically always been in his own office when a conference reached the point of breaking off relations, it was a novelty to be told to get out. He did well, I thought. He neither emphasized dignity nor abandoned it, but moved as if he had taken a notion to go to the bathroom but was in no terrible hurry. I let him precede me, which was only proper.

  However, Sperling was a many-sided man. His flare-up couldn't possibly have fizzled out as quick as that, but as I hopped ahead of Wolfe to open the door his voice came.

  “I won't stop payment on that cheque!”

  CHAPTER Fourteen

  The package arrived a little before noon on Wednesday.

  We hadn't got back to normal, since there was still a small army busy up in the plant rooms, but in many respects things had settled down. Wolfe had on a clean shirt and socks, meals were regular and up to standard, the street was cleared of broken glass, arid we had caught up on sleep. Nothing much had yet been done towards making good on Wolfe's promise to finish the Rony job, but we had only been home fourteen hours and nine of them had been spent in bed.

  Then
the package came. Wolfe, having been up in the plant rooms since breakfast, was in the office with me, checking invoices and shipping memos of everything from osmundine fibre to steel sash putty. When I went to the front door to answer the bell, and a boy handed me a package about the size of a small suitcase and a receipt to sign, I left the package in the hall because I supposed it was just another item for the operations upstairs, and I was busy.

  But after I returned to the office it struck me as queer that there was no shipper's name on it, so I went back to the hall for another look. There was no mark of any kind on the heavy wrapping paper but Wolfe's name and address. It was tied securely with thick cord. I lifted it and guessed six pounds. I pressed it against my ear and held my breath for thirty seconds, and heard nothing.

  Nuts, I thought, and cut the cord with my knife and slashed the paper. Inside was a fibre carton with the flaps taped down. I got cautious again and severed the flaps from the sides by cutting all the way around, and lifted one corner for a peek. All I saw was newspaper. I inserted the knife point and tore a piece of it off, and what I saw then made me raise my brows. Removing the flaps and the newspaper, and seeing more of the same, I got the carton up under my arm, marched into the office with it, and asked Wolfe, “Do you mind if I unpack this on your desk? I don't want to make a mess in the hall.” Ignoring his protest, I put the package down on his desk and starting taking out stacks of twenty-dollar bills. They were used bills, not a new one among them as well as I could tell from the edges, and they were banded in bundles of fifty, which meant a thousand bucks to a bundle.