A Right To Die

by Rex Stout

  Wolfe's shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. "It can do no harm. Even if—"

  The doorbell rang. I went to the hall for a look, turned my head to tell Wolfe, "Whipple," and proceeded to the front. It was a pleasant walk, those dozen steps; I was absolutely certain that I had more than made up for the two hours I had wasted on Dolly Brooke. What else could have brought Whipple in the middle of a working day? When I opened the door and offered a hand I'm afraid I overdid it a little. I am not a knuckle-crusher, but I do have a grip, and I guess he felt it. I took him to the office, and I hope I wasn't smirking as he took the red leather chair and told Wolfe he had come instead of phoning because he had to tell him something that might make trouble for people that they didn't deserve. Wolfe asked what people, and Whipple raised a hand to adjust his glasses. Cheaters are useful that way; they give you an excuse for moving your eyes and taking a few seconds to pick words.

  "You may not know," Whipple said. "That young man, Peter Vaughn, has been murdered."

  Wolfe nodded. "I do know."

  "His body was found in a parked car. He was shot."

  "Yes."

  "Well, you know—" It came out husky, and he cleared his throat and started over. "You know that in all this trouble I have been absolutely candid with you."

  "I have no reason to doubt it."

  "I have been. Absolutely candid. I have told you everything that you might need to know. Now there's something that I don't want to tell you, but I know I must. It will make trouble for people who are friends of mine—not only friends, they are important people in the—to my race. But to ask your help, and accept it, and then keep facts from you that you should know—that would be contemptible."

  "You could tell me to quit."

  "I don't want you to quit!" His voice rose, almost a shriek, and he clamped his teeth on his lip. In a moment he went on. "You'll have to make allowances. When I first came to you my nerves were none too good, and now I can't control them." His head jerked up. "This is childish. Yesterday he came to me, Peter Vaughn, and asked me to tell him what I knew of the relations that existed between my son and that girl, Susan Brooke. He wasn't—"

  "What time yesterday?"

  "In the morning. He was at the college waiting when I arrived. He wasn't very intelligent, was he? I told him I knew nothing about it beyond the fact of their association in their work, that I could neither confirm nor deny any of the things that have been printed. What else could I say? He was insistent, but so was I, and he left. Then during the lunch hour I received a phone call from Tom Henchy of the ROCC. He said that Peter Vaughn had been there and had insisted on seeing him and some of the others, and he wanted to know what I had told him. Then today, about an hour ago, Tom Henchy phoned again. He told me that Peter Vaughn had been murdered last night, and he asked me to say nothing to anyone about his having been at the ROCC yesterday. He said they had agreed that it would be inadvisable to mention it, and they didn't want me to. I said I would call him back, and I did, in a few minutes. During those few minutes what was mostly in my mind was what you said to us that night at Kanawha Spa. That was about murder too. I called him and told him I had decided I must tell you. He wanted me to come or meet him somewhere and discuss it, but I wouldn't. I came here. There it is. I hope to heaven …" He let it hang and left the chair. "I don't expect you to say anything, I don't want you to." He turned and was going, but Wolfe's voice stopped him.

  "If you please! Who knows about this?"

  "No one. I haven't told anybody, not even my wife."

  "Not even about his coming to you?"

  "No. And I won't. You must excuse me. It has been painful, telling you this. Very painful." He went.

  I was on my feet, but Wolfe shook his head at me and I stayed put. My stepping to the hall for a look after the sound came of the front door closing was automatic, a habit ever since the day a bozo shut it from inside and stood near the open office door for half an hour, listening to us discuss his affairs.

  I stepped back in. "Do I bother to sit?"

  A corner of Wolfe's mouth was up. "You know, Archie, the most revealing manifestation of your self-esteem is not an action but an exclusion. You never crow. Nevertheless, accept my compliments."

  "With pleasure. I won't deduct the twenty-two bucks. Do I sit down?"

  "No. Bring them."

  "Now?"

  "Yes. Mr. Cramer might get to them at any moment."

  "It's a quarter to three. Even if I deliver them in half an hour, which is doubtful, you can't possibly do them in forty-five minutes."

  "I know I can't, confound it. I owe all this to that outlandish trip to Kanawha Spa."

  "But you got the recipe for saucisse minuit."

  "I did indeed. Bring them. Everyone Mr. Vaughn saw or spoke with, no exceptions. First ring Saul. We need him immediately."

  As I went and started dialing, I was figuring whether it was the fourth time in history he had permitted his afternoon session with the orchids to be gummed up or only the third.

  Chapter 13

  MAYBE I SELDOM crow, and I'm all for self-esteem, but I have some flaws, and one of them showed when I walked into the office of the ROCC and crossed over to Maud Jordan at the switchboard and asked, "What time did Peter Vaughn get here yesterday morning?" That had been my suggestion to Wolfe just before Paul Whipple rang the doorbell, and using it verbatim appealed to one of my flaws, I'm not sure which one.

  It wasn't answered. She looked down her long thin nose at me and asked, "Whom do you wish to see?"

  I didn't press her, since Whipple had made it unnecessary. I told her Mr. Henchy, and it was urgent. She used the phone and told me to go on in, and as I went down the hall Harold R. Oster appeared in the doorway of the corner room. I would have preferred to have Henchy alone because lawyers always complicate things, but didn't make an issue of it. He didn't offer a hand, and neither did Henchy when Oster nodded me in and closed the door. Neither of them nodded me to a chair.

  I said, standing, to Henchy at his desk, "Paul Whipple has told Nero Wolfe—not on the phone, in person—what he told you he would, about Peter Vaughn, and Mr. Wolfe wants to see you. Now. Everybody who spoke with Vaughn yesterday."

  "Sit down," Oster said.

  "I'd just have to get up again to go with you. You realize it's urgent. There's no telling how soon the cops will get here, and then you won't be available. If no one here knows where you've gone you won't be available to them for a while. If you think I'm pushing, I am."

  Henchy started, "You certainly—" but Oster cut in, "I'll handle it, Tom. Keep your shirt on, Goodwin. If and when the police learn that Vaughn came here yesterday, we'll answer any questions they may care to ask. He merely wanted to inquire about Dunbar Whipple and Susan Brooke, how intimate they had been. He insisted on it and he was a damned nuisance. Nothing he said or did here could possibly have any connection with his murder. Tell Wolfe I'll see him later, at six o'clock, when he's available."

  "He's available now." I focused on Henchy. "All right, I'll mention something that Mr. Wolfe would have preferred to mention himself, but it doesn't matter. Vaughn called me on the phone at ten minutes past five yesterday afternoon and said something that makes it extremely probable that he was murdered because of something that happened when he was here. Not only do Mr. Wolfe and I assume that, the cops do too."

  "They don't know he was here," Oster said.

  "They'll find out, and it may not take them long. They know what Vaughn told me on the phone. What they assume is that his murder resulted from his contacts yesterday, and when they learn he was here—well. Talk about questions. The whole damn ROCC staff material witnesses. The bail—"

  "Good God," Henchy blurted.

  "I don't believe it," Oster said. "What did Vaughn tell you on the phone?"

  "Mr. Wolfe may tell you. I won't."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Okay. It will be interesting to see who comes first, Homicide or the DA's b
ureau." I went to a chair and sat. "It will also be interesting to see how they handle it. Would you rather I wait outside?"

  "Yes," Oster said. "We'll consider it."

  "You'd better consider fast." I stood up. "I don't know how long Mr. Wolfe will hold on."

  "I'm going." Henchy got to his feet. His pudgy cheeks were sagging. "I'm going to see him. You too, Harold."

  "I want to consider it."

  "No. I'm the responsible head of this organization. You come with me." Henchy moved.

  "And the others," I said. "Everyone who spoke with Vaughn, even one word. Including Miss Jordan. Do you want to leave them here to deal with the cops if they come? With you not here?"

  "No," Oster said. "Of course. If we go, Tom, they must go too. Wait in the anteroom, Goodwin."

  "I advise you to step on it."

  "We will. If we're going, the sooner the better."

  I went. When I got to the anteroom Maud Jordan was busy on the phone, telling people to go to Henchy's room, and in a few minutes a girl came from inside, with very smooth dark skin and a little turned-up nose, to take over the switchboard, and Miss Jordan went inside. I decided to give them twenty minutes for their huddle and then go in after them, and began exercising my neck by turning my head about ten times a minute to look at the entrance door, hoping it wouldn't open. It did once, and my belly muscles tightened, but it was only a man with a package. Just one minute of the twenty was left when I heard footsteps in the hall, and they came, Henchy in the lead, then Oster, Cass Faison, Adam Ewing, Beth Tiger, and Maud Jordan. No strangers.

  Rising, I asked Henchy, "Miss Kallman?"

  "She isn't here. She wasn't here yesterday." He turned to the girl at the switchboard. "Miss Bowen, you don't know where we're going."

  "Well, I don't," she said.

  "Also," I suggested, "you don't know my name, and if you're asked to describe me you're not much good at describing people."

  "Do I describe him wrong?" she asked Henchy.

  "Yes," Oster said. "Within reason."

  I made another suggestion, that they go ahead and I would take another elevator and also another taxi. You may think I was overdoing it, but I knew darned well what would happen the minute Cramer learned that Vaughn had gone there, if it was still office hours. I was pleased to find that there was room in my skull for still another suggestion, even though I had to veto it—the suggestion that one of them, namely Miss Tiger, might ride with me. It was nice to know that even in a crisis I didn't totally exclude consideration of such matters as companionship. I admit it was a factor that she had not yet given the slightest indication that she was aware that I was human.

  But I rode alone, and as my cab pulled up in front of the old brownstone I was afraid there would be more delay. It was five minutes past four, and it was at least even money that Wolfe had gone up to the plant rooms. Three of them were standing at the foot of the stoop steps, and the other three were climbing out of their taxi. I paid the hackie and went and led the way up, and as I reached the top the door was opened by Saul Panzer. "Mr. Henchy to the office," he told me, "and the others to the front room."

  Lawyers can be pests and often are. Eight people in the end of that hall disposing of coats are a crowd, and when I got Henchy separated and started him down the hall to the office, there somehow was Oster, moving like a man who intends to stay in charge. I thought, What the hell, it will be simpler to use the connecting door, and let him come; and sure enough, he went straight to the red leather chair, stood in front of it, and told Wolfe, "Whipple's not here to interfere this time. You'll listen to me."

  Relieved that Wolfe was there and my errand was done, I sat down and got my notebook and pen. Let him do the reacting.

  He didn't crane to look up at Oster but focused on Henchy, who was in one of the yellow chairs Saul had moved up. "This is going to be unpleasant for all of us," he said. "Has Mr. Goodwin made the situation clear?"

  Henchy nodded. "Clear enough so we're here. We came."

  "You'll listen to me," Oster said, in charge. "We want to know what Vaughn said to Goodwin on the phone yesterday. What you say he said."

  Wolfe slanted his head back. "Mr. Oster. I don't ask you to sit because I don't want you to. You will join the others in the front room. I am no longer acting in cooperation with you; henceforth my only commitment is to Mr. Paul Whipple. With me your status is now, to use a cant term, that of a murder suspect." He pointed. "That door."

  Oster made a noise, part snort and part snarl. He sat. "That crap," he said. "The Great White Whosis. I'm a member of the bar, and what are you?"

  Wolfe regarded him. "I really can't blame you. If I were a Negro I would have been locked up long ago—or I would be dead. You actually believe that your skin color and mine are factors in my treatment of you. Pfui. I'm not a troglodyte. Archie, the relevant portion of your telephone conversation with Mr. Vaughn yesterday afternoon."

  I recited it for them as I had for Cramer, but slower and emphasizing "important," and adding at the end that he hadn't rung again. Henchy was frowning at me, concentrating. Oster was looking skeptical, but he was getting it. Wolfe spoke.

  "Those were the last words, for us, from Mr. Vaughn. 'It's probably nothing.' But unfortunately for him it wasn't. It's a conclusion, more than an assumption, that he was going to see again someone he had seen earlier, or at least explore some suspicion resulting from an earlier contact. It's possible that that contact had not been at your office, but I know of none other he might have made relevant to the fate of Susan Brooke, and I doubt if the police do. It's also a conclusion, not lightly to be abandoned, that he was killed by the person who killed Miss Brooke. Do you reject that, Mr. Oster?"

  "Reject it, no. If he said what Goodwin says he did."

  "For me that is not moot. If it is for you, it will be a soliloquy. Are you willing to tell me what Mr. Vaughn said to you yesterday, and what you said to him?"

  "He said nothing, and neither did I."

  "He didn't see you?"

  "He saw me, yes, but I exchanged no words with him. I was with Mr. Henchy in his room when Vaughn came, and I stayed and heard what they said, but I said nothing to Vaughn and he said nothing to me."

  "Had you ever seen him before?"

  "No."

  "Had he ever seen you?"

  "Not to my knowledge. I have been on television a few times."

  "Did you see him again yesterday? After five o'clock?"

  "No. Next question, where was I last evening? If you have a right to ask any questions at all, which I don't concede, you have a right to ask that. I'll answer it by saying that I can't produce witnesses for the entire evening and night. I wouldn't, for you, but anyway I couldn't."

  "Few people could. Now, sir, I'm sure you would like this to be as brief as possible, and you can help. While I talk with Mr. Henchy you can explain to the others—"

  "I'm staying right here."

  "No. You're leaving, if not the house, the room. You—"

  "I'm staying in this chair."

  Wolfe's head turned. "Archie, you'll need Saul to help remove him; he's of a size. Since it must be done by force, put him out of the house."

  "You wouldn't," Oster said.

  I was up. "I have the build for it," I said, "but you'll be surprised to feel Saul Panzer in action. He's the Little White Whosis." I moved.

  "Now wait a minute," Henchy said. "Harold, I don't like this. I don't think it's necessary." To Wolfe: "What were you going to say?"

  "That Mr. Oster can describe the situation to the others, including what Mr. Vaughn said to Mr. Goodwin on the telephone. He can also learn if any of them have alibis—from eight o'clock last evening to two o'clock this morning—that can be verified." He turned to Oster. "Not difficult for a member of the bar."

  I thought, He meant it, that their skin colors weren't factors. He was being as crusty with him as he would have been with a paleface. Oster thought he had something to say, first to Wolfe and then to Henchy,
but apparently decided it would be more dignified to go without an exit line. A straight course to the connecting door to the front room would have taken him close to where I stood, and he made a point of circling wide. Also more dignified. When he was out and the door shut, I went back to my desk and notebook.

  Wolfe said, "I'm obliged to you, Mr. Henchy. I don't like turmoil in my house."

  The executive director nodded. "I don't like it anywhere. Many people wouldn't believe that, a man in my position, but I don't like it. I like restraint. I like peace, and maybe I'll get some before I die. I guess you want two things from me: what I said to Mr. Vaughn and where I was last evening."

  "Not necessarily where you were, unless you have an alibi that can be established."

  "I haven't, not for the whole time from eight o'clock to two. I know a little about alibis; I've had experience. As for Mr. Vaughn, I don't think I had ever seen him before. I see many people. I won't try to tell you what I said to him yesterday word for word because I'm not good at that. I didn't say much; it was really just one thing. Not about Susan's—Miss Brooke's—who killed her. He only asked about her and Dunbar, whether they were planning to marry. Of course I knew they were, but I didn't tell him that. I said I knew nothing about it, that I never meddled in the personal affairs of members of the staff. That's all there was to it."

  "Can't you give me your exact words?"

  He frowned and took five seconds. He shook his head. "I wouldn't want to try to. But it was just what I said. He wasn't with me more than four or five minutes. He wanted to see someone else, and I sent him to Mr. Faison."

  "Why Mr. Faison?"

  "Well, he insisted on seeing someone, and Susan had worked under him." Henchy's head turned for a glance at me and returned to Wolfe. "Tell me something. I know about your reputation. Is it possible that you honestly believe that one of us killed him? And killed Susan Brooke?"