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 card 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 dialed 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 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:
Well, friends and fellow citizens, a certain so-called genius has busted loose again right here in New York, where I live only because I have to. You may have heard of this fat fantastic creature who goes by the good old American name of Nero Wolfe. Just before I went on the air we received here at the studio a press release from a firm of midtown lawyers — a firm which is now minus a partner because one of them, a man named Louis Rony, got killed in an automobile accident Monday night. The authorities have investigated thoroughly and properly, and there is no question about its being an accident or about who was responsible. The authorities know all about it, and so does the public, which means you. But this so-called genius knows more than everybody else put together — as usual. Since the regrettable accident took place on the property of a prominent citizen — a man whom I have the honor to know as a friend and as a great American — it was too good a chance for the genius to miss, to get some cheap publicity. The press release from the firm of lawyers states that Nero Wolfe intends to pursue his investigation of Rony’s death until he learns the truth. How do you like that? What do you think of this insolent abuse of the machinery of justice in a free country like ours? If I may be permitted to express an opinion, I think we could get along very well without that kind of a genius in our America. Among four-legged brutes there is a certain animal which neither works for its food nor fights for it. A squirrel earns its acorns, and a beast of prey earns its hard-won meal. But this animal skulks among the trees and rocks and tall grass, looking for misfortune and suffering. What a way to live! What a diet that is, to eat misfortune! How lucky we are that it is only among four-legged brutes that we may find such a scavenger as that! Perhaps I should apologize, my friends and fellow citizens, for this digression into the field of natural history. Good-bye for another ten days. Tomorrow, and for the remainder of my vacation, Robert Burr will be with you again in my place. I had to come to town today, and the temptation to come to the studio and talk to you was too much for me. Here is Mr. Griswold for my sponsor.
Another voice, as cordial and sunny as Emerson’s was acid, began telling us of the part played by Continental Mines Corporation in the greatness of America. I got up and crossed to the radio to turn it off.
“I hope he spelled your name right,” I remarked to Wolfe. “What do you know? He went to all that trouble right in the middle of his vacation just to give you a plug. Shall we write and thank him?”
No reply. Obviously that was no time to ask if he wanted our report for the afternoon, so I didn’t. And later, after dinner, as I have said, he decided to do a survey of the pictures first.
He liked them so much that he practically suggested I should quit detective work and take up photography. There were thirty-eight different shots in the collection I put on his desk. He rejected nine of them, put six in his top drawer, and asked for all four prints of the other twenty-three. As Saul and I got them together I noticed that he had no outstanding favorites. All the family and guests were well represented, and of course the membership card was included. Then they all had to be labeled on the back and placed in separate envelopes, also labeled. He put a rubber band around them and put them in his top drawer.
Again the report got postponed, this time by the arrival of Doc Vollmer. He accepted Wolfe’s offer of a bottle of beer, as he always did when he called in the evening, and after it had been brought by Fritz and his throat was wet he told his story. His reception at White Plains had been neither warm nor cold, he said, just businesslike, and after a phone call to Wolfe an Assistant DA had escorted him to the morgue. As for what he had found, the best he could do was a guess. The center of the impact of the car’s wheels had been the fifth rib, and the only sign of injury higher on Rony than that was a bruise on the right side of his head, above the ear. Things that had happened to his hips and legs showed that they had been under the car, so his head and shoulders must have been projecting beyond the wheels. It was possible that the head bruise had been caused by contact with the gravel of the drive, but it was also possible that he had been struck on the head with something and knocked out before the car ran over him. If the latter, the instrument had not been something with a sharp edge, or with a limited area of impact like the head of a hammer or wrench, but neither had it had a smooth surface like a baseball bat. It had been blunt and rough and heavy.
Wolfe was frowning. “A golf club?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“A tennis racket?”
“Not heavy enough.”
“A piece of iron pipe?”
“No. Too smooth.”
“A piece of a branch from a tree with stubs of twigs on it?”
“That would be perfect if it were heavy enough.” Vollmer swallowed some beer. “Of course all I had was a hand glass. With the hair and scalp under a microscope some evidence might be found. I suggested that to the Assistant District Attorney, but he showed no enthusiasm. If there had been an opportunity to snip off a piece I would have brought it home with me, but he didn’t take his eyes off of me. Now it’s too late because they were ready to prepare the body for burial.”
“Was the skull cracked?”
“No. Intact. Apparently the medical examiner had been curious too. The scalp had been peeled back and replaced.”
“You couldn’t swear that he had probably been knocked down before the car struck him?”
“Not ‘probably.’ I could swear he had been hit on the head, and that the blow might have been struck while he was still erect — as far as my examination went.”
“Confound it,” Wolfe grumbled. “I hoped to simplify matters by forcing those people up there to do some work. You did all you could, Doctor, and I’m grateful.” He turned his head. “Saul, I understand that Archie gave you some money for safekeeping the other evening?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you got it with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please give it to Doctor Vollmer.”
Saul got an envelope from his pocket, took some folded bills from it, and stepped to Vollmer to hand them over.
Doc was puzzled. “What’s this for?” he asked Wolfe.
“For this afternoon, sir. I hope it’s enough.”
“But — I’ll send a bill. As usual.”
“If you prefer it, certainly. But if you don’t mind I wish you’d take my word for it that it is peculiarly fitting to pay you with that money for examining Mr. Rony’s head in an effort to learn the truth about his death. It pleases my fancy if it doesn’t offend yours. Is it enough?”
Doc unfolded the bills and took a look. “It’s too much.”
“Keep it. It should be that money, and all of it.”
Doc stuck it in his pocket. “Thanks. Anything to be mysterious.” He picked up his beer glass. “As soon as I finish this, Archie, I’ll take a look at your face. I knew you’d try to close in too fast some day.”
I replied suitably.
After he had gone I finally reported for Saul and me. Wolfe leaned back and listened to the end without interrupting. In the middle of it Fred Durkin and Orrie Cather arrived, admitted by Fritz, and I waved them to seats and resumed. When I explained why I hadn’t insisted on something better than Jimmy’s corny tale about letters Gwenn had written Rony, in spite of the way Mom had scrambled it for him, Wolfe nodded in approval, and when I explained why I had walked out of the law office of Murphy, Kearfot and Rony without even trying to look in a wastebasket, he nodded again. One reason I like to work for him is that he never rides me for not acting the way he would act. He knows what I can do and that’s all he ever expects; but he sure expects that.
When I got to the end I added, “If I may make a suggestion, why not have one of the boys find out where Aloysius Murphy was at nine-thirty Monday evening? I’d be glad to volunteer. I bet he’s a D and a Commie both, and if he didn’t kill Rony he ought to be framed for it. You ought to meet him.”
Wolfe grunted. “At least the afternoon wasn’t wasted. You didn’t find the membership card.”
“Yeah, I thought that was how you’d take it.”
“And you met Mrs. Sperling and her son. How sure are you that he invented those letters?”
I shrugged. “You heard me describe it.”
“You, Saul?”
“Yes, sir, I agree with Archie.”
“Then that settles it.” Wolfe sighed. “This is a devil of a mess.” He looked at Fred and Orrie. “Come up closer, will you? I’ve got to say something.”
Fred and Orrie moved together, but not alike. Fred was some bigger than Orrie. When he did anything at all, walk or talk or reach for something, you always expected him to trip or fumble, but he never did, and he could trail better than anybody I knew except Saul, which I would never understand. Fred moved like a bear, but Orrie like a cat. Orrie’s strong point was getting people to tell him things. It wasn’t so much the questions he asked. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t very good at questions; it was just the way he looked at them. Something about him made people feel that he ought to be told things.
Wolfe’s eyes took in the four of us. He spoke.
“As I said, we’re in a mess. The man we were investigating has been killed, and I think he was murdered. He was an outlaw and a blackguard, and I owe him nothing. But I am committed, by circumstances I prefer not to disclose, to find out who killed him and why, and, if it was murder, to get satisfactory evidence. We may find that the murderer is one who, by the accepted standards, deserves to live as richly as Mr. Rony deserved to die. I can’t help that; he must be found. Whether he must also be exposed I don’t know. I’ll answer that question when I am faced by it, and that will come only when I am also facing the murderer.”
Wolfe turned a hand over. “Why am I giving you this lecture? Because I need your help and will take it only on my own terms. If you work with me on this and we find what we’re looking for, a murderer, with the required evidence, any one or all of you may know all that I know, or at least enough to give you a right to share in the decision: what to do about it. That’s what I won’t accept. I reserve that right solely to myself. I alone shall decide whether to expose him, and if I decide not to, I shall expect you to concur; and if you concur you will be obligated to say or do nothing that will conflict with my decision. You’ll have to keep your mouths shut, and that is a burden not to be lightly assumed. So before we get too far I’m giving you this chance to stay out of it.”
He pressed a button on his desk. “I’ll drink some beer while you think it over. Will you have some?”
Since it was the first group conference we had had for a long time, all five of us, I thought it should be done right, so I went to the kitchen, and Fritz and I collaborated. It was nothing fancy — a bourbon and soda for Saul, and gin fizzes for Orrie and me, and beer for Fred Durkin and Wolfe. Straight rye with no chaser was Fred’s drink, but I had never been able to talk him out of the notion that he would offend Wolfe if he didn’t take beer when invited. So while the rest of us sat and enjoyed what we liked, Fred sipped away at what I had heard him call slop.
Since they were supposed to be thinking something over, they tried to look thoughtful, and I tactfully filled in by giving Wolfe a few sidelights on the afternoon, such as the bottle of Scotch Rony had kept in the bond box. But it was too much for Saul, who hated to mark time. When his highball was half gone he lifted the glass, drained it, put it down, and spoke to Wolfe.
“What you were saying. If you want me to work on this, all I expect is to get paid. If I get anything for you, then its yours. My mouth doesn’t need any special arrangement to keep it shut.”
Wolfe nodded. “I know you’re discreet, Saul. All of you are. But this time what you’ll get for me may be evidence that would convict a murderer if it were used, and there’s a possibility that it may not be used. That would be a strain.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make out all right. If you can stand it I can.”
“What the hell,” Fred blurted. “I don’t get it. What do you think we’d do, play pattycake with the cops?”
“It’s not that,” Orrie told him impatiently. “He knows how we like cops. Maybe you never heard about having a conscience.”
“Never did. Describe it to me.”
“I can’t. I’m too sophisticated to have one and you’re too primitive.”
“Then there’s no problem.”
“There certainly isn’t.” Orrie raised his glass. “Here’s to crime, Mr. Wolfe. There’s no problem.” He drank.
Wolfe poured beer. “Well,” he said, “now you know what this is like. The contingency I have described may never arise, but it had to be foreseen. With that understood we can proceed. Unless we have some luck this could drag on for weeks. Mr. Sperling’s adroit stroke in persuading a man of standing to sign that confounded statement, not merely a chauffeur or other domestic employee, has made it excessively difficult. There is one possibility which I shall have explored by a specialist — none of you is equipped for it — but meanwhile we must see what we can find. Archie, tell Fred about the people who work there. All of them.”
I did so, typing the names for him. If my weekend at Stony Acres had been purely social I wouldn’t have been able to give him a complete list, from the butler to the third assistant gardener, but during the examinations Monday night and Tuesday morning I had got well informed. As I briefed Fred on them he made notes on the typed list.
“Anyone special?” Fred asked Wolfe.
“No. Don’t go to the house. Start at Chappaqua, in the village, wherever you can pick up a connection. We know that someone in that house drugged a drink intended for Mr. Rony on Saturday evening, and we are assuming that someone wanted him to die enough to help it along. When an emotion as violent as that is loose in a group of people there are often indications of it that are heard or seen by servants. That’s all I can tell you.”
“What will I be in Chappaqua for?”
“Whatever you like. Have something break on your car, something that takes time, and have it towed to the local garage. Is there a garage in Chappaqua, Archie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will do.” Wolfe drank the last of his beer and used his handkerchief on his lips. “Now Saul. You met young Sperling today.”
“Yes, sir. Archie introduced us.”
“We want to know what he and his mother were looking for at Mr. Rony’s apartment. It was almost certainly a paper, since they were looking in books, and probably one which had supported a threat held by Mr. Rony over young Sperling or his mother. That conjecture is obvious and even trite, but things get trite by occurring frequently. There is a clear pattern. A month ago Mrs. Sperling reversed herself and readmitted Mr. Rony to her home as a friend of her daughter, and the son’s attitude changed at the same time. A threat could have been responsible for that, especially since the main objection to Mr. Rony was then based on a mere surmise by Mr. Sperling. But Monday afternoon they were told something which so blackened Mr. Rony as to make him quite unacceptable. Yet the threat still existed. You see where that points.”
“What blackened him?” Saul asked.
Wolfe shook his head. “I doubt if you need that, at least not now. We want to know what the threat was, if one existed. That’s for you and Orrie, with you in charge. The place to look is here in New York, and the son is far more likely than the mother, so try him first — his associates, his habits — but for that you need no suggestions from me. It’s as routine as Fred’s job, but perhaps more promising. Report as usual.”
That finished the conference. Fred got the rest of his beer down, not wanting to offend Wolfe by leaving some. I got money for them from the safe, from the cash drawer, not disturbing the contribution from our latest client. Fred had a couple of questions and got them answered, and I went to the front door to let them out.
Back in the office, Fritz had entered to remove glasses and bottles. I stood and stretched and yawned.
“Sit down,” Wolfe said peevishly.
“You don’t have to take it out on me,” I complained, obeying. “I can’t help it if you’re a genius, as Paul Emerson says, but the best you can do is to sic Fred on the hired help and start Saul and Orrie hunting ratholes. God knows I have no bright suggestions, but then I’m not a genius. Who is my meat? Aloysius Murphy? Emerson?”
He grunted. “The others replied to the question I put. You didn’t.”
“Nuts. My worry about this murderer, if there is one, is not what you’ll do with him after you get him, but whether you’re going to get him.” I gestured. “If you do, he’s yours. Get him two thousand volts or a DSO — as you please. Will you need my help?”
“Yes. But you may be disqualified. I told you last week to establish a personal relationship.”
“So you did. So I did.”
“But not with the right person. I would like to take advantage of your acquaintance with the elder Miss Sperling, but you may balk. You may have scruples.”
“Much obliged. It would depend on the kind of advantage. If all I’m after is facts, scruples are out. She knows I’m a detective and she knows where we stand, so it’s up to her. If it turns out that she killed Rony I’ll help you pin the medal on her. What is it you want?”
“I want you to go up there tomorrow morning.”
“Glad to. What for?”
He told me.