Rex Stout (14 page)

“You’re too sensitive. Even if I thought it was vulgar, would you stop it?”

“Hell, no. I might.”

“You wouldn’t. You’d better not.”

“I will. But it’s one o’clock, and you’ll have to walk because
I had to park practically in the river. Have I got a date to hide in your closet at a quarter to eight?”

“Of course. You know darned well that’s what I wanted to suggest at the beginning. I must run.”

Chick beckoned to the waiter for his check.

At about the moment that Chick Moffat was ordering coffee for Alma Cronin and himself, the two detectives who had been sent to Erasmus Hospital arrived at the Secret Service Bureau with Val Orcutt and his mother. Lewis Wardell and Chief Skinner had finished the cheese sandwiches and coffee. Oliver, Secretary of War, had come over from the Cabinet meeting to propose drastic action with regard to the war editorial which had appeared in the late edition of the Washington
Record
—the paper, owned and published by Hartley Grinnell, son-in-law of George Milton, which had at the same time, on the front page, printed the appeal to citizens to find the President. That had been settled with dispatch. Oliver had other suggestions. Wardell listened with a frown. In the middle of the discussion that followed a clerk entered to say that the men had arrived with Val Orcutt.

Wardell said, “I’m sorry, Jim, we’ll have to put this off. It’s the man who drove the grocery truck; we’ve found him. Come back later.”

Oliver got up, looking not too amiable. “Wouldn’t it be just as well, Lewis, if you left details of that nature to Chief Skinner and gave us a little more time on larger questions of procedure and policy? When we gave you authority we didn’t have a dictatorship in mind.”

“Take back the authority when you want it.”

“We don’t want it. Level up a little, Lewis. I think we’re being reasonable.”

“I’m not. I haven’t time to be. I got no sleep last night and I don’t expect any tonight. As long as it’s my job I’ll do it my way. I’ve arrested Brownell and sent him to jail, and tell them they don’t need to try to see him.”

Oliver stared. “Good God. When? Why?”

“At noon. Here in this office. The papers have got it. I
haven’t time for explanations now, Jim. Come back later.” Wardell turned to the clerk: “Send them in.”

Oliver stared, shook his head, turned and left.

The Chief of the Secret Service spoke: “Do you mind if I shove this chair over a little? I’d just as soon catch a glimpse of this young man’s face while he tells us things.”

Wardell nodded wearily. “Of course.”

When the detectives entered it appeared that they had caught two fish on one hook. They had Val Orcutt, taller than either of them, his red face redder by contrast with the clean white bandage which completely swathed his head, and they also had a plump little woman with graying hair who was stubbornly and aggressively beside him. She kept it a compact group. One of the detectives said to Wardell, defensively:

“It’s his mother. There’s no use talking to her.”

Wardell said, “Take her out.” To the other detective, “Put him in that chair.”

Val Orcutt moved, got to the chair, and sat down. His mother moved with him and stood by the chair with her hand on its arm. Wardell repeated: “Take her out.” The first detective took a look at the woman’s face, shrugged, and observed, “We’ll have to carry her.”

“All right, carry her.” But Wardell’s eye caught the grimace on Chief Skinner’s face. “What’s the matter, Skinner?”

“Nothing. Excuse me for showing my feelings.”

“What kind of feelings have you?”

“Just ordinary. Let her stay. He’ll feel more at home.”

Wardell looked at Val Orcutt, at the Chief again, and grunted. “Push a chair up for her.” When the chair came forward Mrs. Orcutt turned and looked at it, sat down and wiggled back, folded her hands on her lap, and twisted her head to smile unobtrusively at the detective. Wardell told the detectives to wait outside and they left. He said to the woman, “You can stay there as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

She spoke, for the first time. “My boy’s head is busted open.”

Val Orcutt glanced at her and said, “You keep quiet, mawm.”

Wardell asked, “How is your head?”

Val put his right hand up and moved it, pressing, on the bandage. “This side’s all right.” The right hand went down
and the left one up. “There’s a bruise here. I’m kind of woozy, but I’m all right.”

“Your name is Val Orcutt.”

“Yes, sir.”

The woman said, “Valentine Orcutt.”

Wardell glared at her. “What did I tell you?” Her son said, “If you don’t keep quiet, mawm, they’ll put you out.” She nodded, acquiescent but unimpressed.

“You drive a truck for Callahan’s.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You made a delivery to the White House yesterday morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time did you get there?”

“I don’t know. I mean I don’t know exactly.” Val was sitting straight in the chair, not using its back, his hands on its arms, his eyes steady at his questioner. “I left the store around eight-forty. I must have been at the White House by ten minutes to nine.”

“How long have you been a member of the Gray Shirts?”

Val blinked twice, but his eyes kept steady and his tone did not change. “I am not a member.”

“How many of the men at Callahan’s are Gray Shirts?”

“None that I know of. I’m pretty sure, none.”

“Now look here.” Wardell leaned forward. “The very worst thing you can do is tell me lies. Some of these questions I am asking you, I know the answers already. The others will come out in the end. The only chance you have of the slightest consideration is to tell me the truth, not part of the truth, all of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long have you been a Gray Shirt?”

“I told you. Never.”

“How long have you known Harry Brownell, Secretary to the President?”

“I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him.”

“Nonsense. He has been arrested. He’s in jail, and we have his story. You deny that you know him?”

“I’ve never seen him. Not that I know of. Not to know who he was.”

Wardell leaned back. “All right. Suppose you tell us what happened at the White House yesterday morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Val blinked. “I got there about ten minutes to nine. I delivered three baskets of groceries and vegetables
and a basket of meat. That was all I had in the truck. There were some empty baskets to go back, and I threw them in at the rear end. Both the doors were open; the truck has double doors at the rear. I was shoving at the empty baskets when I heard a noise and I started to turn around and something hit me. That’s all I know.”

Wardell stared. “For God’s sake! That’s all you know?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, sir.” Slowly, Val Orcutt put up his left hand and passed it gingerly across the bandage, and then rubbed at his forehead. “It’s all I remember. I didn’t remember that much until a little while ago, when Mawm came. I think he must have hit me with a wooden club. It cut the skin open but it didn’t break my skull. The doctor at the hospital thinks it wasn’t iron, either.”

“Who hit you? Did you see him?”

“No, sir.”

“Saw nothing of him?”

Val started to shake his head, and stopped with a grimace. “No, sir. I didn’t see him at all. I had my back turned. I just heard a noise.”

“Who took you to the hospital?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember. They told me that a cop sent me in an ambulance. That’s all I know.”

“Where did the cop find you?”

Val frowned, and rubbed his forehead again. Mrs. Orcutt looked at his face, and said to Wardell, “If you want to know ask me. They told me at the hospital. He was walking on the grass in Potomac Park with blood all over him, and when the cop went up to him he didn’t know his name or anything else—”

“What time was that?”

“About eleven o’clock yesterday morning. The cop called an ambulance, and at the hospital they thought he had been hurt in one of the street fights, and at first they thought he just didn’t want to tell his name because he was a Communist or something, and they didn’t pay much attention anyway because the ward was full of men that had got hurt. It wasn’t till this morning a doctor found out he really didn’t have his memory. When he didn’t come home last night I worried and then about nine o’clock men began coming to ask about him, and later some more men came and asked my husband and
me millions of questions, the same ones over and over again, and two men stayed in front of the house and two out back all night. I guess they’re still there. As soon as it was daylight I started out to hunt for him and made my husband stay at home in case he came back. The men out front wouldn’t let me go at first, then one of them decided to go with me. I went to the police station where the lieutenant’s wife is a friend of mine, but he said more than a hundred men were looking for Val already and he couldn’t help me any. I tried to find Mr. Kempner, that’s the manager of the store where Val works, but he wasn’t at home and I couldn’t find him. I went to two hospitals and then I went to the morgue and looked at four dead men. Then I went to Erasmus Hospital and Val was there in the accident ward. He just stared at me and didn’t know me. I asked him things and he pretended he didn’t know what I meant. So I made him blow his nose.”

She paused for breath. “Oh,” Wardell said. “You made him blow his nose.”

“Yes, sir. He had good color and they told me he ate a big breakfast, so I knew there was nothing serious wrong only he needed to clear out his head. I held a handkerchief against him and told him to blow hard like I used to do when he was little. The nurse yelled at me not to do it, but I made him blow, and he yelled because it hurt his head, and then he looked at me and said
Mawm
and I began to cry. The nurse called the doctor and he said it was remarkable.”

“Yes.” Wardell nodded. “Remarkable, yes. Is your son good at pretending things?”

“No. Val don’t pretend. You asking him if he was a Gray Shirt, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. The President smiles at him and speaks to him. You ought to hear his opinion of the President, how he admires him—”

Wardell cut her off. “You said he pretended he didn’t know what you meant.”

“Well, I guess you know what I meant. I meant his head wasn’t clear.”

“You mean he was pretending. You said so.”

Mrs. Orcutt unfolded her hands, lifted them palms out, pushed air at Lewis Wardell, and folded them in her lap again. She said with some contempt, not unamiably, “If you can’t talk sense there’s no sense talking at all.”

Wardell looked at her. He pushed a button on the desk. A clerk came, and was instructed to send in three men. In less
than ten seconds they entered. Wardell told one of them to go to the hospital and bring the doctor and nurse who had attended Val Orcutt, another to go to the Orcutt home and bring Val’s father, and the third to find the policeman who had picked up Val in Potomac Park. They went.

Chief Skinner had slid down in his chair, his hands in his pockets, his chin on his chest, his brows upraised to let his eyes, inquiring and not satisfied, rest on Val’s boyish red face. Wardell looked at him. “Well, Skinner?”

“Go ahead.” The Chief kept his eyes on Val. “You can’t be too curious. I was just thinking, what if I pressed good and hard on the spot where he was hit, might it have the effect of making him remember more about what happened? For instance, what if he got hit by that heavy cane the President carries? It’s missing, you remember. But just for fun you might pretend you think he’s telling the truth.”

Wardell looked at Val Orcutt and said, “Pressing that spot on your head would be a new kind of third degree, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll consider it. So the President has smiled and spoken to you. When, yesterday?”

“No, sir. A few times, last summer mostly.”

“Did you see him yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah! Where?”

“He was standing on the grass by some bushes as I drove by. Looking at flowers on them. Rhododendrons.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“No, he was looking at the flowers.”

“Who else did you see?”

“I saw the sentry at the gate, that was all.”

“No gardeners?”

“No, sir.”

“They were there.”

“They must have been to one side, I didn’t see them.”

“No guards?”

“None except the sentry. They’re not often close to the drive.”

“Did you notice the sentry on the way out?”

“No, sir. How could I notice anything on the way out?”

“True. You had been hit by a wooden club, like a heavy cane. But your head was all right on the way in?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you’ll know this. Do not make any mistake when you answer this. Who was in the truck besides you when you entered the White House grounds?”

“No one.”

“Is that the truth?”

“That is absolutely the truth.”

“How do you know?”

“Why … I would know. The truck has a closed body, with doors at the rear. From the seat of course I can see in. When I got to the White House I opened the doors to take the baskets out, and how could there be anyone in there without me seeing him?”

“But someone was there. Someone hit you. How did he get into the grounds if not in your truck?”

“I don’t know. I suppose there are ways to get in. The guards can’t be everywhere.”

“Of course. You would know.” Wardell hunched forward. “That’s one of the facts about you. You deliver to the White House every day, and you know where the guards would be around that hour. You know the President’s habits of going outdoors around that hour. You’re lying.” Wardell’s tone went up. “You’re lying, when your only chance for life is the truth. Do you realize what the end of this is for everyone concerned? Death. Do you realize that, Val Orcutt? You’re going to die. You don’t stand a chance. Unless you tell me the truth now, then maybe you do stand a chance. It’s your only one. How could anyone else—”

Val’s mother was yelling. She had started her interruption in a lower key, stating that her boy did not lie and there was no sense in threatening him like that, but when she found herself ignored and Wardell kept on she slid forward in her chair and began to yell. Chief Skinner got up and started for her. His grasp on her arm, not tender, forced her attention. He said, “Out you go.” One glance at his gray eyes was enough for her. She said, “Please, I’ll shut up. Please don’t.” The Chief let go.