Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 01 (19 page)

“Yes, it is. That’s what I was saying is incredible—”

“Why is it incredible?”

“Because I don’t know how it got there. I know I didn’t take it there.”

“You didn’t have it on when you went through the music room.”

“I know very well I didn’t. I hadn’t had it on at all. When we got here and got out of the car I left it on the seat.”

Fox frowned. “You must be mistaken.”

“I am not mistaken! I left it there on the seat of the car and I haven’t been back there!”

“Don’t talk so loud. This begins to have points. If you were right here on this terrace, why did it take you so long to get into the house, and where were you when you heard Andy calling your name, and why were you panting when you went through the music room?”

Nancy flushed. “If that’s the tone—”

“Nonsense. Never mind my tone, you’ll hear worse ones when they get you in there. I’m in a hurry.”

“Answer him,” Grant said.

“Well, I …” Her color stayed. “I was panting because I had been running. The shot didn’t sound like a backfire to me, it sounded like a shot. I couldn’t tell what direction it came from, but I thought it came from the swimming pool. I suppose the reason I thought that was because that idiot had been talking, trying to be funny, talking about committing suicide if I didn’t—”

“What idiot? Jeffrey Thorpe?”

“Yes. Like a perfect fool, threatening to kill himself unless I—but the shot wouldn’t have made me think of that if it hadn’t been that he had had a revolver in his pocket and naturally—”

“Did he show you the revolver?”

“No, he didn’t show it to me, but I saw it. So did Uncle Andy.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” said Grant. “When we drove up here he came out to welcome us, and a corner of his jacket caught on something and there was a gun in his hip pocket. A big one. Nancy and I both saw it.”

To Nancy again: “Was it still in his pocket at the swimming pool?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see it, but I had seen it, and then his talking like an idiot about killing himself—when I heard the shot I thought it came from the direction of the pool and I jumped and ran. I ran all the way to the pool and it’s quite a distance. There was no one there. The water is clear and he wasn’t—there was nothing in it. Then I heard Uncle Andy calling, yelling my name, and I ran back to the house.”

Fox looked at Andy. “You were in the library with the rest of them when I got there.”

He nodded. “I entered by the front terrace and the voices guided me to the library. There was already a lot of commotion in there, half a dozen people. Pretty soon everyone else was there, but not Nancy, and I guess I got panicky. I ran through the house out to this terrace and yelled for her. I couldn’t hear any answer and I ran around the house to where the cars were parked, and then on around to the other side, but there wasn’t any sign of her. From there I could hear the voices in the library and I thought I recognized hers, so I went through some shrubbery and entered by the French windows, but she wasn’t there. Then you came in and then you went out. I was just going after you to ask if you had seen Nancy when she came.”

“How did you know you could get into the library—hold it.”

Fox slipped off the table and stood. The door from the house had opened for the exit of District Attorney
Derwin. He was in his shirt sleeves and his face was covered with perspiration. He took four paces on the flags, stopped, looked the party over and spoke:

“If you please, everybody! I won’t insult you by apologizing for the inconvenience you are enduring. To talk of such inconvenience in the presence of such a tragedy, such a crime, would be—uh—insulting. We are doing all we can. Two of my assistants are talking with Mrs. Pemberton. Colonel Brissenden is talking with Mr. Jeffrey Thorpe. I am talking with Mr. Kester.”

A man blurted, “Is there any reason—”

“Please! We are doing all we can to expedite matters. We would like first to have from each of you a brief statement as to where you were and what you were doing when the shot was fired. You will be asked to sign it. Sergeant Saunders of the state police is in the breakfast room and you will be taken there one at a time to give him the statement, which he will take down. Also in that room is the equipment for examining a person’s hands to ascertain if that person has recently fired a revolver. You will be asked to permit the examination. You have the right to refuse to permit it, but we hope that none of you will. Mrs. Pemberton, Mr. Thorpe and Mr. Kester have already permitted it. When that is concluded we shall proceed to further steps with all possible expedition.”

He turned. A man darted forward expostulating. Derwin snapped at him:

“We’re doing the best we can!”

He disappeared inside. A man who had come out with him looked around and said, “Miss Grant? Come with me, please.”

T
wo hours later, Fox, ushered into the library by a trooper and guided to a chair which was turned to face directly the light from the expanse of windows, glanced around before he sat. To his accustomed eye the room, though its contents were in order, displayed numerous signs of having been subjected to a rigorous police examination. The place on the rug where Ridley Thorpe’s body had sprawled was vacant. Four men were looking at him. District Attorney Derwin, sweating more generously than ever, was seated at Ridley Thorpe’s desk, and off at his right was a pimply young man with a stenographer’s notebook and fountain pen. At the far end of the large desk was a slightly older young man with horn-rimmed glasses, whom Fox recognized as an assistant district attorney, and standing near the door was the trooper who had brought Fox in.

Derwin said, not belligerently, “Well, Fox, this time apparently it was really Ridley Thorpe. What do you think?”

Fox smiled at him. “Reserving decision, Mr. Derwin. I only saw him when he was lying face down.”

Derwin nodded without attempting to return the
smile. “I like to be prudent too, but we’re going on the assumption that it was Thorpe.” He picked up the top paper from a pile. “You seem to have been further away than anyone else when it happened. A third of a mile or more. Down the other side of the greenhouse. Are you interested in greenhouses?”

“Sure, among other things.” Fox threw one knee over the other and folded his arms. “If you want to make it a sparring match I don’t mind, but it would be a waste of time. I was waiting to have a talk with Thorpe and was out strolling around.”

“You had already had a talk with Thorpe, hadn’t you?”

“A very brief one. Kester, his secretary, was present. Thorpe asked me to wait until he had seen Colonel Brissenden and some business associates.”

“What did he want to talk to you about?”

“He said he mistrusted the ability of the police to discover who killed Arnold and he wanted to hire me to do it.”

“You agreed with him about the ability of the police, of course.”

“I neither agreed nor disagreed. It promised to be an interesting job.”

“And a lucrative one?”

“Sure. Thorpe could afford to pay.”

Derwin glanced at the paper in his hand. “You say here that you were on the service drive about 300 yards from the house when you heard the shot, that you thought it might be a car backfiring but walked faster, then you heard excited voices and began to run. When you were about 150 yards from the house you saw a man running towards it from another direction, one of the guards with his revolver in his hand.”

“That’s right.”

“Did you see anyone besides the guard?”

“No. From the time I left the greenhouse until I entered the library, I saw no one but the guard.”

“Had you seen someone in the greenhouse?”

“No. I merely used that as a starting point. Let me put it this way: I saw or heard no one and nothing, at any time, that would help you or me to find the murderer.”

“That ought to cover it,” said Derwin dryly. He glanced aside at the gliding pen of the stenographer and in the other direction at the face of his assistant, a solemn owl with the horn-rimmed glasses, and then looked at Fox again and asked abruptly:

“How long have you known Ridley Thorpe?”

“I met him in your office yesterday evening.”

“Was that the first time you ever saw him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever do any work for him?”

“No.”

“Did you ever sell him anything?”

“No.”

“Was he ever indebted to you for any services performed for anyone, or for anything else?”

“No.”

“Did he ever pay you any money, cash or check, for anything whatever?”

“No.”

“Will you swear to that?”

“Certainly not,” said Fox impatiently. “Not since you’ve made it so plain that you’ve found the stub of the check for fifty thousand dollars that he gave me this morning.”

Derwin stared. The trooper shifted to his other foot. The owl emitted a little grunt.

“You admit it?” Derwin demanded, his voice raised.

“Of course I do. How can I help it?”

“You admit you just lied about it!” Derwin had a fist on the desk. “You admit you had reason to attempt to conceal the fact that Thorpe paid you a large sum of money shortly before he was murdered! There’s one question I didn’t ask you! Were you blackmailing Ridley Thorpe?”

“No. I haven’t—”

“Then what did he pay you for? What did he pay you fifty thousand dollars for?”

Fox was looking disgusted. “This is a dirty shame,” he declared. “Send for Luke Wheer and Vaughn Kester.”

“I’ll send for nobody! I’ve got it on you, Fox! I’ve got you! Unless you tell me—”

“You’ve got nothing,” Fox snapped. “Specifically you’ve got nothing that has any connection with the murder you’re investigating. I don’t intend to tell you very much about that check, and I’ll tell you nothing whatever unless you get Wheer and Kester in here. Make a fool of yourself and put a detention on me. That’s that.”

“What have Wheer and Kester got to do with it?”

“You’ll hear that in their presence. Otherwise, from me, nothing. Nor from them, either, on a bet. Send for them.”

Derwin, with the sweat trickling down the side of his neck, gazed at him truculently. But he gave in. He finally looked at the trooper and ordered, “Get Wheer and Kester.”

The trooper went. Fox said, “You’ll waste time if you start in on them. That’s straight. Let me do it, if
you really want to get this out of the way. You can always stop me.”

“You’re damned right I can,” Derwin growled.

When the valet and secretary entered, after a short wait, Fox gave them a sharp glance to see what he had to deal with. He was moderately satisfied. Kester’s pale cold eyes showed no signs of panic or surrender as their focus crossed his own and Luke’s firm jaw promised all the stubbornness required. Fox started speaking as they crossed the room, the trooper behind them:

“I asked Mr. Derwin to send for you fellows and he kindly consented. A matter has come up that you know about. He has found the stub of a check which Mr. Thorpe gave me this morning.”

“I know he has,” Kester said. His voice was squeaky with strain. “He showed me the stub, in my writing, and I told him I made the check out as ordered by Mr. Thorpe and gave it to him. Beyond that I know nothing about it.”

Fox shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t do, Mr. Kester. The trouble is that Derwin insists that I tell him what the check was in payment of, which is understandable when you consider that Thorpe was murdered within two hours after he gave it to me and that I had just got through denying that Thorpe had ever paid me anything. He suspects that there is some connection between the check and the murder, and you can’t blame him. We’ll have to clear it up, for two reasons. First, if we don’t, he’ll fuss around with us on that and won’t get his job done, which is finding a murderer; and second, he’ll do things to me that I’ll regret immediately and he’ll regret later.”

Kester’s eyes on Fox were hostile and menacing. “If you mean you’re going to clear it up by—”

“Come to the point!” Derwin blurted.

“I’m there now.” Fox turned to him. “Thorpe gave me that check to pay for a job I did for him. The job was legal, proper, involved no moral turpitude and had no bearing whatever on either of the two murders you’re investigating. I asked you to send for Wheer and Kester because I know you wouldn’t accept that statement from me without corroboration. They both know the statement is true. They know what the job was, they know that Thorpe agreed to pay me fifty thousand dollars if I performed it satisfactorily, and they know that I did so perform it.”

“Come to the point! What was it?”

Fox shook his head. “No, Mr. Derwin. I’m pretty sure that neither Wheer nor Kester will tell you that and I’m darned sure I won’t. And with them to confirm me that I did nothing actionable and nothing that would help you solve a crime, I don’t see what you can do about it.”

“I can have you committed—”

“Sure, I know, you can fiddle around and make me pay for a bond and all that gets you is the assurance that I probably won’t skip the jurisdiction, and what good will that do when you couldn’t drag me away from Westchester County right now with a five-ton truck? Let me make a suggestion: if you think there is any chance of prying out of Wheer or Kester or me any information about the job Thorpe paid me for, which there isn’t, turn us over to three of your subordinates and you go on with your business.”

Luke Wheer said with explosive approval, “That’s telling him, Mr. Fox!”

Vaughn Kester observed, his eyes merely frosty again, “You had me worried. If Mr. Thorpe were alive,
he would feel that his judgment of men had once more been confirmed——”

“Get them out of here!” Derwin barked at the trooper. The trooper opened the door, and they about-faced and tramped out.

Fox unfolded his arms and stretched. “I apologize,” he said courteously. “I’ve been sitting too long. I have another suggestion to offer: I’ll swap a couple of ideas for a little information. Such as whether the shot was fired from outdoors, through those open windows, or from inside the house. I suspect the former. I couldn’t detect any smell in here. Also, the fact that Miss Grant, sitting on the side terrace, guessed that the shot came from the direction of the swimming pool, is quite understandable if the shot was fired outdoors, otherwise less so. Of course anyone who was in the house could have slipped out by the hall entrance, fired through the windows and slipped back in again. But if the shot was fired outdoors, how did the gun get in here on the floor? Thrown in, do you think? Pretty slick. It’s an extraordinarily fine problem, if it’s still open, and I suppose it is or you wouldn’t be fooling with me. How did Miss Grant’s scarf get in here? Did the murderer use it to cover his hand? I suspect so, since the examination we let you make apparently didn’t get any results. In that case, it was someone who had an opportunity to get it from the seat of the car where she left it. Does that eliminate anybody? I suppose not. And who has an alibi and who hasn’t? With the authority you have to drag them in——”