“Indeed.” His brow was up. “You challenge his alibi?”
“I’ve worked some on it. The big trouble is I’m a dude. A dude out here is in about the same fix as a hippie in a Sunday school. Communication problems. You would see if you stayed, especially dressed like that, with that vest and hat. Any more particulars?”
“Yes. The day after Mr. Brodell arrived Mr. Greve said in the hearing of two men, ‘A varmint with that thick a hide isn’t fit to live.’ Also—”
“He said ain’t, not isn’t. I heard him. You could stand the ‘varmint,’ but the ‘ain’t’ was too much for you.”
“The meaning was intact. Also, on Friday afternoon, the day after Brodell was killed, he drove to Timberburg and bought a bottle of champagne, which was unprecedented, and that evening he and his wife and daughter drank it. Also—”
“That was a phone call. Knowing how Harvey felt about Brodell, I was surprised he didn’t buy two bottles, or a case and throw a party.” I drank milk.
“And the next day, Saturday, when Brodell’s father, who had come from St. Louis for the body, went to see Mr. Greve, he assaulted him.”
“He clipped him and gave him a shiner. That was regrettable, no matter what the father had said to ask for it, since he’s too old to be poked, but everybody knows that it’s not a good idea to pull Harvey’s nose or loosen his cinch. Also?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It’s probably enough for a jury, and that’s the nut. That covers the phone call?”
“Sufficiently.”
“Then it’s my turn. In that letter I offered you fifty to one, and I still do. I know Harvey Greve and so does Miss Rowan. I haven’t got one measly scrap of evidence for him, and none against anyone else, but I know him. Did the Attorney General mention that the first bullet that hit Brodell, in the shoulder, came from behind him?”
“No.” He had opened the second bottle and poured.
“Well, it did. He was standing on a boulder, facing uphill, picking huckleberries, and X sneaked from downhill to easy range. The first bullet turned him around, so he was facing X when the second bullet got him in the neck and killed him. All right, that settles it. X was not Harvey Greve. I’ll believe that Harvey Greve shot a man in the back, no warning, when I see you cut up a dill pickle, put maple syrup on it, and eat it with a spoon. And even if I could believe he shot a man in the back I wouldn’t believe he shot Brodell. Everybody knows there’s no better shot around. If he shot at a man’s back he wouldn’t hit his shoulder. And the second shot, in the neck? Nuts.”
He was frowning. He drank and put the glass down. “Archie. Your emotions are blocking your mental processes. If it is generally known that he is a good shot, making it appear that X wasn’t would be a serviceable subterfuge.”
“Not for Harvey. He hasn’t got that kind of mind. Subterfuge is not only not in his vocabulary, it’s not in his nature. But that’s just talk. The point is that he would not sneak up on a man and shoot him in the back. Not a chance. Hell, make it a hundred to one.”
The wrinkles of the frown were deeper. “This must be flummery. Certainly it isn’t candor. Basing a firm conclusion of a man’s guilt or innocence — not merely a conjecture — solely on your knowledge of his character? That’s tommyrot and you know it. Pfui.”
I gave him a wide grin. “Good. Now I’ve got you cold. You were right, your brain isn’t functioning properly. Less than three years ago you formed a firm conclusion on Orrie Cather’s guilt or innocence solely on Saul Panzer’s knowledge of his character. You also consulted Fred and me, but we were on the fence. Saul decided it.[1] It’s too bad I don’t rate as high as Saul. And I have backing. Miss Rowan’s conclusion is as firm as mine, but I admit she’s a woman. There’s a plane that leaves Helena at eleven in the morning. If I find I can’t make it back in time to vote on November fifth I’ll send for an absentee ballot.”
The frown was gone, but his lips had tightened to a thin straight line. He poured the rest of the second bottle, watched the bead go down, picked up the glass and drank. When his lips had been licked, they didn’t tighten again. He twisted his head around for a look at the open window, put his hands on the chair arms to pry his seventh of a ton up, turned to the window, pulled it shut, sat down again, and asked, “Is there an electric blanket?”
“Probably. I’ll ask Miss Rowan. When I went to bed at two o’clock Sunday morning it was thirty-six above. I’ll make a concession. I’ll drive you to Helena. To catch that plane we’ll have to leave by seven o’clock, and I’d better phone if you want to be sure of a seat.”
He took in air through his nose, all he had room for, say half a bushel, and let it out through his mouth. That wasn’t enough, and he did it again. He looked at the bed, then at the dresser, then at the door to the bathroom, and then at me. “Who slept in this room last night?”
“Nobody. It’s a spare.”
“Bring Miss Rowan and — No, you’re on leave. Will you please ask Miss Rowan if it will be convenient for her to join us?”
“Glad to.” I went. As I passed the door of Wade’s room the sound of his typewriter, not the Underwood, came through. In the big room Diana, with a magazine, and Lily, with a book, were on chairs near the fireplace, where six-foot logs were burning as usual of evenings. I told Lily her new guest wanted to know if it would be convenient for her to join us, and she put the book down and got up and came. On the way down the hall she asked no questions, which was like her and therefore no surprise. She knew from experience that if I knew something she should know, I had a tongue.
I was supposing that he was going to ask her something about Harvey’s character, but he didn’t. When she crossed to him and asked if she could do something he tilted his head back and said, “You’ll oblige me if you sit. I don’t like to talk up to people, or down. I prefer eyes at a level.”
I moved the third chair up for her, and as she sat she spoke. “If I had known in advance you were coming I would have had a vase of orchids in the room.”
He grunted. “I’m not in a humor for orchids. I’m in a predicament, Miss Rowan. I am indeed at your mercy. It is necessary for me to be in this immediate neighborhood, in easy touch with Mr. Goodwin, and I don’t know how long. That place near Timberburg is not a sty, it’s moderately clean, but it would be an ordeal, and it’s at a distance. A self-invited guest is an abomination, but there is no alternative for me. May I occupy this room?”
“Of course.” She was controlling a smile. “Archie has quoted you as saying once that a guest is a jewel on the cushion of hospitality. I know too much about you to expect you to be a jewel, but neither will you be an abomination. You could have just told Archie to come and tell me you were going to stay, instead of getting me in and asking me. You did it very nicely. I know how you feel about guests and hosts; I have dined at your house. Before you go to bed, tell me if you want anything.”
“I presumed to ask Mr. Goodwin if there is an electric blanket.”
“Certainly.” She rose. “What else?”
“At the moment, nothing. Sit down — if you please. Mr. Goodwin is going to tell me what he has done and we’re going to discuss what’s to be done now. I’ll ask questions, and you may know the answers to some of them better than he does. Will you remain?”
“Yes. I would like to.”
“Very well. My first question deals with you. It must, if I am to be a guest in your house. How and where did you spend the afternoon of Thursday, July twenty-fifth?”
I don’t want to give the impression that I am trying to sell the idea that Lily Rowan, in all respects and circumstances and 365 days in the year, is a perfect female biped. Anyone who tried to sell me that idea would have an argument. But there aren’t many women who wouldn’t have wasted time and words, one way or another, in reacting to that question, and she didn’t react at all, she merely answered it.