“I advise against it, madam. Mr. Goodwin has informed me thoroughly.” Wolfe sent his eyes around. “I know, from Mr. Goodwin, how each of you spent that Thursday afternoon — what he has been told. I know that all of you, except Mrs. Amory, think it likely that Mr. Greve killed that man. Mr. Goodwin and I think he didn’t. Mr. Jessup, the county attorney, knows that, but he also knows that we don’t intend to try to concoct evidence to support our opinion; we intend only to find it if it exists, and the best place to start is here, with those closest to Mr. Brodell during his last three days and nights. First, Mr. Farnham, a point you can cover best. As you know, no bullets were found, but the nature of the wounds indicated the kind of gun that fired the shots. You own such a gun?”
“Sure I do. So do a lot of other people.”
“Where is yours kept?”
“In a closet in my room.”
“Is it accessible? Is the closet locked?”
“No.”
“Is the gun usually loaded?”
“Of course not. Nobody keeps a gun loaded.”
“Is ammunition accessible?”
“Yes. Naturally. A gun’s no good without ammunition. On a shelf in the closet.”
“Was there, that Thursday, any other gun on your premises — to your knowledge?”
“None that could have done that to Brodell’s shoulder and neck. I’ve got two shotguns and a revolver, and Bert Magee has a shotgun, but that’s all.”
“You told Mr. Goodwin that you and Mrs. Amory spent that afternoon on horseback on what is called the Upper Berry Creek trail. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Most of the afternoon?”
“All of it from two o’clock on.”
“Then you don’t know how your gun spent the afternoon. Anyone could have taken it and used it and put it back. When you next saw it, was it precisely as you had left it?”
“Balls.” Farnham’s voice was raised. “If you ask me, you’re a lousy investigator. If I say yes, it was, then you say the only way I could know it was would be if I went and looked when I knew about Brodell, and if I did that I must have thought that someone that belongs here shot him. You’re not tough, you’re just half-assed tricky.” He got up and took a step. “You might as well beat it. These folks are my guests and my men, and we don’t have to take your brand of crap. Drag it.”
Wolfe’s shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. “I thought it preferable,” he said, “both for you and for us, to do it this way. To summon you to the county attorney’s office as material witnesses, probably singly, would be a nuisance for me and an inconvenience for you. If you resent my implying that one of the people in this room might have killed Mr. Brodell you’re a nincompoop. Why else would I come here in a downpour? I said I came to inquire, not to harass, but inquiries about homicide are rarely bland. Shall we go on, here and now, or not?”
“That’s not crap, Bill,” DuBois said. “We all think Greve probably killed him, all but Mrs. Amory, but Nero Wolfe is not a gump. As I’ve said before, it seemed to me that the sheriff could have been a little more curious about your gun. He didn’t even look at it.”
“Yes he did.” Farnham was still on his feet. “The next day. Friday afternoon.”
“Well, that was lousy investigating. Sit down and cool it.” DuBois turned to Wolfe. “Do me while he counts ten. Joe Colihan and I were across the river that afternoon with Bert Magee, climbing mountains, so we alibi each other, but we’re close friends and he’d lie for me any day. Harass me. I’ll try to stick it.”
“Later,” Wolfe said. “I haven’t finished with Mr. Farnham.” He tilted his head to look up at him. “We can dispose of the gun, for now, with one question. Did you at any time, after Mr. Brodell’s body was found, thinking it conceivable that your gun had been used, go and look at it and the supply of ammunition?”
“Of course I did.” Farnham sat down. “That night. Anyone with any sense would. To see if it was there. It was, and it hadn’t been fired, and no ammunition was gone.”
Wolfe nodded. “I don’t ask if, when the possibility that your gun had been used entered your mind, the name of an individual entered with it. You would say no, and only you know what happened inside your skull. I do ask: during the three days that Mr. Brodell was here alive had there been any noticeable conflict between him and anyone else?”
“No.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Bill.” Joseph Colihan’s high-pitched voice didn’t go with his broad shoulders and square jaw. “The man wants the facts.” To Wolfe: “Brodell and I had some words the day he got here. Monday. I had been here two weeks and I was riding the horse he had had last year, and he wanted it, and I liked it. When I went out Tuesday morning he had his saddle on it, and I took it off, and he tried to stop me. He swung a bridle at me and skinned my ear with the bit, and I roughed him up a little. After that we didn’t speak, but I kept the horse, so I didn’t have to shoot him. Anyway I’m not a hunter and I wouldn’t know how to load Farnham’s gun. I didn’t even know he had one.”
“Neither did I,” DuBois said, “but of course I can’t prove it.”
“Had either of you had any previous contact with Mr. Brodell?”
They both said no. Wolfe’s eyes went to the right. “Had you, Dr. Amory? Had you ever seen Mr. Brodell before he arrived that Monday?”
“I had not.” Amory’s deep full voice would have been just right for Colihan.
“Had you, Mrs. Amory?”
“No.”
He stayed at her. “What was your opinion of him?”
“Of Philip Brodell?”
“Yes.”
“Well... I could make something up for that because you can’t see inside my skull either. But I’m on your side, you know. I don’t think anyone here killed him, why would they, but I’m rooting for you. My opinion of him — you see, we knew he was coming, and we knew he was the father of that girl’s baby, so I had an idea of him before I saw him. You know how a woman’s mind works.”
“I do not. No one does. Why are you rooting for me?”
“Oh, they’re all so cocksure about it. A he-man father and his daughter’s honor, hurray. As for Philip Brodell, I was so busy trying to see what he had that had made it so easy for him to seduce that girl — I suppose you know everybody thought she was what they call a good girl — that I don’t really know what my opinion was. Anyway it wouldn’t help you any, would it?”
“It might if I could get it. One possibility that has been suggested to Mr. Goodwin is that Mr. Brodell seduced you, and your husband learned of it and removed him. That has the attraction that he has no alibi.”
The Amorys had both made noises. His was a scornful grunt, and hers was an amused snort. “Of course,” she said, “the Greve girl would suggest that. Naturally. I doubt if he could have seduced me in three years. But in three days?” She looked at me. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I was deciding how to put it,” I said. “The suggestion didn’t come from Miss Greve.”
“I am aware,” Amory told Wolfe, “that anyone remotely involved in a murder investigation must expect impertinences and absurdities, but we don’t have to encourage them. I covered some ten miles up the river that afternoon, and I had no gun, and my wife was with Mr. Farnham, as you know. Neither of us has any knowledge of anything that could possibly be relevant. I live in another state, but investigating procedure is basically the same everywhere in the West, and I’d like to know how you fit in. If a law officer asks ridiculous questions a citizen might as well answer them and get rid of him, but why you? If you told the county attorney something that made him think that man Greve may not be guilty, you should tell us if you expect us to respect your authority. Why did he give you official standing?”