“Disaster insurance,” Wolfe said.
“Insurance? Against what?”
“Against the possibility of a demonstration that I deserve my reputation. You must know, Dr. Amory, that the validity of a reputation depends on its nature. The renown of a champion runner or discus thrower has a purely objective basis — the recordings of stopwatches or tape measures. Consider your own profession. The renown of a practicing physician is partly objective — how many of the people he treats get well and how many die — but there are other factors that can’t be objectively measured. A doctor who has many patients and is trusted and well regarded by them may be disdained by his colleagues. With a professional investigator, his public repute may have very little objective foundation, if any; his admired feats could have resulted exclusively from luck. Take me. Fewer than a dozen people are qualified to say if my reputation has been fairly earned.”
“Archie Goodwin is,” DuBois said.
“Yes, he’s qualified, but he’s biased. An ex parte judgment is always suspect.” Wolfe’s eyes went right and left. “Mr. Jessup was well advised to facilitate my inquiry by giving me a lever. Sensibly, he didn’t try to insist on knowing why Mr. Goodwin and I reject the plerophory that Mr. Greve is a murderer; he knew we would reserve our grounds until we had impressive evidence. As for this conversation, our coming here for some talk, we’re not so naïve as to suppose that anything could be learned by asking you routine questions. Mutual alibis among possible culprits are ignored by a competent investigator. Mr. DuBois. You invited me to harass you. If I do it won’t be by inane questions.”
His eyes took them in again. “There was the chance that meeting you here, together, would give us a hint of frictions that might be fruitful. It’s difficult for five people to live under one roof for three days without getting the skins of their egos scratched. I needed to decide if I should take the time and trouble to spend hours with each of you, tête-à-tête, reviewing every minute, every word spoken, during the three days Mr. Brodell was with you. I doubt it. If, for instance, Mr. Colihan or Dr. Amory heard a comment by one of you, or saw a gesture, suggestive of more knowledge of Mr. Brodell than had been disclosed, would he tell me? I doubt it. I have seen no indication of animus that would move any of you to risk such involvement. If one of you had previous contact with Mr. Brodell, evidence of it probably won’t be found here. It may be necessary to go to St. Louis, his home, or send someone. I hope not.”
“I wouldn’t object to spending hours with you tête-à-tête,” DuBois said. “Any time you say.”
“Neither would I,” Mrs. Amory said. “If you—”
“By God, I would,” Farnham blurted. “If you ask me, you’re just a jawbox. The sooner you go to St. Louis the better. All right, you’ve met us. The door’s over there.”
Wolfe nodded at him. “It’s probably only your temperament, but it could be apprehension of what I might expose. Before I leave I must talk with the one man who may say something helpful. But first, Mr. Magee, a routine question for you. You were with Mr. DuBois and Mr. Colihan across the river that Thursday afternoon?”
Bert Magee nodded. “That’s right.”
“All afternoon? Continuously?”
“Yep.”
“What time did you get back here?”
“Six o’clock, just about.”
“You know what I’m after: something, anything, to support my assumption that it wasn’t Mr. Greve who shot that man. Can you help me?”
“Nope. Of course Harvey should’ve shot him, and he did, and I hope they turn him loose.”
“That’s humane but not civilized. Mr. Peacock. I have many questions for you, mostly routine, because I understand you are best equipped to answer them. You were often with Mr. Brodell during those three days?”
Sam Peacock looked even smaller than he was, between those two huskies, Farnham on his right and Magee on his left, and the red and white bandanna didn’t hide his scrawny neck, it called attention to it. His squinty gray eyes darted a glance at Farnham before they went to Wolfe. “Uhuh,” he said. “I guess you could say often. Last year I gave him a fly that got him a six-pound rainbow, and that made me turtle feathers. When he came this year Bill sent me to Timberburg to get him, and the first thing he said, he wanted to know if I had another one corralled.”
“What time did he arrive that Monday?”
“He got to Timberburg on the noon bus, but he had to scare up a pile of things, duds and tackle and I don’t know what all, so we didn’t get here until... I guess it was... what time was it, Bill?”
“Around five,” Farnham said.
“Maybe. I would have said a little later.”
“Were you present when he met the others? Dr. and Mrs. Amory and Mr. DuBois and Mr. Colihan?”
“No sir, I wasn’t. I guess I was in the kitchen eating supper with Bert. After supper Phil asked me to go to the river with him, and I didn’t have to, but I didn’t want to say no, so I went.”
“You called him by his first name?”
“Uhuh. He asked me to even before he got the rainbow. Some do and some don’t.”
“Were you with him on Tuesday?”
“Yes sir, I was.” Peacock sent a glance at Colihan. His tongue was slow but his eyes were quick. “That was the morning there was some trouble about the Monty horse. Phil told me to saddle him and I did, and here comes Colihan, and like he told you, they mixed it some. So I went to the corral and got Teabag for Phil, and we went downriver beyond the flats. All day, we made it back just in time for supper. Phil and the Teabag horse didn’t get along any too good, but I guess I’m telling you more than you want to know. Anyway I told Archie all this.”
Wolfe nodded. “Sometimes he’s careless about details. You couldn’t tell me more than I want to know. Did you see Mr. Brodell after supper Tuesday?”
“No sir, I didn’t. He was played out and anyway I wasn’t here. I was off and around.”
“The next day? Wednesday?”
“Uhuh, that was better. Phil and me left early and went upriver on two laigs apiece. He didn’t get no six-pound rainbow, but he filled a big creel and it was a real good day any way you look at it. Up at the falls he slipped on a rock and got dunked, but the sun soon dried him and no bones was broke. Of course he was draggin’ his ass by the time we saw the chimney smoke comin’ in, and his back hadn’t forgot the day he had spent on Teabag, so when I asked him what he had in mind for the next day he said the way he felt right then he might not get out of bed even for meals. But he did. Next morning Connie told me he had stowed away a stack of ulcer patches and three fish for breakfast.”
“Who is Connie?”
“She’s the cook.”
“He was with you Thursday morning?”
“No, sir, he wasn’t. He said he was goin’ to mosey over for a look at Berry Creek and I would set too fast a pace. Then after lunch he said—”
“If you please. How long was he gone in the morning?”
“I’d say two hours, maybe more. Then after—”
“Did he go up Berry Creek, or down?”
“If he said, I didn’t listen. It’s an easy trail over to the bend and then up or down, take your pick. I’d say he didn’t go up to the pool because he didn’t take tackle.”
“Did he mention meeting anyone?”
“No sir, he didn’t.” Peacock tugged at a corner of the neck rag. “You got a lot of questions, mister.”
“I once asked a woman ten thousand questions. That Thursday morning is of interest because apparently it was the only time Mr. Brodell was off alone — except the afternoon. The easy trail to the creek — is it near the road at any point?”