“Why the police?” Bragan demanded.
“His skull is smashed. Don’t argue with me; save it for them. I’m going back to the body and stay there till they come. Shall I call them first?”
“No. I will.”
“Good. It’s at the double bend two hundred yards below the Number Four stake.” I loosened my grip on the widow, and she was stiff and straight. “You’d better stay here, Mrs. Leeson.”
“No. I must... take me.”
“Then I’d just as soon have someone along. Ferris?”
“No.”
“Kelefy?”
“I think not.”
“Papps?”
“Certainly,” he said politely, and the three of us went.
Two hours later, at a quarter to 4, it was a convention.
Two state troopers had been the first to arrive, and Bragan had brought them down to us at the double bend. Soon afterward the doctor came. When he asked me why I had put my handkerchief under Leeson’s head, and I said because I thought the water might not have washed away all evidence of what it was that had smashed the skull, he said that was very sensible and it was too bad he didn’t have a good glass with him. But his main contribution was to make it official that Leeson was dead, and to insist that Mrs. Leeson let Papps take her back to the lodge. The body couldn’t be moved until the sheriff came.
When the sheriff arrived he had two county detectives along. Then more troopers, including a lieutenant. Then the district attorney, a bouncy, bald guy named Jasper Colvin. He had two underlings with him. Then a couple of journalists, one with a notebook and one with a camera. They all got around to me, and they all seemed to have the idea that I was leaving something out, but that was nothing new. Any officer of the law would rather be caught dead than admit he believes that you’re telling him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.
When a stretcher finally came for the remains, most of the public servants were scattered around looking for the weapon or other relevant items, and my offer to help carry was accepted. It was quite a load and quite a portage. After we had lifted the stretcher into an ambulance that had squeezed into the crowded parking space back of the lodge, I circled around to the veranda and found no one there but a trooper. Inside, in the big room, Ferris and Papps were on chairs by a window having a conversation. Papps called, “Anything new?”
“Not with me,” I told him, and crossed to the inner hall.
Wolfe was in his room, in the big armchair with striped rugs, with a book. He shot me a glance as I entered and then went back to the book.
I stood. “Do you want a report?”
His eyes stayed on the page. “Not unless it bears upon our leaving here.”
“It doesn’t. Any questions or instructions?”
“No.”
“You know very well,” I said pleasantly, “that you approved of my going fishing. Where are my trout?”
“In the kitchen in the large refrigerator. Cleaned.”
“Thank you very much.” I left him and went to my room.
I was there an hour later when a trooper came to tell me I was wanted. I suppose it was for more of the same, but Wolfe was in the hall outside his door, and started off as I approached. He led the way to the big room, with the trooper in the rear.
It looked as if something was stewing. The five guests were in a group, seated, in the middle of the room, and Bragan was standing nearby talking with District Attorney Colvin. The sheriff and two troopers were over near the door, and one of the pair the D.A. had brought with him was seated at a little table with an open notebook before him.
Wolfe stopped and raised his voice. “You sent for me, Mr. Bragan?”
Colvin answered. “I did. I’m Jasper Colvin, District Attorney of this county. You’re Nero Wolfe, a private detective?”
“Yes.”
“You will sit here, please. You, too, Goodwin. I have something to say to all of you.”
I wouldn’t have been surprised if Wolfe had marched out, since he had had three provocations: First, Colvin’s tone of voice; second, his saying “a private detective,” not “the private detective”; and, third, the size of the chair indicated, at the rear of the group of guests. But after a second’s hesitation he went and sat, and I took the other vacant chair next to him.
The D.A. stood facing his audience. He cleared his throat. “I am sure, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t need—”
“Want me to take this?” It was the man at the table with the notebook.
Colvin turned his head to snap, “Yes, everything!” and turned back. He cleared his throat again. “I don’t need to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, how painful I find my duty today. I know you all appreciate that.”
They didn’t say.
He went on: “When I arrived here on this tragic mission, two hours ago, I found that Sheriff Dell and Lieutenant Hopp were already here. We agreed that there was no point in harassing you until certain lines of investigation had been tried, and so you were merely asked a few routine questions and requested to remain on the premises for possible further inquiry. In that connection I wish to convey the sincere thanks of myself personally, and of the People of the State of New York, to Ambassador Kelefy. He and his wife, and Mr. Nicholas Papps of his staff, are protected by diplomatic immunity from arrest or detention, but they have made no objection to our request. I may say that I have phoned the State Department in Washington for advice.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” Kelefy assured him. “Even diplomats are human occasionally.”
Colvin nodded at him and resumed: “But now it is my painful duty to tell you that we will have to go further than routine questions. We have had to reject the idea that Mr. Leeson’s death was accidental. Two doctors agree that the injury to the skull could not have been caused by any conceivable accident at that spot. They also agree that it couldn’t possibly have been self-inflicted. Therefore, it was homicide.”
The only one who moved was James Arthur Ferris. He turned his head for a glance at Sally Leeson.
O. V. Bragan spoke up: “I told you when you got here it might be murder. I reminded you and the troopers that I’ve been bothered with poachers on my water, and I suggested that you immediately start your men investigating the possibility that Leeson came on one at the river and was attacked by him. Did you do that?”
Colvin cleared his throat. “We didn’t overlook that possibility, Mr. Bragan, but permit me to finish. An examination of the skull wound with a magnifying glass disclosed three particles of wood bark that had not been dislodged by the water. That justified the assumption that the blow or blows had been struck with a wooden club. If so, where was it? It wasn’t at or near the spot. It seemed unlikely that the assailant had carried it away. Probably he had thrown it from him, and, most probably, he had thrown it in the river. And it has been found — or I should say, a club has been found. Bring it here, Nate.”
The sheriff walked over to him and held it up. It was three feet long, maybe a little more, as thick as my arm.
“It was found,” Colvin said, “in the river five hundred feet downstream from the bend, wedged between two rocks where the current had carried it. It’s ash. The water was playing over it, but the bark wasn’t soaked through, so it hadn’t been there very long. As you see, it was sawed off at both ends. Near one end the bark is bruised for three inches as if it had hit something hard. It will take a microscope to find out if the water left any evidence in the bruised bark, but we think we are justified in assuming that that club was the weapon. And you must permit me, Mr. Bragan, you must permit me to say that if Mr. Leeson surprised a poacher on your water, I can conceive of no reason why the poacher was carrying such a club. Sheriff Dell and Lieutenant Hopp agree with me.”