It was simple with the girls. I told Gwenn that Wolfe had just received information which made it certain that Rony would not show up, and he wanted to see her at once to tell her about it, and of course there was no argument. Back at the house, the others were just as simple. Jimmy was downstairs playing ping-pong with Connie, and Madeline went and got him. Mr and Mrs Sperling were in the living-room with Webster Kane and Paul Emerson, and I told them that Wolfe would like to speak with them for a minute. Just Sperlings.
There weren't enough chairs for all of us in the bedroom, so for once Wolfe had to start a conversation with most of his audience standing, whether he liked it or not. Sperling was obviously completely fed up with his long wait, a full seven hours now, for an important decision about his affairs to be made by someone else, even his own daughter, and he wanted to start in after Gwenn, but Wolfe stopped him quick. He fired a question at them.
“This afternoon we thought we were discussing a serious matter. Didn't we?” They agreed.
He nodded: “We were. Now it is either more serious or less, I don't know which.
It's a question of Mr Rony alive or Mr Rony dead. For he is now dead.” There's a theory that it's a swell stunt to announce a man's death to a group of people when you think one of them may have killed him, and watch their faces. In practice I've never seen it get anybody to first base, let alone on around, not even Nero Wolfe, but it's still attractive as a theory, and therefore I was trying to watch all of them at once, and doubtless Wolfe was too.
They all made noises, some of them using words, but nobody screamed or fainted or clutched for support. The prevailing expression was plain bewilderment, all authentic as far as I could tell, but as I say, no matter how popular a theory may be, it's still a theory.
Gwenn demanded, “You mean Louis?” Wolfe nodded. “Yes, Miss Sperling. Louis Rony is dead. Mr Goodwin found his body about an hour ago, when he was out with your sister looking for you. It is on this property, behind a bush not far from where they found you. It seems-” “Then-he did come!” I doubt if it was as heartless as it looks. I would not have called Gwenn heartless. In the traffic jam in her head caused by the shock, it just happened that that little detail got loose first. I saw Madeline dart a sharp glance at her. The others were finding their tongues for questions. Wolfe pushed a palm at them, “If you please. There is no time-” “What killed him?” Sperling demanded.
“I was about to tell you. The indications are that a car ran over him, and the body was dragged from the drive for concealment behind the bush, but of course it requires further examination. It hadn't been there long when it was found, not more than two hours. The police must be notified without delay. I thought, Air Sperling, you might prefer to do that yourself. It would look better.” Gwenn was starting to tremble. Madeline took her arm and led her to a bed and pushed her on to it, with Jimmy trying to help. Mrs Sperling was stupefied.
“Are you saying-” Sperling halted. He was either incredulous or doing very well.
“Do you mean he was murdered?” “I don't know. Murder requires premeditation. If after inquiry the police decide it was murder they'll still have to prove it. That, of course, will start the routine hunt for motive, means, opportunity-I don't know whether you're familiar with it, but if not, I'm afraid you soon will be. Whom are you going to notify, the county authorities or the State Police? You have a choice. But you shouldn't postpone it. You will-” Mrs Sperling spoke for the first time. “But this is-this will be terrible! Here on our place! Why can't you take it away-away somewhere for miles-and leave it somewhere-” No one paid any attention to her. Sperling asked Wolfe, “Do you know what he was doing here?” “I know what brought him. Your daughter phoned him to come.” Sperling jerked to the bed. “Did you do that, Gwenn?” There was no reply from Gwenn. Madeline furnished it. “Yes, Dad, she did. She decided to drop him and wanted to tell him first.” “I hope,” Wolfe said, “that your wife's suggestion needs no comment, for a dozen reasons. He took a cab here from the station-” “My wife's suggestions seldom need comment. There is no way of keeping the police out of it? I know a doctor-” “None. Dismiss it.” “You're an expert. Will they regard it as murder?” “An expert requires facts to be expert about. I haven't got enough. If you want a guess, I think they will.” “Shouldn't I have a lawyer here?” That will have to come later. You'll probably need one or more.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “It can't be delayed longer, sir. Mr Goodwin and I are under an obligation, both as citizens and as men holding licences as private detectives.”
“You're under obligation to me too. I'm your client.” “We know that. We haven't ignored it. It was eleven o'clock when Mr Goodwin found a corpse with marks of violence, and it was his legal duty to inform the authorities immediately. It is now well after midnight. We felt we owed you a chance to get your mind clear. Now I'm afraid I must insist.” “Damn it, I want to think!” “Call the police and think while they're on the way.” “No!” Sperling yanked a chair around and sat on its edge, close to Wolfe, facing him. “Look here. I hired you on a confidential matter, and I have a right to expect you to keep it confidential. There is no reason why it should be disclosed, and I certainly don't want it to be. It was a privileged-” “No, sir.” Wolfe was crisp. “I am not a member of the bar, and communications to detectives, no matter what you're paying them, are not privileged.” “But you-” “No, please. You think if I repeat the conversation I had with you and your family this afternoon it will give the impression that all of you, except one, had good reason to wish Mr Rony dead, and you're quite right. That will make it next to impossible for them to regard his death as something short of murder, and, no matter what your position in this community may be, you and your family will be in a devil of a fix. I'm sorry, but I can't help it I have withheld information from the police many times, but only when it concerned a case I was myself engaged on and I felt I could make better use of it if I didn't share it.
Another-” “Damn it, you're engaged on this case!” “I am not. The job you hired me for is ended, and I'm glad of it. You remember how I defined the objective? It has been reached-though not, I confess, by my-” “Then I hire you for another job now. To investigate Rony's death.” Wolfe frowned at him. “You'd better not. I advise against it.” “You're hired.” Wolfe shook his head. “You're in a panic and you're being impetuous. If Mr Rony was murdered, and if I undertake to look into it, I'll get the murderer. It's conceivable that you'll regret you ever saw me.” “But you're hired.” Wolfe shrugged. “I know. Your immediate problem is to keep me from repeating that conversation to the police, and, being pugnacious and self-assured, you solve your problems as they come. But you can't hire me today and fire me tomorrow. You know what I would do if you tried that.” “I know. You won't be fired. You're hired.” Sperling arose. “I'll phone the police.” “Wait a minute!” Wolfe was exasperated. “Confound it, are you a dunce? Don't you know how ticklish this is? There were seven of us in that conversation- “We'll attend to that after I've phoned.” “No, we won't. I'll attend to it now.” Wolfe's eyes darted around. “All of you, please. Miss Sperling?” Gwenn was face down on the bed and Madeline was seated on the edge.