As for you, I can't say, except that I don't blame you a bit for not liking to start fires under people like the Sperlings. If nothing else, they hire only the best lawyers. As for this bird in uniform named Noonan, you may be a church member and I'd better keep within bounds.” “You see what he's like, sir,” Noonan said under restraint. “I told you he thinks he's tough. It you had let me take him to the barracks-” “Shut up!” Archer squeaked.
It may not be fair to call it a squeak, but it was close to it. He was harassed and I felt sorry for him. In addition to everything else, he was going to be late at court, as he realized when he took another look at his watch. He ignored me and spoke to Dykes.
“I've got to go, Ben. Take care of these papers. If anyone wants to leave the place you can't hold them, the way it stands now, but ask them not to leave the jurisdiction.” “What about Wolfe and Goodwin?” “I said anyone. We can't hold them without a warrant, and that will have to wait. But the car stays where it is. Immobilize it and keep a guard on it. Have you tried it for prints?” “No, sir, I thought-” “Do so. Thoroughly. Keep a man at the car and one at the entrance, and you stay.
You might have another try at the servants, especially that assistant gardener.
Tell Mr Sperling that I'll be back sometime between five and six-depends on when court adjourns. Tell him I would appreciate it if they can all find it convenient to be here.” He trotted out without even glancing at me, which I thought was uncalled for.
I grinned at Ben Dykes, strolled insolently out of the room, and went in search of Wolfe, to do a little mild bragging. I found him out at the greenhouse, inspecting some concrete benches with automatic watering.
CHAPTER Twelve
A couple of hours later Wolfe and I were up in the bedroom. He had found that the biggest chair there, while it would do for a short stretch, was no good for a serious distance, and therefore he was on the bed with his book, flat on his back, though he hated to read lying down. His bright yellow shirt was still bright but badly wrinkled, worse than it ever was at home, since he changed every day; and both his yellow socks showed the beginnings of holes at the big toes, which was no wonder, considering that they hadn't been changed either and were taking the push of more than an eighth of a ton for the second day.
I had finally got around to the magazines I had brought upstairs the previous evening. There was a knock at the door and I said come in.
It was the Chairman of the Board. He closed the door and approached. I said hello. Wolfe let his book down to rest on his belly but otherwise stayed put.
“You look comfortable,” Sperling said like a host.
Wolfe grunted. I said something gracious.
Sperling moved a chair around to a different angle and sat.
“So you talked yourself out of it?” he asked.
“I doubt if I rate a credit line,” I said modestly. “The picture was out of focus, that's all. It would have needed too much retouching, and all I did was point that out.” He nodded. “I understand from Dykes that the District Attorney offered to guarantee immunity if you would sign a statement.” “Not quite. He didn't offer to put it in writing. Not that I think he would have crossed me, but I liked the immunity I already had. As I heard a guy say once, virtue is never left to stand alone.” “Where did you get that?” Wolfe demanded from his pillows. “That's Confucius.” I shrugged. “It must have been him I heard say it.” Our host gave me up and turned to Wolfe. “The District Attorney will be back between five and six. He left word that he would like all of us to be here. What does that mean?” “Apparently,” Wolfe said dryly, “it means that he feels compelled to annoy you some more, much as he would prefer not to. By the way, I wouldn't underrate Mr Archer. Don't let the defects of his personality mislead you.” “They haven't. But what evidence has he got that this was anything but an accident?” “I don't know, beyond what he hinted to you. Possibly none. Even if he accepts it as an accident, he needs to find out who was driving the car. Being a man in your position, Mr Sperling, a man of wealth and note, bestows many advantages and privileges, but it also bestows handicaps. Mr Archer knows he cannot afford to have it whispered that he winked at this affair because you are such a man.
The poor devil.” “I understand that.” Sperling was controlling himself admirably, considering that he had stated before witnesses that he would pay for the damage to the plant rooms. “But what about you? You have spent three hours this afternoon questioning my family and guests and servants. You have no intention of running for office, have you?” “Good heavens, no.” From Wolfe's tone you might have thought he had been asked if he intended to take up basketball. “But you have hired me to investigate Mr Rony's death. I was trying to earn my fee. I admit it doesn't look much like it at this moment, but I had a hard night Sunday, and I'm waiting to learn what line Mr Archer is going to take. What time is it, Archie?” “Quarter past four.” “Then he should be here in an hour or so.” Sperling stood up. “Things are piling up at my office,” he said, just stating a fact, and strode out of the room.
“On him a crown looks good,” I remarked.
“It doesn't chafe him,” Wolfe agreed, and went back to his book.
After a while it began to irritate me to see the toes of the yellow socks sticking up with holes started, so I tossed the magazines on a table, wandered out of the room, on downstairs, and outdoors. Sounds came from the direction of the swimming pool, and I went that way. The wind was no longer even a breeze, the sun was warm and friendly, and for anyone who likes grass and flowers and trees better than sidewalks and buildings it would have been a treat.
Connie Emerson and Madeline were in the pool. Paul Emerson, in a cotton shirt and slacks, not too clean, was standing on the marble at the edge, scowling at them. Gwenn, in a dress dark in colour but summery in weight, was in a chair under an umbrella, her head leaning back and her eyes closed.
Madeline interrupted an expert crawl to call to me, “Come on in!” “No trunks!” I called back.
Gwenn, hearing, swivelled her head to give me a long straight look, had nothing to say, turned her head back as before, and shut her eyes.
“You not getting wet?” I asked Emerson.
“I got cramps Saturday,” he said in an irritated tone, as if I should have had sense enough to know that. “How does it stand now?” “What? The cramp situation?” “The Rony situation.” “Oh. He's still dead.” “That's surprising.” The eminent broadcaster flicked a glance at me, but liked the sunlight on the water better. “I bet he rises from the grave. I hear it was your car.” “Mr Wolfe's car, yeah. So they say.” “Yet here you are without a guardian, no handcuffs. What are they doing, giving you a medal?” “I'm waiting and hoping. Why, do you think I deserve one?” Emerson tightened his lips and relaxed them again, a habit he had. “Depends on whether you did it on purpose or not. If it was accidental I don't think you ought to get more than honourable mention. How does it stand? Would it help any if I put in a word for you?” “I don't-excuse me, I'm being paged.” I stooped to grab the hand Madeline was putting up at me, braced myself, and straightened, bringing her out of the water on to the marble and on up to her feet.