The League Of Frightened Men Part 21

Hibbard is with us. Mr. Goodwin and I I are gratified that we were able to play the Stanley to his Livingstone. As to the to look at him and the talking had stopped. He inclined his head and used his resonance: "Good evening, gentlemen."

Then he faced the door and nodded at Fritz, who was standing on the threshold.

Fritz moved aside, and Andrew Hibbard walked in.

That started the first uproar. Pratt and Mike Ayers were the quickest to react.

They both yelled "Andy!" and jumped for him. Others followed. They encircled him, shouted at him, grabbed his hands and pounded him on the back. They had him hemmed in so that I couldn't see any of him, to observe what kind of psychology he was taking it with. It was easy to imagine, hearing them and looking at them, that they really liked Andy Hibbard. Maybe even Drummond and Bowen liked him; you've got to take the bitter along with the sweet.

Wolfe had eluded the stampede. He had got to his desk and lowered himself into his chair, and Fritz had brought him beer.

I looked at him, and was glad I did, for it wasn't often he felt like winking at me and I wouldn't have wanted to miss it. He returned my look and gave me the wink, and I grinned at him. Then he drank some beer.

The commotion went on a while longer.

Mike Ayers came over to Wolfed desk and said something which I couldn't hear on account of the noise, and Wolfe nodded and replied something. Mike Ayers went back and began shooing' them into chairs, and Cabot and Farrell helped him.

They subsided. Pratt took Hibbard by the arm and steered him to one of the big armchairs, and then sat down next to him and took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. a Wolfe started the ball rolling. He sat pretty straight, his forearms on the arms of his chair, his chin down, his eyes open on them.

"Gentlemen. Thank you for coming here this evening. Even if we should later come to disagreement, I am sure we are in accord as to the felicitous nature of our preamble. We are all glad that Mr.

Hibbard is with us. Mr. Goodwin and I I are gratified that we were able to play the Stanley to his Livingstone. As to the particular dark continent that Mr. Hibbard chose to explore, and the method of our finding him, those details must wait for another occasion, since we have more pressing business. I believe it is enough at present to say that Mr. Hibbard's disappearance was a venture on his own account, a sally in search of education.

That is correct, Mr. Hibbard?"

They all looked at Hibbard. He nodded. "That's correct."

Wolfe took some papers from his drawer, spread them out, and picked one up. I have here, gentlemen, a copy of the memorandum of our agreement. One of my undertakings herein was to remove from you all apprehension and expectation of injury from the person or persons responsible for the disappearance of Andrew Hibbard. I take it that that has been accomplished? You have no fear of Mr. Hibbard himself? Good. Then that much is done." He paused to look them over, face by face, and went on. "For the rest, it will be necessary to read you a doc.u.ment." He put the memorandum down and picked up another paper, sheets clipped to a brown paper jacket. "This, gentlemen, is dated November twelfth, which is today. It is signed with the name of Paul Chapin. At the top it is headed, CONFESSION OF PAUL CHAPIN.

REGARDING THE.

DEATHS OF WILLIAM R. HARRISON.

AND.

EUGENE DREYER AND THE WRITING.

AND.

DISPATCHING OF CERTAIN.

INFORMATIVE AND.

THREATENING VERSES.

It reads as follows-"

Cabot the lawyer b.u.t.ted in. He would.

He interrupted: "Mr. Wolfe. Of course this is interesting, but in view of what has happened do you think it's necessary?"

"Quite." Wolfe didn't look up. "If you will permit me: va ^ 7, Paul Chapin, of 203 Perry Street, New York City, hereby confess that I "was in no way concerned in the death of g Judge William R. Harrison. To the best of my knowledge and belief his death was accidental. f] I further confess that I was in no way concerned in the death of Eugene Dreyer.

To the best of my knowledge and belief he committed suicide.

I further confess -ff There was an explosive snort from Mike Ayers, and mutterings from some of the others. Julius Adier's mild sarcastic voice took the air: "This is drivel. Chapin has maintained throughout -"

Wolfe stopped him, and all of them.

"Gentlemen! Please. I ask your indulgence.

If you will withhold comments until the end.",-11'1 '"V... *1 -^ Drummond squeaked, ((Let him finish,'' and I made a mental note to give him an extra drink. Wolfe continued: {t! further confess that the verses received by certain persons on three separate occasions were composed, typed and mailed by me. They were intended to convey by inference the information that I had killed Harrison, Dreyer and Hibbard, and that it was my purpose to kill others. They were typed on the typewriter in the alcove of the smoking-room at the Harvard Club, a fact which was discovered by Nero Wolfe. That ends my confession. The rest is explanation, which I offer at Nero Wolfe's request.

The idea of the verses, which came to me after Harrison's death, was at first only one of the fantasies which occupy a mind accustomed to invention.

I composed them. They were good, at least for one purpose, and I decided to send them. I devised details as to paper, envelopes and typing which would leave no possibility to proving that they had been sent by me. They worked admirably, beyond my expectations.

Three months later the death of Dreyer, and the circ.u.mstances under which it occurred, offered another opportunity which of course was irresistible. This was more risky than the first, since I had been present at the gallery that afternoon, but careful consideration convinced me that there was no real danger. I typed the second verses, and sent them. They were even more successful than the first ones. I need not try to describe the satisfaction it gave me to fill with trepidation and terror the insolent b.r.e.a.s.t.s which for so many years had bulged their pity at me.

They had called themselves the League of Atonement Oh yes, I knew that.

Now at last atonement had in fact begun.

I supplemented the effect of the verses verbally, with certain of my friends, whenever a safe opportunity offered, and this was more fertile with Andrew : Hibbard than with anyone else. It ended by his becoming so terrified that he ran away. I do not know where he is; it is quite possible that he killed himself. As soon as I learned of his disappearance I decided to take advantage of it. Of course if he reappeared the game was up, but I had not supposed that I could continue the business indefinitely, and this was too good a chance to be missed.

I sent the third verses. The result was nothing short of magnificent, indeed it proved to be too magnificent. I had never heard of Nero Wolfe. I went to his office that evening for the pleasure ^of seeing my friends, and to look at Wolfe. I saw that he was acute and intuitive, and that my diversion was probably at an end. An attempt was made by my wife to impress Wolfe, but it failed.

There are other points that might be touched upon, but I believe none of them require explanation. I would like to mention, though, that my testimony on the witness-stand regarding my reason for writing my novel Devil Take the Hindmost, was in my opinion a superlative bit of finesse, and Nero Wolfe agrees with me.

I will add that I am not responsible for the literary quality of this doc.u.ment.

It was written by Nero Wolfe.

Paul Chapin.ff Wolfe finished, dropped the confession to the table, and leaned back. "Now, gentlemen. If you wish to comment."

There were mumblings. Ferdinand Bowen, the stockbroker, spoke up: "It seems to me Adier has commented for all of us. Drivel."

Wolfe nodded. I can understand that viewpoint. In fact, I suppose that under the circ.u.mstances it is inevitable. But let me expound my own viewpoint. My position is that I have met my obligations under the memorandum and that the payments are due."

"My dear sir!" It was Nicholas Cabot. "Preposterous." I think not. What I undertook to do was to remove your fear of Paul Chapin.

That's what it amounts to, with the facts we now have. Well: as for Andrew Hibbard, here he is. As for the deaths of Harrison and Dreyer, it should have been obvious to all of you, from the beginning, that Chapin had nothing to do with them.

You had known him all his mature life. I had merely read his books; but I was aware last Monday evening, when you gentlemen were here, that Chapin could not possibly commit a premeditated murder, and not even an impromptu one unless suddenly demented. And you, Mr.

Hibbard, a psychologist! Have you read Chapin's books? Why are they so concerned with murder and the delight of it? Why does every page have its hymn to violence and the brute beauty of vehement action? Or, to change heroes, why did I Nietzsche say Thou goest to woman, forget not thy whip? Because he had not the temerity to touch a woman with the tip of a goose-feather. The truth is that Paul Chapin did murder Harrison and Dreyer and all of you. He has murdered you, and will doubtless do so again, in his books.

Let him, gentlemen, and go on breathing.

"No. Harrison and Dreyer and Hibbard are out of it. Consult the memorandum.

There remains only the matter of the warnings. Chapin admits he sent them, and tells you how and why and where.

The trilogy is done. There will be no sequels, and even if there were I should not suppose they would alarm you. If he should desire to use the same typewriter again he would have to come to this office for it, for it rests there on Mr. Goodwin's desk." t They all looked, and I moved out of the ^ way so they could see it. Wolfe drank beer, and wiped his lips. He resumed: I know, of course, where the trouble lies. Paul Chapin is in the Tombs charged with the murder of Dr. Burton. If that had not happened, if Dr. Burton were here with us this evening alive and well, I have no doubt that all of you would acquiesce in my position. I have done the work I was engaged for. But as it is, you are confused; and what confuses you is this, that whereas you formerly had no security at all against Paul Chapin's injurious designs, you now have more than you need. I offer you the security I undertook to get for you, but you are no longer interested in it because you already have something just as good: namely, that Chapin is going to be electrocuted and can no longer murder you even in books. Mr. Cabot, I ask you as a lawyer, is that exposition of the situation correct? What do you think of it?'; I think..." Cabot pursed his lips, and after a moment went on, "I think it is remarkably ingenious rubbish."

Wolfe nodded. I would expect you to.

I take it, gentlemen, that Mr. Cabot's opinion is approximately unanimous. Yes?

So it becomes necessary for me to introduce a new consideration. This: that Chapin did not kill Dr. Burton, that I can establish his innocence, and that if tried he will be acquitted."

That started the second uproar. It began as a muttering of incredulity and astonishment; it was Leopold Elkus that put the noise in it. He jumped out of his chair and ran around Wolfe's desk to get at him and grabbed his hand and began pumping it. He seemed to be excited; he was yelling at Wolfe something about justice and grat.i.tude and how great and grand Wolfe was; I didn^t hear anything about megalomania. The others, busy with their own remarks, didn^t pay any " attention to him. Mike Ayers, roaring with laughter, got up and went to the table for a drink. I got up too, thinking I might have to go and haul Elkus off of Wolfe, but he finally trotted back to the others, gesticulating and still talking. Wolfe lifted I his hand at them: ^ p* "Gentlemen! If you please. I seem to have startled you. Similarly, I suppose, the police and the District Attorney will be startled, though they should not be. You of course expect me to support my statement with evidence, but if I do that I must ask you for more impartiality than I observe at the moment on most of your faces. You cannot be at the same time juridical and partisan, at least not with any pretense at competence. tt! offer these items. First, at a few minutes before seven on Sat.u.r.day evening Paul Chapin answered the telephone in his apartment. It was Dr. Burton, who asked Chapin to come to see him immediately. A little later Chapin left to go to Ninetieth Street, arriving there at seven-thirty. But there was something wrong with that telephone call, namely, that Dr. Burton never made it. For that we have the word of his wife, who says that her husband telephoned no one around that time Sat.u.r.day. It seems likely, therefore, that there was somewhere a third person who was taking upon himself the functions of fate. I know, Mr. Adier. And I think I perceive, Mr. Bowen, that your face carries a similar expression. You would ask if I am gullible enough to believe Mr. Chapin. I am not gullible, but I believe him. He told his wife of the telephone call, and she told me; and there is the switchboard operator at the Chapin apartment house.

"Item two. Consider the details of what is supposed to have happened in the Burton foyer. Dr. Burton took the pistol from his desk and went to the foyer.

Chapin, there waiting for him, took the pistol from him, shot him four times, turned out the light, threw the pistol on the floor and then got down on his hands and knees to look for it in the dark. What a picture! According to the story of Mrs.

Burton and of the maid, Dr. Burton had been in the foyer not more than six seconds, possibly less, when the shots were fired. Burton was a good-sized man, and powerful. Chapin is small and is handicapped by a major deformity; he cannot even walk without support.

Well... I am now going to count six seconds for you. One... two... three ... four... five... six. That was six seconds. In that s.p.a.ce of time, or less, the crippled Chapin is supposed to have got the gun from b.u.t.ton's pocket, G.o.d knows how, shot him, dropped the gun, hobbled to the switch to turn off the light, and hobbled back to the table to fall to the floor. In your juridical capacity, gentlemen, what do you think of that?"

Leopold Elkus stood up. His black eyes were not floating back into his head now; he was using them for glaring. He let the bunch have the glare, right and left, saying loudly and clearly, "Anyone who ever believed that is no better than a cretin." He looked at Wolfe. (I shall have apologies for you, sir, when this kindergarten is over." He sat down.

"Thank you, Dr. Elkus. Item three, for what conceivable reason did Chapin turn out the light? I shall not take your time by listing conjectures only to have you reject them as I have done. Make your own when you have leisure for it, if it amuses you. I only say, the actions even of a murderer should be in some degree explicable, and to believe that Chapin shot Burton and then hobbled to the wall to turn out the light is to believe nonsense. I doubt if any of you believe that. Do you?"

They looked at one another as if, having no opinions of their own, they would like to borrow one. Two or three shook their heads. George Pratt spoke up, "I'll tell you what I believe, Wolfe. I believe we hired you to get Paul Chapin into trouble, not out of it." Drummond giggled and Mike Ayers laughed. Nicholas Cabot demanded: "What does Chapin have to say? Did he shoot or didn't he? Did he turn out the light or didn't he? What does he say happened during those six seconds?"

Wolfe shook his head and his cheeks unfolded a little. "Oh no, Mr. Cabot. It is possible that Mr. Chapin will have to tell his story on the witness-stand in his own defense. You can hardly expect me to disclose it in advance to those who may consider themselves his enemies."

"What the h.e.l.l, no one would believe him anyway." It was Ferdinand Bowen relieving himself. "He'd cook up a tale, of course." pf Wolfe turned his eyes on Bowen, and I had mine there too. I was curious to see if he would take it. I didn't think he would, but he did; he kept his gaze steady back at Wolfe. Wolfe sighed. ^Well, gentlemen, I have presented my case. I could offer further points for your consideration: for instance, the likelihood that if Chapin intended to kill Dr. Burton as soon as he set eyes on him he would have gone provided with a weapon. Also, Chapin's const.i.tutional incapacity for any form of violent action, which I discovered through his novels, and which all of you must be acquainted with as a fact. And in addition, there are items of evidence which I cannot divulge to you now, out of fairness to him, but which will certainly be used should he come to trial. Surely, surely I have offered enough to show you that if your minds have been cleared of any fear of injury from Paul Chapin, it is not because a policeman found him sitting in Dr. Burton's foyer, stunned by an event he could not have foreseen; it is because I have laid bare the purely literary nature of his attempt at vengeance. The question is this, have I satisfactorily performed my undertaking?

I think I have. But it is you who are to decide it, by vote. I ask you to vote yes.

Archie. If you will please call the names."

They began to talk. Bowen muttered to his neighbor, Gaines of Boston, "Pretty slick, he's a d.a.m.n fool if he thinks we'll fall for it." Elkus glared at him. I caught a few other observations. Cabot said to Wolfe, I shall vote no. In case Chapin does get an acquittal, and evidence is presented -"

Wolfe nodded at him. I am aware, Mr. Cabot, that this vote is not the last dingdong of doom. As you shall see, if I lose." He nodded at me, and I started the roll call. On the list I was using they were alphabetical.

"Julius Adier."

"No. I would like to say -"

Wolfe cut him off. "The no is sufficient.

Proceed, Archie."; "Michael Ayers."

"Yes!" He made it emphatic. I thought, good for him, with two weeks' wages up.

"Ferdinand Bowen."

"No."

"Edwin Robert Byron."

"Yes." That evened it up.

I "Nicholas Cabot."

"No."

"Fillmore Collard."

"Yes." Wowie. Nine thousand berries. I paused because I had to look at him.

"Alexander Drummond."

"No." Sure, the d.a.m.n canary.

"Leopold Elkus."

"Yes!" And it was even again, four and four.

"Augustus Farrell."

"Yes."

"Theodore Gaines."

"No."

"I. M. Irving."

"No."

"Arthur Kommers." ."No." Three out-of-town babies, three noes in a row, and I hoped Wolfe was proud of his long-distance phoning.

"Sidney Lang."

"Yes."

"Archibald Mollison."

"Yes."

It was even again, seven and seven, and just one more to go, but I knew what it would be before I called it. It was George Pratt, the Tammany bird who had tried to get Inspector Cramer worried about his four grand. I said it: "George R. Pratt."

"No."