Might as Well Be Dead

I didn’t ham it, but I gave them all the words, which was no strain, since the only difference between me and a tape recorder is that a tape recorder can’t lie. I lie to Wolfe only on matters that are none of his business, and this was his business. As I say, I didn’t ham it, but I thought they ought to have a clear picture, so I described Paul Herold’s condition-his stiff jaw, his shaking, his trying to shove his fists through the counter, and the look in his eyes when he said it wasn’t fair for him to have this too. I admit one thing: I made the report standing up so I could put my fists on Wolfe’s desk to show how Paul Herold’s had looked on the counter. When I was through I slid the chair out from my desk and sat.

“If you still want a firm conclusion,” I said, “it is yes.”

Wolfe put his glass down, took in air clear to his belly button, and shut his eyes.

Freyer was shaking his head with his jaw set. “I’ve never had a case like it,” he said, apparently to himself, “and I never want another one.” He looked at Wolfe. “What are you going to do? You can’t just shut your eyes on it.”

“They’re my eyes,” Wolfe muttered, keeping them closed. In a moment he opened them. “Archie. That’s why you wanted Mr. Freyer to hear your report, to make it even more difficult.”

I lifted my shoulders and dropped them. “No argument.”

“Then send Mr. Herold a telegram, saying merely that we have found his son, alive and well, here in New York. That was our job. Presumably he will come.”

Freyer made a noise and came forward in his chair. I looked at Wolfe, swallowed, and spoke.

“You do it. I’ve got a sore finger. Just dial Western Union, WO two-seven-one-one-one.”

He laughed. A stranger would have called it a snort, but I know his different snorts. He laughed some more.

“It’s fairly funny,” I said, “but have you heard the one about the centipede in the shoe store?”

Freyer said positively, “I think we should discuss it.”

Wolfe nodded. “I agree. I was merely forcing Mr. Goodwin to reveal his position.” He looked at me.

“You prefer to wire Mr. Herold that I have decided I don’t like the job?”

“If those are the only alternatives, yes. As he said, he might as well be dead. He’s practically a corpse, and I don’t have to rob corpses to eat and neither do you.”