Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

It was one swell mess. It looked exactly like a blurred radiophoto with the caption, Our Troops Taking an Enemy Machine-Gun Nest in a Sicilian Village. Debris, crumbled plaster, a door hanging by one hinge, most of a wall gone, men in uniform looking grim. Standing in what had been the doorway, facing out, was Colonel Tinkham. When two men tried to push past him into what had been Ryder’s room, he barred the way and bellowed, “Stand back! Back to that corner!” They backed up, but only about five paces, where they bumped into Wolfe and me. Others were behind us and around us.

From the commotion in the rear one voice was suddenly heard above the others: “General Fife!”

A lane opened up, and in a moment Fife came striding through. At sight of him Tinkham moved forward from the doorway, and behind Tinkham, from within, came Lieutenant Lawson. They both saluted, which may sound silly, but somehow didn’t look silly. Fife returned it and asked, “What’s in there?”

Lawson spoke. “Colonel Ryder, sir.”

“Dead?”

“Good God, yes. All blown apart.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

“No, sir. No sign of anybody.”

“I’ll take a look. Tinkham, clear this hall. Everybody back where they belong. No one is to leave the premises.”

Nero Wolfe rumbled in my ear, “This confounded dust. And smell. Come, Archie.”

That was the only occasion I remember when he willingly climbed a flight of stairs. Not knowing what orders had already been given to the corporal by the elevators, he probably wanted to avoid delay. Nobody interfered with us, since going to the eleventh floor was not leaving the premises. He marched straight through the anteroom to General Fife’s office, with me at his heels, straight to the big leather chair with its back to a window, sat down, got himself properly adjusted, and told me:

“Telephone that place, wherever it is, and tell them to send some beer.”

Chapter 3

Our old friend and foe, Inspector Cramer of the Homicide Squad, tilted his cigar up from the corner of his mouth and again ran his eye over the sheet of paper in his hand. I had typed the thing myself from General Fife’s dictation. It read: