Some Buried Caesar

"No. When I got there he was pushing at him on the ground. Not very hard. Playing with him. I didn't know whether he was dead or not, so I climbed the fence and walked over and when I was ten feet away-"

Wolfe frowned. "You were in danger. Unnecessarily. The man was dead."

"I couldn't tell. I fired in the air, and the bull beat it, and I took a look. I didn't have to apply any tests. And now you have the nerve to say the bull didn't kill him. What are you trying to do, work up a case because business has been bad?"

"No. I'm trying to make you stop rubbing the back of your hand so I can finish this chapter before going to bed. I'm explaining that Mr. Osgood's death was not due to your negligence and would have occurred no matter where you were, only I presume the circumstances would have been differently arranged. I was not guilty of sophistry. I might suggest a thousand dangers to your self-respect, but a failure on the job tonight would not be one. You didn't fail. You were told to prevent the removal of the bull from the pasture. You had no reason to suspect an attempt to harm the bull, since the enemy's purpose was to defend him from harm, and certainly no reason to suspect an effort to frame him on a charge of murder. I do hope you won't begin-"

He stopped on account of footsteps in the hall. They stopped by our door. There was a knock and I said come in and Bert entered.

He looked at me. "Could you come downstairs? Mr. Os- good is down there and wants to see you."

I told him I'd be. right down. After he had gone and his footsteps had faded away Wolfe said, "You might con- fine yourself to direct evidence. That you rubbed your hand and I endeavored to make you stop is our affair."

I told him that I regarded it as such and left him to his book.

5

AT THE FOOT of the stairs I was met by Pratt; standing with his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his wide jaw clamped tight. He made a motion with his head without saying anything, and led m. mto the big living room and to where a long-legged gentleman sat on a chair biting his lip, and letting it go, and biting it again. This latter barked at me when I was still five paces short of him, without waiting for Pratt or me to arrange contact:

"Your name's Goodwin, is it?"

It stuck out all over him, one of those born-to-command guys. I never invite them to parties. But I turned on the control and told him quietly, "Yep. Archie Goodwin."

"It was you that drove the bull off and fired the shots?"

"Yes, doctor."