The Second Confesion

What can I do for you?” Not having mentioned any name but mine to the receptionist, I felt famous. “I don't know,” I told him, sitting. “I guess you can't do anything.” “I could try.” He opened a drawer. “Have a cigar?” “No, thanks. Mr Wolfe has been interested in the death of your junior partner, Louis Rony.” “So I understand.” His face switched instantly from smiling welcome to solemn sorrow. “A brilliant career brutally snipped as it was bursting into flower.” That sounded to me like Confucius, but I skipped it. “A damn shame,” I agreed.

“Mr Wolfe has a theory that the truth may be holding out on us.” “I know he has. A very interesting theory.” “Yeah, he's looking into it a little. I guess I might as well be frank. He thought there might be something around Rony's office-some papers, anything-that might give us a hint. The idea was for me to go and look. For instance, if there were two rooms and a stenographer in one of them, I could fold her up-probably gag her and tie her-if there was a safe I could stick pins under her nails until she gave me the combination-and really do a job. I brought a man along to help, but even with two of us I don't see how we can-” I stopped because he was laughing so hard he couldn't hear me. You might have thought I was Bob Hope and had finally found a new one. When I thought it would reach him I protested modestly, “I don't deserve all that.” He tapered off to a chuckle. “I should have met you long ago,” he declared.

“I've been missing something. I want to tell you, Archie, and you can tell Wolfe, you can count on us here-all of us-for anything you want.” He waved a hand. “The place is yours. You won't have to stick pins in us. Louis's secretary will show you anything, tell you anything-all of us will. We'll do everything we can to help you get at the truth. For a high-minded man truth is everything. Who scratched your face?” He was getting on my nerves. He was so glad to have met me at last, and was so anxious to help, that it took me a full five minutes to break loose and get out of the room, but I finally made it.

I marched back to the reception room, beckoned to Saul, and, as soon as we were outside the suite, told him, “The wrong member of the firm got killed. Compared to Aloysius Murphy, Rony was the flower of truth.”

CHAPTER Sixteen