The Second Confesion

I'll count three. One, two-” She sprinted up the bank and waited for me at the top. Going back up the drive, she got fairly caustic because I insisted that all I had come for was the card case, but when we reached the parking plaza and I had the door of the car open, she gave that up to end on the note she had greeted me with. She came close, ran a fingertip gently down the line of my scratch, and demanded, “Tell me who did that, Archie. I'm jealous!” “Some day,” I said, climbing in and pushing the starter button, “I'll tell you everything from the cradle on.” “Honest?” “Yes, ma'am.” I rolled away.

As I steered the curves down the drive my mind was on several things at once.

One was a record just set by a woman. I had been with Madeline three hours and she hadn't tried to pump me with a single question about what Wolfe was up to.

For that she deserved some kind of a mark, and I filed it under unfinished business. Another was a check on a point that Wolfe had raised. The brook made a good deal of noise. It wasn't the kind you noticed unless you listened, but it was loud enough so that if you were only twenty feet from the bridge, walking up the drive, and it was nearly dark, you might not hear a car coming down the drive until it was right on you. That was a point in support of Webster Kane's confession, and therefore a step backward instead of forward, but it would have to be reported to Wolfe.

However, the thing in the front of my mind was Madeline's remark that she had expected me to start looking under stones. It should have occurred to me before, but anyway it had now, and, not being prejudiced like Wolfe, I don't resent getting a tip from a woman. So I went on through the entrance on to the public highway, parked the car at the roadside, got a magnifying glass from the medicine case, walked back up the drive to the bridge, and stepped down the bank to the edge of the brook.