The Second Confesion

“If you like that kind,” Harvey said. “Who is it?” “That will only prolong it.” Wolfe was a little less pleasant. “If I had any doubt that you knew him, none was left after the mention of his name brought you here. Certainly you didn't come because you were grieved to learn that I'm in a hole. If you deny that you know that man as William Reynolds you will have had your trip for nothing, and we can't go on.” “Let's put it this way,” Stevens said softly. “Proceed hypothetically. If we say we do know him as William Reynolds, then what?” Wolfe nodded approvingly. “That will do, I think. Then I talk. I tell you that when I met this man recently, for the first time, his name was not Reynolds. I assume you know his other name too, but since in his association with you and your colleagues he has been Reynolds, we'll use that. When I met him, a little more than a week ago, I didn't know he was a Communist; I learned that only yesterday.” “How?” Harvey snapped.

Wolfe shook his head. “I'm afraid I'll have to leave that out. In my years of work as a private detective I have formed many connections-the police, the Press, all kinds of people. I will say this: I think Reynolds made a mistake.

It's only a conjecture, but a good one I think, that he became frightened. He apprehended a mortal peril-I was responsible for that-and he did something foolish. The peril was a charge of murder. He knew the charge could be brought only if it could be shown that he was a Communist, and he thought I knew it too, and he decided to guard against that by making it appear that while pretending to be a Communist he was actually an enemy of communism and wanted to help destroy it. As I say, that is only a conjecture. But-” “Wait a minute.” Apparently Stevens never raised his voice, even when he was cutting in. “It hasn't quite got to where you can prove a man committed murder just by proving he's a Communist.” Stevens smiled, and, seeing what he regarded as a smile, I decided to have my daughter ask someone else for directions. “Has it?” “No,” Wolfe conceded. “Rather the contrary. Communists are well advised to disapprove of private murders for private motives. But in this case that's how it stood. Since we're proceeding hypothetically, I may include in the hypothesis that you know about the death of a man named Louis Rony, run over by a car on the country estate of James U. Sperling, and that you know that William Reynolds was present. May I not?” “Go on,” Harvey rumbled.