The Second Confesion

“Bah. The screw is down hard.” “Taking candy from a baby,” I admitted. “Though I must say they're no babies, especially Stevens.” Wolfe grunted. “He's third from the top in the American Communist hierarchy.” “He doesn't look it but he acts it. I noticed they didn't even ask what evidence you've got that Reynolds did the killing, because they don't give a damn. All they want is to get the articles stopped and him burned. What I don't get, why did they just swallow the letter from a friend? Why didn't they give Reynolds a chance to answer a question?” “They don't give chances.” Wolfe was scornful. “Could he have proved the letter was a lie? How? Could he have explained the photograph of his membership card?

He could only have denied it, and they wouldn't have believed him. They trust no one, especially not one another, and I don't blame them. I suppose I shouldn't put paste on this thing until they have written their names on it.” I wasn't quite as cocksure as he seemed to be. I thought they might have to take it to a meeting, and that couldn't be done in half an hour. But apparently he knew more than I did about Stevens' rank and authority. I had let them out at six thirty-four, and at six fifty-two the bell rang and I went to let them in again. Only eighteen minutes, but the nearest phone booth was only half a block away.

They didn't sit. Harvey stood gazing at me as if there were something about me he didn't like, and Stevens advanced to the end of Wolfe's desk and announced, “We don't like the wording. We want it to read this way: “As loyal American citizens, devoted to the public welfare and the ideals of true democracy, we believe that all law-breakers should be punished, regardless of their political affiliations. Therefore, in the interest of justice, we have written our names on the above photograph, and we hereby attest that the man in that photograph is known to us as William Reynolds, and that to our knowledge he has been for eight years, until today, a member of the Communist Party of the USA. Upon learning that he was to be charged with murder, the Communist Party's executive Committee immediately expelled him.” My opinion of Stevens went up a notch, technically. With nothing to refer to, not even a cuff, he rattled that off as if he had known it by heart for years.

Wolfe lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “If you like it better with all that folderol. Do you want Mr Goodwin to type it, or will you write it by hand?”