The Second Confesion

They are avowed members of the American Communist Party, and prominent ones. I have here a document'-he fluttered it-”which they signed early this evening, with a photograph of a man pasted on it. The writing on it, in Mr Stevens' hand, states that for eight years the man in the photograph has been a fellow Communist under the name of William Reynolds. The document is itself conclusive, but these gentlemen and I agreed that it would be helpful for them to appear and identify Reynolds in person. You're looking at him, are you, Mr Stevens?” “I am,” said Stevens, gazing at Webster Kane with cold hate.

“You goddam rat,” mumbled Harvey, also at Kane.

The economist was returning their gaze, now at Stevens, now at Harvey, stunned and incredulous. His first confession had required words, written down and signed, but this one didn't. That stunned look was his second confession, and everybody there, looking at him, could see it was the real thing.

He wasn't the only stunned one.

“Web!” roared Sperling. “For God's sake-Web!” “You're in for it, Mr Kane,” Wolfe said icily. “You've got no one left. You're done as Kane, with the Communist brand showing at last. You're done as Reynolds, with your comrades spitting you out as only they can spit. You're done even as a two-legged animal, with a murder to answer for. The last was my job-the rest was only incidental-and thank heaven it's over, for it wasn't easy. He's yours, Mr Archer.” I wasn't needed to watch a possible outburst, since both Ben Dykes and Purley Stebbins were there and had closed in, and I had an errand to attend to. I pulled my phone over, dialled the Gazette's number, and got Lon Cohen.

“Archie?” He sounded desperate. “Twelve minutes to go! Well?” “Okay, son,” I said patronizingly. “Shoot it.” “As is? Webster Kane? Pinched?” “As specified. We guarantee materials and workmanship. If you're a leading economist I know where there's a vacancy.”

CHAPTER Twenty-Three

Later, long after midnight, after everyone else had gone, James U. Sperling was still there. He sat in the red leather chair, eating nuts, drinking Scotch, and getting things clear.