The Second Confesion

“Your notebook, Archie.” The miner waited until I had it ready, open at a fresh page, and then spoke crisply, starting with a spelling lesson. “L-o-u-i-s. R-o-n-y. He's in the Manhattan phone book, both his law office and his home, his apartment-and anyway, it's all in that.” He indicated the bulky envelope, which he had tossed on to Wolfe's desk. “I have two daughters. Madeline is twenty-six and Gwenn is twenty-two. Gwenn was smart enough to graduate with honours at Smith a year ago, and I'm almost sure she's sane, but she's too damn curious and she turns her nose up at rules. She hasn't worked her way out of the notion that you can have independence without earning it. Of course it's all right to be romantic at her age, but she overdoes it, and I think what first attracted her to this man Rony was his reputation as a champion of the weak and downtrodden, which he has got by saving criminals from the punishment they deserve.” “I think I've seen his name,” Wolfe murmured. “Haven't I, Archie?” I nodded. “So have I. It was him that got What's-her-name, that baby peddler, out from under a couple of months ago. He seems to be on his way to the front page.” “Or to jail,” Sperling snapped, and there was nothing angelic about his tone. “I think I handled this wrong, and I'm damned sure my wife did. It was the same old mistake, and God only knows why parents go on making it. We even told her, and him too, that he would no longer be admitted into our home, and of course you know what the reaction was to that. The only concession she made, and I doubt if that was to us, was never to come home after day-light.” “Is she pregnant?” Wolfe inquired.

Sperling stiffened. “What did you say?” His voice was suddenly as hard as the hardest ore ever found in any mine. Unquestionably he expected it to crush Wolfe into pretending he hadn't opened his mouth, but it didn't.

“I asked if your daughter is pregnant. If the question is immaterial I withdraw it, but surely it isn't preposterous unless she also turns her nose up at natural laws.” “She is my daughter,” Sperling said in the same hard tone. Then suddenly his rigidity gave way. All the stiff muscles loosened, and he was laughing. When he laughed he roared, and he really meant it. In a moment he controlled it enough to speak. “Did you hear what I said?” he demanded.