He shook his head. 'I don't want to send Mr Goodwin to St. Louis, I need him here, but we shall see.' He got to his feet. 'It's astonishing how frequently grown men, apparently sane, get the notion that they can conceal facts that are easily ascertainable. I'll bear in mind, Mr DuBois, that you have invited harassment, and I may oblige you.'
He moved, and so did I, across to the rack in an alcove for the ponchos and flashlight. They all stayed put, but as I was pulling my hood over, here came Farnham to the rack, and he got a poncho and put it on and went and opened the door. It was pretty late in the day for him to be getting polite, and I supposed he was going out for some little errand, but he came across to the car with us. The rain had let up but there was plenty of drip from the firs. Farnham opened the door of the station wagon for Wolfe to get in, and then he held it open and did his little errand. He spoke. 'I don't want you to get the idea that I have tried to conceal any facts. Some facts are other people's business and some aren't. I don't think anybody around here knows that Phil Brodell's father has got a mortgage on my place and there's no reason why they should, but if Goodwin goes to St. Louis and sees Brodell, of course that's one fact he'll get, and you might as well get it from me.'
Wolfe grunted. 'A substantial mortgage?'
'Goddammit, yes!' He slammed the door shut harder than necessary.
Chapter 7
At a quarter past ten Saturday morning I opened a door on the first floor of the Monroe County courthouse in Timberburg and entered-a door with a glass panel that had painted on it in big bold black gilt-edged letters:
MORLEY HAIGHT
SHERIFF
Inside, not even turning my head for a glance at the county employee seated at a table inside the railing, I kept going, on through the gate in the railing, across to a door in the left wall, opened it, and stepped in.
I admit it wouldn't be correct to say I was in pursuit of a fugitive from justice, but the man I had had in tow had broken loose, and it would have been a pleasure to bulldog him. I had not been cocky. Arriving at the Presto gas station twenty minutes ago, at 9:55, I had pulled over to the edge of the gravel, got out, asked the help politely if Gil was around, and gone where his thumb pointed, on through the bright sun to the shady inside. Gilbert Haight, over to the left, stacking cans of oil on a shelf, twisted his long neck for a look at me, twisted it back to see his hand place a couple of cans nice and even, turned around, and said, 'Nice mahrnin'.'
If it had been yesterday instead of today and I had just come from Jessup's office with the credentials, I would have had a little fun, but now it was just a job. 'Better than yesterday,' I said. 'That was quite a rain.'
'It sure was.'
'Maybe we could sit somewhere for a little talk?'
He nodded. 'I knew you'd be comin'.'
'Naturally. If your father still says you mustn't talk to me maybe I should see him first. I wouldn't mind.'
'I bet you wouldn't. He don't say that. He says the law's the law. He knows the law. But this is no place to talk, people comin' and goin'. I suppose you've got some kind of a paper from the county attorney.'
I got an envelope from a pocket, took from it the 'To Whom It May Concern,' unfolded it, and handed it to him. He read it twice, taking his time, handed it back, and said, 'It looks legal to me. I guess the best place to talk is right there in his office, where it sure will be legal. My sister's got my car so we'll go in yours. Miss Rowan's.'
I could have said something like 'Father knows best,' but didn't bother. He put a few more cans in place, went out and told his colleague he was leaving for a while-his privilege, since his father owned the place- and came and joined me on the front seat of the station wagon. It was only half a mile to the courthouse. As usual on a Saturday morning all the nearby parking spots were occupied, but I turned in, swung around the courthouse to the rear, and on past a sign that said OFFICIAL CARS ONLY. One, I was now official, and two, his name was Haight. The rear door of the courthouse was standing open, and I led the way in and headed down the long hall to the front, where the main stairs were. We passed doors on both sides, but the three on the left were criss-crossed with iron bars because that was the old part of the county jail. Entering the big lobby, I turned right toward the stairs, but halfway there I stopped and wheeled because I no longer had company. He had headed back toward the opening to a side hall and was turning into it on the trot. I had no desire to stop him but wanted to know, not just guess, so I got to the hall fast, in time to see him open a door and go in-and as I said, the door was shut when I reached it.
The county employee at the table barked something and jumped up as I crossed, quick, to the inner door and on in. I stopped short of the desk and said, 'What the hell, as long as it's legal.'
