intended to convey by inference the information that I had killed Harrison, Dreyer and Hibbard, and that it was my purpose to kill others. They were typed on the typewriter in the alcove of the smoking-room at the Harvard Club, a fact which was discovered by Nero Wolfe. That ends my confession. The rest is explanation, – which I offer at Nero Wolfe's request.
The idea of the verses, which came to me after Harrison's death, was at first only one of the fantasies which occupy a mind accustomed to invention.
I composed them. They were good, at least for one purpose, and I decided to send them. I devised details as to paper, envelopes and typing which would leave no possibility to proving that they had been sent by me. They worked admirably, beyond my expectations.
Three months later the death of
Dreyer, and the circumstances under which it occurred, offered another opportunity which of course was irresistible. This was more risky than the first, since I had been present at the gallery that afternoon, but careful consideration convinced me that there was no real danger. I typed the second verses, and sent them. They were even more successful than the first ones. I need not try to describe the satisfaction it gave me to fill with trepidation and terror the insolent breasts which for so many years had bulged their pity at me.
They had called themselves the League of Atonement – Oh yes, I knew that.
Now at last atonement had in fact begun.
I supplemented the effect of the verses verbally, with certain of my friends, whenever a safe opportunity offered, and this was more fertile with Andrew : Hibbard than with anyone else. It ended by his becoming so terrified that he ran away. I do not know where he is; it is quite possible that he killed himself. As soon as I learned of his disappearance I decided to take advantage of it. Of course if he reappeared the game was up, but I had not supposed that I could continue the business indefinitely, and this was too good a chance to be missed.
I sent the third verses. The result was nothing short of magnificent, indeed it proved to be too magnificent. I had never heard of Nero Wolfe. I went to his office that evening for the pleasure ^of seeing my friends, and to look at Wolfe. I saw that he was acute and intuitive, and that my diversion was probably at an end. An attempt was made by my wife to impress Wolfe, but it failed.
There are other points that might be touched upon, but I believe none of them require explanation. I would like to mention, though, that my testimony on the witness-stand regarding my reason for writing my novel Devil Take the Hindmost, was in my opinion a superlative bit of finesse, and Nero Wolfe agrees with me.
I will add that I am not responsible for the literary quality of this document.
It was written by Nero Wolfe.
Paul Chapin.ff
Wolfe finished, dropped the confession to the table, and leaned back. 'Now, gentlemen. If you wish to comment.'
There were mumblings. Ferdinand
Bowen, the stockbroker, spoke up: 'It seems to me Adier has commented for all of us. Drivel.'
Wolfe nodded. ‹I can understand that viewpoint. In fact, I suppose that under the circumstances it is inevitable. But let me expound my own viewpoint. My position is that I have met my obligations under the memorandum and that the payments are due.'
'My dear sir!' It was Nicholas Cabot. 'Preposterous.' ‹I think not. What I undertook to do was to remove your fear of Paul Chapin.
That's what it amounts to, with the facts we now have. Well: as for Andrew Hibbard, here he is. As for the deaths of Harrison and Dreyer, it should have been obvious to all of you, from the beginning, that Chapin had nothing to do with them.
You had known him all his mature life. I had merely read his books; but I was aware last Monday evening, when you gentlemen were here, that Chapin could not possibly commit a premeditated murder, and not even an impromptu one unless suddenly demented. And you, Mr.
Hibbard, a psychologist! Have you read
Chapin's books? Why are they so concerned with murder and the delight of it? Why does every page have its hymn to violence and the brute beauty of vehement action? Or, to change heroes, why did I Nietzsche say Thou goest to woman, forget not thy whip? Because he had not the temerity to touch a woman with the tip of a goose-feather. The truth is that Paul Chapin did murder Harrison and Dreyer and all of you. He has murdered you, and will doubtless do so again, in his books.
Let him, gentlemen, and go on breathing.
'No. Harrison and Dreyer and Hibbard are out of it. Consult the memorandum.
There remains only the matter of the warnings. Chapin admits he sent them, and tells you how and why and where.
The trilogy is done. There will be no sequels, and even if there were I should not suppose they would alarm you. If he should desire to use the same typewriter again he would have to come to this office for it, for it rests there on Mr. Goodwin's desk.' t› They all looked, and I moved out of the ^ way so they could see it. Wolfe drank beer, and wiped his lips. He resumed: ‹I know, of course, where the trouble lies. Paul Chapin is in the Tombs charged with the murder of Dr. Burton. If that had not happened, if Dr. Burton were here with us this evening alive and well, I have no doubt that all of you would acquiesce in my position. I have done the work I was engaged for. But as it is, you are confused; and what confuses you is this, that whereas you formerly had no security at all against Paul Chapin's injurious designs, you now have more than you need. I offer you the security I undertook to get for you, but you are no longer interested in it because you already have something just as good: namely, that Chapin is going to be electrocuted and can no longer murder you even in books. – Mr. Cabot, I ask you as a lawyer, is that exposition of the situation correct? What do you think of it?'; ‹I think…' Cabot pursed his lips, and after a moment went on, 'I think it is remarkably ingenious rubbish.'
Wolfe nodded. ‹I would expect you to.
