A Right to Die

'No, thanks.' He tried to eye me, but it was mostly blinks. 'I know a couple of men who know about you, and it's because of what they said that I would rather see you than Wolfe. They said you're tough but straight, and you're more human than Wolfe.'

'At least I try.'

He didn't hear it. He was in the kind of condition when you're so concentrated on what you want to say that nothing anyone else says can get in.

'I'm in one hell of a squeeze,' he said. 'I'm stuck. First I ought to tell you, I don't owe Kenneth and Dolly Brooke anything. They don't owe me anything, either. met them through Susan, about three years ago. I only knew them, I only kept knowing them and seeing them, on account of her. So I don't feel- Wait a minute. I didn't say this is confidential. It is.'

I shook my head. 'Not if it connects up with murder. I mustn't make liars of the men who told you I'm straight. Put it this way: nothing you tell me will be disclosed unless it has to be in order to nail a murderer. Everything else is, and will stay, confidential. Is that plain?'

'Yes.' A muscle at the side of his neck was twitching. 'I suppose… All right. I admit I'm thinking of me. I lied to the police.'

'If I had a dime for every lie I've told them I'd be on my yacht in the Caribbean. What is it you don't feel?'

'What?'

'You said, 'I don't feel,' and stopped.'

'I don't- Oh. Yes. I don't feel that there's any question of loyalty. I don't owe them any loyalty. I said I'm thinking of me, and I am, but the trouble is I have a conscience. That's an old- fashioned word, and I'm not religious, but I don't know what else to call it. That's why I haven't been able to sleep. What I can't stand- You remember, when we were here Friday evening, we tried to get Wolfe to tell us why he thinks that man is innocent, and he wouldn't. I want you to tell me why. Confidentially. Just for me.'

It was beginning to sound promising. What was eating him might be something we could use, and the odds had at least doubled that he wasn't it. I made an effort. 'If it would get you some sleep,' I said, 'I wish I could tell you. But if I did, people would no longer call me straight. Dunbar Whipple is Nero Wolfe's client, and I work for Nero Wolfe. But look at it. You read that piece in the Gazette. Mr. Wolfe has never taken a murder suspect for a client if he thought there was any chance that he was guilty. He knows Whipple is innocent. So do I. The only way he can prove it is to get the murderer. That's all I can tell you or your conscience.'

He kept trying to focus on me without blinking. 'I can't stand it,' he said, 'and I don't intend to. An innocent man convicted of murder because I didn't have the guts…' He shut his eyes tight and jerked his head from side to side.

'Look,' I said, 'let's get down to cases. What did you lie to the police about?'

'About where I was. That evening. I lied to Wolfe too. I wasn't at the club all evening. I left right after dinner and was gone for more than two hours.'

My lips parted to say 'Where did you go?' but it didn't get out. I don't know what stopped it. You never know where a hunch comes from; if you did it wouldn't be a hunch. I took three seconds to look at it, liked it, and said, 'Sure. You went and baby-sat for Dolly Brooke while she went and got her car and went for a ride.'

It stopped the blinks. He stared. 'How in the name of…'

I grinned at him. 'You have just heard a detective detect. I knew that she had got the car from the garage around a quarter to eight and returned about an hour and a half later. I doubted if she would leave an eight-year-old alone in the apartment. You come and make a big point of not owing them any loyalty and then say you lied about where you were that evening. So I detect.' I turned a palm up. 'Simple. Now that the beans are spilled, let's use the broom. Where did she go in the car?'

He still wasn't blinking. 'So you knew. I didn't need… I'm a damn fool. How did you find out?'

'Confidential information. We respect confidences, including yours. Where did-'

'Did you know when we were here? Friday?'

'No. We got it last night. Where did she go in the car?'

'I didn't need to come.' He got to his feet, none too steady. 'You already knew.' He turned and was going.

I moved and was between him and the door. 'Now you're a damn fool,' I told him. 'The only question is would you rather tell me or the police.'

He was blinking again. 'You said you respect confidences.'

'Nuts. You know what I said. We would prefer to tell the police nothing, about you or anyone else, until we can name the murderer, but you're not leaving until either (a) you answer my questions or (b) I get a cop here and you answer his questions. Take your pick.'

He didn't size me up. He stood and blinked at me, but not to decide if he could rush me. He was contemplating the situation, not me. I let him take his time. Finally he turned, not too sure of his legs, walked back to the chair, and sat. Back in my chair, I asked him, not demanding, just wanting to know, 'Where did she go in the car?'

'If I tell you that,' he said, 'I ought to tell you all about it.'

'Fine. Go ahead.'

He took a while to decide where to start. 'You know I was going to marry Susan.'

'If that's the way you want to put it, yes.'

'That's exactly the way I want to put it. We knew about that apartment. We all knew-her mother,