'Did you have any particular reason to assume that your son would win the bet?'
'How the hell could I? I didn't know what he was betting on.'
'You didn't know that he had wagered that Mr. Pratt would not barbecue Hickory Caesar Grindon this week?'
'No. Not then. Not until my daughter told me afterwards… after Clyde was dead.'
'Didn't Mr. Pratt tell you on the phone?'
'I didn't give him a chance. When I learned that Clyde had been to Tom Pratt's place and made a bet with him, and that Pratt had the insolence to ask me to stand good for my son-what do you think? Was I going to ask the dog for de- tails? I told him that any debt my son might ever owe him, for a bet or anything else, or for $10,000 or ten times that, would be instantly paid, and I hung up.'
'Didn't your son tell you what the bet was about when he got home a little later?'
'No. There was another scene. Since you have… you might as well have all of it. When Clyde appeared I was furious, and I demanded… I was in a temper, and that roused his, and he started to walk out. I accused him of be- traying me. I accused him of arranging a fake bet with Pratt and getting Pratt to phone me, so that I would have to pay it, and then Pratt would hand him the money. Then he did walk out. As I said, I didn't find out until afterwards what the bet was about or how it was made. I left the house and got in a car and drove over the other side of Crowfield to the place of an old friend of mine. I didn't want to eat dinner at home. Clyde's friend, this Bronson, was here, and my daugh- ter and my wife… and my presence wouldn't make it a pleasant meal. It was already unpleasant enough. When I got back, after ten o'clock, there was no one around but my wife, and she was in her room crying. About half an hour later the phone call came from Pratt's-his nephew. I went. That was where I had to go to find my son dead.'
Wolfe sat looking at him, and after a moment sighed. 'That's too bad,' he said. 'I mean it's too bad that you were away from home, and weren't on speaking terms with your son. I had hoped to learn from you what time he left the house, and under what circumstances, and what he may have said of his destination and purpose. You can't tell me that.'
'Yes, I can. My daughter and Bronson have told me-'
'Pardon me. If you don't mind, I'd rather hear it from them. What time is it, Archie?'
I told him, ten after five.
'Thank you. – You realize, Mr. Osgood, that we're fishing in a big stream. This is your son's home, hundreds of people in this county know him, one or more of them may have hated or feared him enough to want him dead, and almost anyone could have got to the far end of the pasture without detection, despite the fact that my assistant had the pasture under surveillance. It was a dark night. But we'll extend our field only if we're compelled to; let's finish with those known to be present. Regarding motive, what about Mr. McMillan?'
'None that I know of. I've known Monte McMillan all my life; his place is up at the north end of the county. Even if he had caught Clyde trying some fool trick with the bull – my God, Monte wouldn't murder him… and you say yourself-'
'I know. Clyde wasn't caught doing that.' Wolfe sighed. 'That seems to cover it. Pratt, McMillan, the nephew, the niece. Miss Rowan… and on motive you offer no indict- ment. I suppose, since this place is at a distance of only a mile or so from Mr. Pratt's, which might fairly be called propinquity, we should include those who were here. What about Mr. Bronson?'
'I don't know him. He came with Clyde and was intro- duced as a friend.'
'An old friend?'
'I don't know.'
'You never saw him or heard of him before?'
'No.'
'What about the people employed here? There must be quite a few. Anyone with a grudge against your son?'
'No. Absolutely not. For three years he more or less super- vised things here for me, and he was competent and had their respect, and they all liked him. Except-' Osgood stopped abruptly, and was silent, suspended, with his mouth open. Then he said, 'Good God, I've just remembered… but no, that's ridiculous…'
'What is?'
'Oh… a man who used to work here. Two years ago one of our best cows lost her calf and Clyde blamed this man and fired him. The man has done a lot of talking ever since, denying it was his fault, and making some wild threats I've been told about. The reason I think of it now… he's over at Pratt's place. Pratt hired him last spring. His name is Dave Smalley.'
'Was he there last night?'
'I presume so. You can find out.'
I put in an oar: 'Sure he was. You remember Dave, don't you? How he resented your using that rock as a waiting room?'
Wolfe surveyed me. 'Do you mean the idiot who waved the gun and jumped down from the fence?'
'Yep. That was Dave.'
'Pfui.' Wolfe almost spat. 'It won't do, Mr. Osgood. You remarked, correctly, that the murderer had brains and nerve and luck. Dave is innocent.'
'He's done a lot of talking.'
'Thank God I didn't have to listen to it.' Wolfe stirred in the big comfortable chair. 'We must get on. I
