Read Online Rex Stout by The Hand in the Glove - Free Book Online

to the limb, and diagonally down to the trunk of the tree, through the crotch, into the spiral—and guessed now at the final twisted end, which she had seen plainly before in the better light. She stared at the spiral, frowning, a long steady stare; but turned abruptly at a sound. The footsteps faint on the grass became more distinct, and a man appeared, bending under a dogwood branch. He approached:
    “Miss Bonner! What—Ah!” He exclaimed sharply two words that Dol did not know, throwing his head up like a startled animal, standing poised. He stood gazing at the dance of P. L. Storrs, and Dol gazed at him. After some seconds of that George Leo Ranth said slowly without moving:
    “Destruction and restoration. The cycle. But the spirit—Miss Bonner! How do you know he is dead?”
    “Look at him.”
    Then, as Ranth moved, she snapped, “Don’t walk there! Of course he’s dead! Can’t you see—”
    She was interrupted—a voice calling her name—a rush into the nook through the leaves that curtained it—and Len Chisholm there: “What the devil, Dol, what kind of a—”
    Dol said, “There.”
    Len turned. He leaned forward, peering. “My God.” He straightened. “Like that, huh? P. L. darling. And you found him? My God, Dol, what are you trying to do around here? Pretty cool, huh? Me too. Belden told us. I think I had been drunk. He called the police first. I got a laugh out of it. I grabbed Sylvia to keep her from running down here, and Foltz frothed at the mouth and took her away from me. If it weren’t for you—” Len stopped abruptly, regarding Dol as if he would like her to tell him what he had been saying. Then he turned from her to look again at the hanging body.
    He muttered, “You’ve got nerve, Dol. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve got more nerve than I have. You’d better go up to the house, to Sylvia. I’ll wait here for the cops.”
    Dol shook her head. “Sylvia’s all right. I’m all right.”
    “Good. I’m not. Oh, the devil, I am too.” He was frowning at Storrs in the fast gathering twilight. “Look here. I don’t see … did he do it himself? How did he get up there? His feet are off the ground … what—”
    He saw, turning, only Dol’s back; and she said in her coolest and lowest tone: “Mr. Ranth. Put that back where it was.”
    Ranth stood on the concrete walk. His voice was likewise cool: “Put what back, Miss Bonner? What do you mean?”
    “I mean that piece of paper. I saw you pick it up. You thought my back was turned, but it wasn’t. Put it—no. Give it to me.”
    “Really …” Ranth moved a step toward her; she was between him and the exit. “I don’t understand … possibly the light is deceptive. I picked nothing up.” He moved again. “Since Mr. Chisholm is here, I should see if Mrs. Storrs—”
    “Mr. Ranth!” Dol squared in his path. “Don’t be a fool. Give me that paper.”
    He shook his head calmly. “You’ve made a mistake, Miss Bonner.” He made to move, but Dol stepped in front, and he hesitated. Without taking her eyes from him, Dol demanded brusquely, “Len, you’ve got to make this man give up that paper. Can you?”
    “Sure.” Len was beside her. “What’s it all about?”
    “There was a piece of paper on the grass by the bench there. I looked at it and put it back. Ranth just picked it up and put it in his pocket. I want it.”
    “Okay.” Len, from six feet two, looked down on Ranth. “Hand it over. She wants it.”
    Ranth said evenly, “Miss Bonner is mistaken or she is lying when she says I picked up something. That is not true.”
    “Is it true, Dol?”
    “It is. I saw him.”
    “Then it’s true. Hand it over, Ranth, and hurry up. Don’t be silly. In four seconds I’ll take it away from you.”
    “I have nothing to hand over.” Ranth’s voice was quite composed. “If you attempt force—”
    “I won’t attempt it, I’ll use it. First I’ll knock you down to save time. Hand it over. I’ll