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

him and you haven’t. Besides … has it occurred to you that you’re supposed to be a newspaper man? There are several phones at the house—or you might go by way of the stable and use that one. The Gazette might appreciate it if they heard of this murder first.”
    “Holy womanhood.” Len stared at her. “And me enamored of you! No jelly in your bones, huh, Dol? And refrigerator pipes for your blood to run through. After all, hospitality—”
    “Nonsense.” Dol gestured impatiently. “Whose hospitality, Mr. Storrs’? He’s dead. Mrs. Storrs’ or Janet’s? No. Storrs asked me to come here … but that’s his business. It was. As for phoning the Gazette, all the papers will know within an hour or so anyhow—but do as you please. My Lord, do you think the murder of P. L. Storrs is going to be hushed up to save Sylvia’s feelings? The only thing that could help Sylvia any would be—”
    “Who mentioned Sylvia?” Len was frowning. “Did I say anything about Sylvia?”
    “No, I did.”
    “You’re a friend of hers. Huh?”
    “You bet I am.”
    “Okay. I am if you are. Also, if you say phone the Gazette I’ll do just that, I don’t owe any more debts around here than you do. But my head seems to be clearing up, and it don’t look to me as if anybody murdered Storrs. I don’t see how they could. It looks to me like suicide, and if I sell the Gazette a murder—”
    “Don’t sell them anything. Tell them where he is, and he’s dead. If they want you to do the story for them, tell them you can’t because you’re one of the suspects, and if they—”
    “I’m what? Now what? What kind of a—”
    “Certainly you are. We all are. We were all here. At one time this afternoon you were wandering around this place alone looking for P. L. Storrs, to do a grovel, you said. Weren’t you? Today in my office you said you would come out here and strangle him. Didn’t you? Oh, I know you were being playful, but you do have a temper, and Martin Foltz heard you say it. I know Martin is a decent man, if there are any decent ones, but he is as jealous as the devil, and especially of you at the moment, because Sylvia decided you deserved being sweet to. Martin’s imagination is terrific. Sylvia heard you say it too, and she loved P. L. Storrs. You are probably in for it. We all are. Unless … one thing. That might prevent it. If you intend to phone the Gazette you’d better go by the stable and do it from there or you may not get a chance. Then go to the house and restrain yourself. I’ll be there pretty soon—maybe sooner, if that man is too busy to listen to me.” She moved to go.
    Len got her arm. “Your mind certainly works, lady. Swell. Some fancy mind. You don’t want me, huh?”
    “Not now, Len. But—thank you again for taking that paper away from Ranth. That was nice. I couldn’t have done that. See you at the house.”
    She turned and headed for the gloom of the dogwoods. Len watched her until she was under the first branches, then turned and strode off up the slope, swerving right toward the stables. By now twilight had come even on the open lawn; the sun had gone, and a chill was in the air.
    Dol did not proceed directly to the nook. She circled a few feet to the left, noiselessly under the branches on the grass, and stopped behind the shelter of a clump of French willows which kept their roots moist in the overflow from the fish pool. She could see the three troopers dimly through the leaves in the semi-darkness. The one called Jake, who had returned with the flashlights, was on the concrete walk, squatted on his haunches, smoking a cigarette. The one with a flat nose, evidently in charge, was standing flashing one of the lights indiscriminately over the scene, while the third one appeared to be merely chewing a blade of grass. The one with a flat nose was saying:
    “… but of course you can’t do that until Doc Flannercomes, and the photographer, and I suppose Sherwood, he’ll