Jessup hadn’t said that Wolfe must come too, but probably he was afraid that he would try to talk him into letting us go through the file, which hadn’t been mentioned. The argument had come afterward between Wolfe and me. I had said that my first stop after getting the credentials would be the Presto filling station for some conversation with Gil Haight, and he said no, and I said that aside from the chance of starting something I wanted the satisfaction of seeing his face when I flashed the credentials on him.
“No,” Wolfe repeated, emphatic. “His alibi can be attacked only through the men who support it, and that can wait until there is nothing better to do.”
“For me,” I said, “there’s nothing better to do than telling Gilbert Haight I’ve got some questions and asking him if he would prefer to go to the county attorney’s office to answer them. So that’s what I’ll do.”
“I said no.”
“But I say yes, and the question is what I do.”
A confrontation. Our eyes were meeting. Mine were just the eyes of a friendly equal who knew he had a point so there was no use squabbling, but his were narrowed to slits. He closed them long enough for a couple of good deep breaths, then opened them to normal. “This is the eighth of August,” he said. “Thursday.”
“Right.”
“Your vacation ended Wednesday, July thirty-first. As you know, I brought a checkbook. Draw a check for your salary for a week and a half, which will cover it to the end of this week and put you on a weekly basis as usual.”
I raised one brow, which I often find helpful because he can’t do it. There were angles both pro and con. Con, I knew the people and the atmosphere and he didn’t; and my taking a leave of absence without pay had been by my decision, not by agreement. Pro, his coming to get me back sooner had been by his decision, not by agreement; and while a grand or two might be of no consequence to him it was to me; and the strain of trying to remember to say please was cramping his style. It took pro about a minute to get the verdict. I figured it on a sheet from my notebook-$600 minus federal income tax withheld $153.75, state income tax $33.00, and Social Security tax $23.88-went and got the checkbook from a dresser drawer, drew a check to the order of Archie Goodwin for $389.37, and handed it to him with a pen, and he signed it and forked it over.
“Okay,” I said, “instructions, please. What’s better to do than riding Gil Haight?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up. “It’s bedtime. We’ll see tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, Friday, the weather horned in. There on the eastern slopes of the Rockies the summer sun bats around.900. There had been only three days in July when you had to bother about a poncho when you saddled your horse. But Friday it was raining, good and steady, when I got up, when I drove to Timberburg, when I got back, late for lunch, and when I drove to Lame Horse a little before five to get the Monroe County Register. I don’t accuse Wolfe of stalling. The credentials, which were “To Whom It May Concern” typed on Jessup’s official letterhead and signed by him-one for each of us-cleared the deck, but I agreed that it was a good idea to wait until the Register had spread the news.
Supper was in the kitchen because it was still raining and the creek terrace was cold and clammy. Lily’s copy of the Register was there on a shelf; presumably she had thought Mimi should know about the new status of two of the guests. The other two guests had seen it; as Wolfe and I entered the kitchen Diana, at the centre table, stopped dishing her plate to look at us as if she had never seen us before, and Wade said, “Congratulations! I didn’t realize you were that famous. When does the ball start rolling?”
I told him not until after supper because we never talked business during a meal. We had decided, after I had made the phone call to Saul, not to tell Lily about it. It would have made her
“No,” Wolfe repeated, emphatic. “His alibi can be attacked only through the men who support it, and that can wait until there is nothing better to do.”
“For me,” I said, “there’s nothing better to do than telling Gilbert Haight I’ve got some questions and asking him if he would prefer to go to the county attorney’s office to answer them. So that’s what I’ll do.”
“I said no.”
“But I say yes, and the question is what I do.”
A confrontation. Our eyes were meeting. Mine were just the eyes of a friendly equal who knew he had a point so there was no use squabbling, but his were narrowed to slits. He closed them long enough for a couple of good deep breaths, then opened them to normal. “This is the eighth of August,” he said. “Thursday.”
“Right.”
“Your vacation ended Wednesday, July thirty-first. As you know, I brought a checkbook. Draw a check for your salary for a week and a half, which will cover it to the end of this week and put you on a weekly basis as usual.”
I raised one brow, which I often find helpful because he can’t do it. There were angles both pro and con. Con, I knew the people and the atmosphere and he didn’t; and my taking a leave of absence without pay had been by my decision, not by agreement. Pro, his coming to get me back sooner had been by his decision, not by agreement; and while a grand or two might be of no consequence to him it was to me; and the strain of trying to remember to say please was cramping his style. It took pro about a minute to get the verdict. I figured it on a sheet from my notebook-$600 minus federal income tax withheld $153.75, state income tax $33.00, and Social Security tax $23.88-went and got the checkbook from a dresser drawer, drew a check to the order of Archie Goodwin for $389.37, and handed it to him with a pen, and he signed it and forked it over.
“Okay,” I said, “instructions, please. What’s better to do than riding Gil Haight?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up. “It’s bedtime. We’ll see tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, Friday, the weather horned in. There on the eastern slopes of the Rockies the summer sun bats around.900. There had been only three days in July when you had to bother about a poncho when you saddled your horse. But Friday it was raining, good and steady, when I got up, when I drove to Timberburg, when I got back, late for lunch, and when I drove to Lame Horse a little before five to get the Monroe County Register. I don’t accuse Wolfe of stalling. The credentials, which were “To Whom It May Concern” typed on Jessup’s official letterhead and signed by him-one for each of us-cleared the deck, but I agreed that it was a good idea to wait until the Register had spread the news.
Supper was in the kitchen because it was still raining and the creek terrace was cold and clammy. Lily’s copy of the Register was there on a shelf; presumably she had thought Mimi should know about the new status of two of the guests. The other two guests had seen it; as Wolfe and I entered the kitchen Diana, at the centre table, stopped dishing her plate to look at us as if she had never seen us before, and Wade said, “Congratulations! I didn’t realize you were that famous. When does the ball start rolling?”
I told him not until after supper because we never talked business during a meal. We had decided, after I had made the phone call to Saul, not to tell Lily about it. It would have made her
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