and I find that I am in any way committed to a conflicting
interest, I shall tell you so. You have started badly and
offensively. Why the devil should I account to you for my
presence here in Crowfield or anywhere else? If you need me,
here I am. What can I do for you?”
“Are you a friend of Tom Pratt’s?”
Wolfe grunted with exasperation, got himself raised,” and
took a step. “Come, Archie.”
Osgood raised his voice: “Where you going? Damn it,
haven’t I got a right to ask—”
“No, sir.” Wolfe glared down at him. “You have no right
to ask me anything whatever. I am a professional detective
in good standing. If I accept a commission I perform it. If
for any reason I can’t undertake it in good faith, I refuse it,
Come, Archie.”
I arose with reluctance. Not only did I hate to walk out
on what might develop into a nice piece of business, but
also my curiosity had been aroused by the expression on
Nancy Osgood’s face. When Wolfe had got up and started
to go she had looked relieved, and when after Osgood’s pro-
test he had started off again her relief had been even more
evident. Little contrary things like that disturbed my peace
of mind, so it suited me fine when Osgood surrendered.
“All right,” he growled. “I apologize. Come back and sit
down. Of course I’ve heard about you and your damned in-
dependence. I’ll have to swallow it because I need you and
I can’t help it. These damn fools here … in the first place
they have no brains and in the second place they’re a pack
of cowards. I want you to investigate the death of my son
Clyde.”
Sure enough, as Wolfe accepted the apology by returning
to sit down. Nancy quit looking relieved and her hands on
her lap, having relaxed a little, were clasped tight again.
Wolfe asked, “What aspect of your son’s death do you
want investigated?”
Osgood said savagely, “I want to know how he was killed.”
“By a bull. Wasn’t he? Isn’t that the verdict of the legal
and medical authorities?”
“Verdict hell. I don’t believe it. My son knew cattle. What
was he in the pasture at night for? Pratt’s idea that he went
there to get the bull is ridiculous. And he certainly wasn’t
ass enough to let himself be gored like that in the pitch-
dark.”
“Still he was gored.” Wolfe shifted on the measly chair. “If
not by the bull, then how and by what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know. You’re an expert
and that’s what I want you to find out. You’re supposed to
have intelligence above the average … what do you
think? You were at Pratt’s place. Knowing the circumstances
as you do, do you think he was killed by the bull?”
Wolfe sighed. “Expert opinions cost money, Mr. Osgood.
Especially mine. I charge high fees. I doubt if I can accept a
commission to investigate your son’s death. My intention is to
leave for New York Thursday morning, and I shouldn’t care
to be delayed much beyond that. I like to stay at home, and
when I am away I like to get back. Without committing my-
self to an investigation, my fee for an opinion, now, will be a
thousand dollars.”
Osgood stared. “A thousand dollars just to say what you
think?”
“To say what I have deduced and decided, yes, I doubt
if it’s worth it to you.”
“Then why the devil do you ask it?”
Nancy’s voice came in, a husky protest, “Dad. I told you.
It’s foolish … it’s all so foolish …”
Wolfe glanced at her, and back at her father, and
shrugged. “That’s the price, sir.”
“For one man’s guess.”
“Oh, no. For the truth.”
“Truth? You’re prepared to prove it?”
“No. I sell it as an opinion. But I don’t sell guesses.”
“All right. I’ll pay for it. What is it?”
“Well.” Wolfe- pursed his lips and half shut his eyes.
“Clyde Osgood did not enter the pasture voluntarily. He was
unconscious, though still alive, when he was placed in the
pasture. He was not gored, and therefore not killed, by the
bull. He was murdered, probably by a man, possibly by two
men, barely possibly by a woman or a man and a woman.”
Nancy had straightened up with a gasp and then sat stiff.
Osgood was gazing at Wolfe with his clamped jaw working a
little from side to side.
“That …” He stopped and clamped his jaw again. “You
say that’s the truth? That my son was murdered?”
“Yes. Without a guaranty. I sell it as an opinion.”
“How good is it? Where did you get it? Damn you, if
you’re playing me—”
“Mr. Osgood. Really. I’m not playing, I’m working. I
assure you my opinion is a good one. Whether it’s worth
what you’re paying for it depends on what you do with it.”
Osgood got up, took two steps, and was looking down at
his daughter. “You hear that. Nancy?” he demanded, as if
he was accusing her of something. “You hear what he says?
I knew it, I tell you, I knew it.” He jerked his head up.
“Good God … my son dead … murdered …” He whirled
to Wolfe, opened his mouth and closed it again, and went
back to his chair and let himself down.
Nancy looked at Wolfe and asked indignantly, “Why do
you say that? How can you know … Clyde was murdered?
Why do you say it as if … as if you could know …”
“Because I had arrived at that opinion. Miss Osgood.”
“But how? Why?”
“Be quiet. Nancy.” Osgood turned to Wolfe. “All right,
I’ve got your opinion. Now I want to know what you base it
on.”
“My deductions. I was there last night, with a flashlight.”
“Deductions from what?”
“From the facts.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “You may
have them if you want them, but see here. You spoke of
‘these damn fools here’ and called them a pack of cowards.
Referring to the legal authorities?”
“Yes. The District Attorney and the sheriff.”
“Do you call them cowards because they hesitate to in-
stitute an investigation of your son’s death?”
“They don’t merely hesitate, they refuse. They say my
suspicions are arbitrary and unfounded. They don’t use
those words, but that’s what they mean. They simply don’t
want to pick up something they’re afraid they can’t handle.”
“But you have position, power, political influence—”
“No. Especially not with Waddell, the District Attorney.
I opposed him in ’36, and it was chiefly Tom Pratt’s money
that elected him. But this is murder! You say yourself it was
murder!”
‘They may be convinced it wasn’t. That’s quite plausible
under the circumstances. Do you suggest they would bottle
up a murder to save Pratt annoyance?”
“No. Or yes. I don’t care a damn which. I only know they
won’t listen to reason and I’m helpless, and I intend that
whoever killed my son shall suffer for it. That’s why I came
to you.”
“Precisely.” Wolfe shifted in his chair again. “The fact
is, you haven’t given them much reason to listen to. You have
told them your son wouldn’t have entered the pasture, but
he was there; and that he wasn’t fool enough to let a bull
kill him in the dark, which is conjectural and by no means a
demonstrated fact. You have asked me to investigate your
son’s death, but I couldn’t undertake it unless the police
exert themselves simultaneously. There will be a lot of work to
do, and I have no assistance here except Mr. Goodwin; and
I can’t commandeer evidence. If I move in the affair at all,
the first stop must be to enlist the authorities. Is the District
Attorney’s office in Crowfield?”
“Yes.”
“Is he there now?”
“Yes.”
“Then I suggest that we see him. I engage to persuade
him to start an investigation immediately. That of course
will call for an additional fee, but I shall try not to make it
extravagant. After that is done we can reconsider your re-
quest that I undertake an investigation myself. You may
decide it isn’t necessary, or I may regard it as impractical.
Do you have a car there? May Mr. Goodwin drive it? He
ran mine into a tree.”
“I do my own driving. Or my daughter does. I don’t like
going back to that jackass Waddell.”
“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable.” Wolfe elevated his bulk.
“Certain things must be done without delay, and they will
need authority behind them.”
It turned out that the daughter drove. We found Osgood’s
big black sedan parked in a privileged and exclusive space
at one side of the Administration Building, and piled in. I
sat in front with Nancy. For the two miles into Crowfield the
highway and streets were cluttered with the exposition