you like to be around where things is goin’ on? First I seen
you. Was you here when them derned fools put down Bella
Grassleigh for that Silverville cow? Her with a barrel more
like a deer than any good milker I ever saw.”
“Good God,” I said, “that’s the worst I ever heard. I just
got here. I don’t suppose … well, I’ll be derned. There’s
our friend Monte McMillan.”
“Yep, I drove him in this morning.” Dave shook his head.
“Poor old Monte, got to start practically all over again. He’s
got it in mind to do some buyin’ if prices is right, to build up
another foundation. You wouldn’t have thought a year ago …”
I missed the rest because I was diving under the rope.
Bennett was momentarily disengaged, standing mopping his
forehead, and I made for him. He blinked at me in the sun-
light and said he was sorry, he hadn’t been able to make it.
I told him okay, that was forgiven, but couldn’t he come to
the Methodist tent right now. Impossible, he said, they were
judging Produce of Dam and Breeders’ Young Herd simul-
taneously. There was nothing he could tell Nero Wolfe any-
way. And I didn’t belong there in the enclosure—
I got a little peremptory: “Wolfe’s working on a murder,
and he says he needs to see you and can’t make another move
until he does. Are you primarily a citizen and a friend of
Fred Osgood’s, or a sergeant at arms in a cattle tribunal?
If you think justice among the cows is more important …”
He said he wasn’t a particular friend of Osgood’s, who as
far as he was concerned was merely a member of the League,
and that he would be at the Methodist tent no, fooling, within
half an hour.
I got outside the ropes again, but instead of beating it I de-
cided to hang around and wait for him. I watched the judging
for a few minutes, but couldn’t see very well on account of
the mob, and so wandered along in front of the sheds. There
was no one around at all, the judging being the current at-
traction, so naturally I observed the moving object that caught
my eyes, especially since the first sight showed me that the
object was familiar. It was Nancy Osgood, and the glance she
cast behind her as she entered one of the sheds was either
furtive or I was getting fanciful. Even if she was furtive it
was none of my business, but a detective who minds his own
business would be a contradiction in terms, so I slid over
to the shed and inserted myself through the door.
She wasn’t within view. There were plenty of cows, black
and white this time, and a few visitors further down the aisle,
but no Nancy. I strolled along between the rows of hind ends.
Toward the middle of the shed there was a partitioned com-
partment on the left, containing no cow; but an instant’s peep
disclosed that it contained three other things: a large pile of
straw with a pitchfork handle protruding from its center,
Nancy Osgood, and Jimmy Pratt. I would have passed on,
but I had been seen. Jimmy’s voice was gruff and discourte-
ous:
“Well?”
I shrugged. “Well enough. Hoping you are the same.” I
started to move on, but his voice came even gruffer:
“Wait and look and listen. The more you see and hear
the more you can tell.”
“Don’t, Jimmy.” Nancy sounded very distressed. She turned
her eyes, more bloodshot than ever, in my direction: “Were
you following me, Mr. Goodwin? What for?”
A couple of passers-by seemed disposed to .linger, so I
stepped inside the stall to keep it in the family. “Yes,” I told
her, “I was. For about 40 seconds. I happened to see you
enter this shed looking behind you for bloodhounds, and fol-
lowed you out of curiosity.” I surveyed young Pratt. “It’s a
good thing you’re training for architecture instead of the
diplomatic service. You lack suavity. If this is a clandestine
rendezvous and you suspected I might report it, it might be
better to rub me with salve than sandpaper.”
He reached for his pocket. “Oh, in that case—”
I let him go on. His hand emerged with a modest roll, from
which, with unsteady fingers, he peeled a ten. He thrust it
at me with an objectionable smile and asked, “Will that do?”
“Swell.” I took it. “Munificent.” My first impulse was to
stick it in the pocket of Nancy’s jacket and tell her to buy
stocking with it, but at that moment our party was joined
by a lanky guy in overalls carrying a pitchfork. With only a
glance at us he rammed the fork into the pile of straw and
started to lift the load. I stopped him by shoving the $10 bill
under his nose.
“Here, brother. I represent the exposition management.
We’ve decided you fellows are overworked. Take this as an
expression of our esteem.”
He stared. “What’s that?”
“Don’t try to understand it, just take it. Redistribution of
wealth. A form of communism.”
“From the exposition management?”
“Right.”
“I’ll be domed. They must be crazy.” He took the bill and
stuffed it in his pocket. “Much obliged to you.”
“Don’t mention it.” I waved airily. He elevated the load
of straw, a big one, about one-fourth of the entire pile, above
his shoulder with an expert twist, and departed.
“You said salve, didn’t you?” Jimmy Pratt sounded resent-
ful. “How the hell could I know you’re Robin Hood? After
what you said about salve, wasn’t it natural to take you for
a chiseler?” He turned to Nancy. “He knows all about Broa-
son and the paper Clyde signed, anyway, since he was there
when you told Wolfe. As far as your father hearing about
our being together is concerned …”
I was extremely glad he had shifted to Nancy, because it
gave me an opportunity I was badly in need of. I grant that
I have aplomb, but I’m not constructed of wood, and it still
surprises me that nothing on my face gave them alarm. What
I had seen was something that had been uncovered by the
removal of a portion of the straw. Making a movement, my
toe had touched some object that wasn’t straw, and a down-
ward glance had shown me what it was. It was a brown
custom made oxford perched on its heel, an inch of brown
sock, and the cuff of one leg of a pair of Crawnley trousers.
So, as I say, I was glad Jimmy had shifted to Nancy, for
it gave me an opportunity to kick at the straw capriciously
and thereby get the shoe and sock and trouser cuff out of
sight again. Nothing was left visible but straw.
Nancy was talking to me: “Perhaps I shouldn’t, after Mr.
Wolfe said he would help me, but I met Jimmy this morning
and we … we had a talk … and I told him about that paper
and Bronson still having it … and he thought he could do
something about it and I was sure he shouldn’t try it with-
out seeing Mr. Wolfe first … and we arranged to meet
here at 2 o’clock and discuss it…”
I had unobtrusively got myself moved around to where I
could reach the pitchfork handle which was protruding erect
from the center of the pile of straw. With my eyes respectfully
attending to Nancy, my hand idly played with the straw,
which is nice to touch, and without much effort it found the
spot where the handle of the fork joined the tines. Two of
my fingers—feeling with the ends of their nails, which don’t
leave prints—explored downward along a tine, but not far,
not more than a couple of inches, before they were stopped
by something that was neither tine nor straw. I kept the fin-
gers there half a minute, feeling, and then slowly withdrew
my hand.
Jimmy demanded, “What’s the use of deadpanning her?
Either you and Wolfe are going to act as decent as he talked—”
“Deadpan?” I grinned. “Not on your life. I wouldn’t know
about decency, but Wolfe and I always do what he says. But
you children are only going to make it harder by being indis-
creet all over the fair grounds. Osgood is a difficult enough
client already. For God’s sake postpone this reunion for a day
or two. Everybody in the county knows you, and here you
stand in plain view. If you’ll do what I say I’ll guarantee that
Wolfe and I will be as decent as doves … and Osgood will
never see that paper.”
Jimmy was frowning. “Well?”
“Separate. Disunite. Immediately. You go out at the other
end and I’ll take her this way.”
“He’s right. Jimmy. It was awfully foolish, but you in-