Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

“Perhaps, sir,” Ryder said, meeting the stare, “I should add that it is not a personal matter. I wish to see General Carpenter on Army business. I have a reservation on the five o’clock plane.”

Silence again. The muscles of Fife’s neck moved, then he spoke. “This is a strange performance, Colonel.” His voice was cold and controlled. “I suppose it can be charged to your unfamiliarity with Army custom. This sort of thing is usually done, if at all, in a less public manner. I offer a suggestion, not official. If you care to, you may discuss it with me privately. Now. Or after lunch, when you’ve thought it over.”

“I’m sorry.” Ryder didn’t sound happy, but he sounded firm. “It wouldn’t help any. I know what I’m doing, sir.”

“By God, I hope you do.”

“Yes, sir. I do. Have I permission to go?”

“You have.” The expression on Fife’s face plainly added, and keep right on going and never come back, but he was being an officer and gentleman in the presence of witnesses. To be fair to him, he didn’t do a bad job at all. He stood up and told Tinkham and Lawson they could go, which they did. Then he invited John Bell Shattuck to have lunch with him, and Shattuck accepted. Fife turned to Wolfe and said it would be a pleasure to have him join them, but Wolfe declined with thanks, saying he had another engagement, which was a lie. He disliked all restaurants, and claimed that the one where General Fife lunched put sulphur in curried lamb. Fife and Shattuck went out together, without another word to Ryder.

Wolfe stood by Ryder’s desk, frowning down at him, waiting for him to look up. Finally Ryder did.

“I think,” Wolfe said, “that you’re a nincompoop. Not a conclusion, merely an opinion.”

“File it for reference,” Ryder said.

“I shall do so. Your brain is not functioning. Your son died. Captain Cross, one of your men, was killed. You are in no condition to make hard decisions. If you have an intelligent friend with a head that works, consult him. Or even a lawyer. Or me.”

“You?” Ryder said. “Now that would be good. That would be just fine.”

Wolfe lifted his shoulders a quarter of an inch, let them drop back into place, said, “Come, Archie,” and started for the door. I returned the suitcase to the chair where I had found it, and followed him. Sergeant Bruce glanced up as we passed through the anteroom. Wolfe ignored her. I halted at her desk and said, “I’ve got something in my eye.”