Free Rex Stout by The Hand in the Glove Page B

murder. The man is on his feet now and fighting it, and perhaps trying to rush at you. What do you do? You pull on the wire with all your might. Maybe in desperation the man foolishly tries to jump up and reach the limb. You pull on the wire and catch him that way, in midair, and you’ve got him. But now there is a terrific pull on the wire because it is holding the man up, and you don’t dare to release an ounce of your pull. But you’ve got to fasten it somehow. What do you do? You pull the wire hard against the trunk of the tree, and you beginto walk around the trunk, holding the wire tight, and when you’ve encircled the trunk four times the wire is twining around it in a spiral and the pull of the weight of the body is so diminished that it is easy for you to work the end of the wire under the last circle of the spiral and twist it there.”
    Dol held the flashlight out to the trooper. She said, with a suggestion of a tremble in her voice, “I think that’s proof. A man would fasten a wire to a tree like that if there was a heavy weight on the other end that forced him to, and he wouldn’t if there wasn’t. No man would. Not even a woman.”
    The man who had smoked the cigarette, and who had snorted at Dol’s announcement that she was a detective, had joined them to listen. He now muttered in wondering disgust, “For cripe’s sake!” Jake said nothing. The one with the flat nose had taken the flashlight and walked to the tree and was examining the wire spiraling down the trunk. The others stood and watched him. He sidled around the tree, close to it, four times, following the line of the spiral with the spot of light, then for some seconds inspected the final twist at the end, where it looped around the last spiral. He snapped off the light and came back and peered at Dol in the dusk:
    “You did that pretty good. You described that as if you had been here and seen it done—now don’t get sore again, it’s my nature to talk like that. I only meant what I said, you described it the way it would be. And maybe you noticed that the bark is scratched in three places, where he had a hard time poking the end through to twist it and fasten it.”
    “I didn’t go that close.”
    “Well, it’s like that.” The trooper was silent; Dol could see his face but dimly. He spoke again: “You say your name’s Bonner? Do you happen to know Dan Sherwood, prosecuting attorney of this county?”
    “No.”
    “I thought you might. He’ll be here pretty soon, any minute now. I hope. Have you got any more proof of anything?”
    “No.” Dol had become aware that she was feeling painfully weak in her middle. Over an hour ago, on first finding P. L. Storrs hanging on that wire, she had felt thatshe must find something to sit down on, and she hadn’t sat down yet. She felt her stomach shivering inside of her, and it didn’t seem likely that she could control it. She said, “I … I think I’ll go … to the house,” and was relieved to find that her legs seemed willing to undertake it as she turned and took a step. She heard the trooper saying something that appeared not to need any reply, and she took more steps successfully. When she was in the open, beyond the fish pool, she stood a moment, then headed up the slope.
    Hearing voices, and not caring to encounter anyone, she made a wide circle to the right. It was a group of men coming down the hill, and a smaller group, two or three, behind, vague to her in the dusk; they strode rapidly along, and paid no attention to her. She aimed for the house, where lights now shone in the windows and on the side terrace.
    On the ornamental bench at the left end of the terrace sat a trooper in uniform; Dol, passing, tossed him a glance. The living-room was empty, and the reception hall; there seemed to be no noise anywhere; Dol turned back and went to the dining-room. It was lit and Belden was standing there, and the table was properly laid for eight, but only two places were