Free Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 01 by Double for Death Page A

from his daughter. A year ago she told me that the only thing in the world he wanted was a new boat of a certain design and I offered—through her—the necessary twenty thousand dollars to buy it, but he wouldn’t take it. Also I have given him some good market tips, but I doubt if he has profited by them.”
    “Is it generally known that you have an aversion to water—as something to float in—and boats?”
    “Certainly not. I like the water. I used to sail, years ago. Later I had a yacht.”
    “So there would be nothing implausible about your enjoying a weekend cruise with your friend Jordan?”
    “No.” Thorpe tasted vinegar. “But to ask that man—”
    “He sounds good to me,” Fox declared. “Obviously he’s not a chiseler. He must be discreet, since your relations with his daughter have remained a secret. He can probably be persuaded to lie, if not for money, then to avoid unpleasant publicity for his daughter. He can’t suspect you of wanting an alibi for a murder, since his own daughter supports your real alibi. If he can meet the fifth requirement on my list, he’s better than good, he’s perfect.”
    “I don’t like it.”
    “Of course you don’t! If you’re going to sit here and wait for something you like—”
    Vaughn Kester put it urgently: “He’s right, Chief. I could kick myself for not thinking of Jordan—”
    “Quiet, Vaughn.” Thorpe swallowed the vinegar. “All right.” He looked at Fox. “I haven’t a blank check with me—”
    “I’ll collect if I earn it.” Fox opened the door and stepped out. “But it’s my job and I’m in command. My instructions are to be followed without question and if they’re not I drop it. Understood? You too, Kester. Understood?”
    “Of course.”
    “Good.” Fox turned. “Dan!”
    The vice-president emerged from the door of the convertible, trod the roadside grass and was there. Fox told him: “This is Ridley Thorpe, Vaughn Kester and Luke Wheer. You saw their pictures in the paper. We’re going to run their car into that wood lane out of sight and wait there. You drive home and get Bill, and then go to the Excelsior Market in Brewster and offer Sam Scott twenty dollars for the use of one of his closed delivery cars. He has two. He’ll let you have it. Drive it back here and have Bill follow you in theconvertible. Stop here, but don’t start blowing horns. I’ll see you.”
    Dan turned.
    “Wait. Tell Miss Grant to sit tight and do nothing, that I’m making progress and will soon have her uncle out. That will be enough. Don’t invite her to go to Brewster with you for an ice-cream soda.”
    “Right.” Dan went.
    That was the initial maneuvre of an extraordinarily complex and critical operation by land and sea, during which Fox had to contend with mutiny, bad luck and acts of God. The mutiny, or a threat of it, was recurrent; it first confronted him as, waiting in the shelter of the woods, he detailed the next step of the operation. Thorpe vetoed it. Fox stated bluntly that he would not proceed until he saw Miss Duke; he would not leave so unknown and dangerous a factor in the rear without a reconnoitre; Thorpe surrendered and gave the address. The threat of mutiny recurred when Dan arrived with the closed delivery truck, EXCELSIOR MARKET painted in red on its shiny white side, and the trio were instructed to climb in at the back and dispose themselves on the piles of gunny sacks which Dan had thoughtfully furnished. Thorpe demurred again and again Fox was blunt. Kester’s car was left concealed in the woods; Bill Trimble was sent home with the convertible; and it was not yet six o’clock of a sultry summer morning when the truck headed south, with Fox driving, Dan beside him on the seat, and Luke Wheer the valet, Vaughn Kester the secretary, and Ridley Thorpe the national ornament, inside bouncing on the burlap.
    In spite of the fact that with a commercial car the restricted boulevards had to be avoided, it was only twenty