Read Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 02 for Free Online Page A

being trained to observe, I remark that your lack of astonishment and the sentence you chopped off indicate that you’ve heard of quinine before. Do you know how it got into your liver pâté?”
    “No. I don’t.” Tingley wriggled in his chair. “I realize, Mr. Fox, that you certainly have a justifiable complaint—”
    “I’m not complaining.” Fox waved the idea away. “Why, have you had a lot of complaints?”
    “We … there have been a few …”
    “Any from the pure food people? The government? Or have any of the newspapers—”
    “My God, no! There’s no reason—there’s nothing dangerous about quinine—”
    “That’s true. But it isn’t much of an appetizer, and it isn’t on the label. As I say, though, I am not complaining. What I’m really here for is to call to your attention the damage someone might do, me for instance, by informing the government or sicking a newspaper like the
Gazette
on it. Or both. Not that I’m going to do it. I’m merely threatening to do it.”
    Tingley leaned forward and surveyed his caller with an angry glare. Fox smiled at him. Finally Tingley said in a strained voice, “You are, are you?”
    “I am.”
    “Why, you—” Tingley was trembling with rage. “You dirty scoundrel—” His jaw continued to move,but for a moment there were no more words. Then he managed some: “By God, you’ll tell
me
something! Who are you working for? The P. & B.?” He spat the hated initials from him.
    “I’m working for no one but myself—”
    “Like hell you are! So this is the squeeze, is it?” Tingley thrust out a trembling fist. “You can tell Mr. Cliff—”
    “You’re wrong. I don’t know any Mr. Cliff. This is my own private personal idea. I thought it up alone.”
    Fox’s tone could carry conviction when required, and it did then. Tingley sat back and scowled at him with his lips compressed to a thin line. At length he growled:
    “Private personal blackmail. Huh?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What do you want?”
    “I want to inspect your factory and talk with your employees. I want to do whatever is necessary to find out who put quinine in that stuff. I’m an investigator and I want to investigate.”
    “Of course you do.” Tingley was savagely sarcastic. “And how much am I to pay you for it?”
    “Nothing. Not a cent. It’s none of your business why I want to do it, since you’ll be permitting it under duress anyway, so we’ll just say I want to satisfy my curiosity. The fact is, you’re getting a break. I am a good detective. Do you know any police officials? You must, since you’ve been in business here all your life. Call up one of them and ask about me.” Fox reached in his pocket for the leather fold containing his driving license, opened it and handed it across. “There’s the name.”
    Tingley looked at it, grunted something, hesitated, and reached for his phone. After getting a number heasked for Captain Darst, and in a moment started asking questions. He covered the ground thoroughly, even to the point of reciting a detailed description of Fox’s appearance, and finally hung up and swiveled to face the caller again.
    He looked a little relieved, but not satisfied. “Who sent you?” he demanded.
    “No one,” said Fox patiently. “Don’t start that again. You must be pretty busy. Just give me a passport to the premises and forget about me.”
    “You must be some kind of a damn fool.”
    “Certainly I am. Right now I ought to be up home helping with a dormant sulfur spray on my peach trees, and look what I’m doing. Look at you. You ought to be out on the road trotting five miles under wraps, but here you are.”
    “Are you from Consolidated Cereals?”
    “I am not from anybody.”
    “Exactly what do you want to do?”
    “What I said. Look your factory over and ask questions of people. You can hitch a trusted subordinate to my elbow.”
    “You’re damned right I can. You’re either a liar or you’re crazy. In either