Rex Stout Read Online Free PDF

pulled back from the fireplace, and who surely would have been taken on sight for a member of the high staff of big industry, was the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church. The one seated at the desk, not much older but considerably more worn, with the appearance of an evangelist at a revival meeting, the fire of rapture deep in his gray eyes but still burning, was the Chairman of the Board of the Federal Steel Corporation. His secretary, the third man, was standing at the end of the desk talking into the black telephone, but all he was saying was the word “Yes,” repeating it at intervals.
    At length he returned the receiver to its rack and faced his employer. “It’s all right,” he said. “He read it all to me. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s all right.”
    The steel man nodded. The pastor smiled, amused, and observed, “So much for freedom of the press.”
    “Huh?” The steel man was hoarse. “I suppose you know that my bank owns that paper.”
    “I knew it in a way, yes.
A priori.
Not empirically.”
    “Oh. See here, Prewitt. Don’t imagine you’re imposing on me. I have great respect for you, but not because you use words that I wouldn’t bother with.” He turned to his secretary. “What’s the matter with you? You’re as white as a bride. Go and sit down.” He pushed a button in a row on his desk.
    The secretary murmured, “I’m all right.”
    “The hell you are. Look at you. Sit down.” To the pastor: “Kilbourn and I have had a day of it.” He glanced at the electric clock on the wall. “Past midnight! It will soon be over—begun rather.” He twisted his head to the opening of a door. A man stood there. “Ferris, bring some port for Mr. Kilbourn, and I’ll have a glass of milk. You, Prewitt?”
    “I might help with the milk.”
    “A pitcher and two glasses. Bring the port first. Damn it, Ben, why don’t you sit down?”
    Ben Kilbourn was standing close to the desk, leaning against it, steadying himself with his hand on its edge. The blood had gone from his face to leave it white, and his eyes were fixed on his employer as if through a fear that should they once get off they would not be able to find the focus again. He opened his mouth to speak, but got only a futile gasp instead of words. The second attempt was more successful.
    “Mr. Cullen, I wanted to say, I’m resigning. I’m quitting my job.”
    “The hell you are. Sit down first and resign afterwards.” The steel man was on his feet, grasping his secretary by the arm and turning him. “Come on, do you want me to carry you? Prewitt, kick that chair around.”
    The secretary’s protests were feeble. They got him into a chair, and with his muscles relaxed he began to tremble. The man arrived with the wine, and Cullen took the bottle and glass and poured it himself. With a grunt of command he held the glass to Kilbourn’s lips and persevered until it was drained. “As soon as you show me some color you can have another one,” he promised. “Then you’d better go to bed and get some sleep. You can resign tomorrow, no hurry.” He turned to the pastor. “He was shell-shocked in the last war.This last week I’ve pushed him pretty hard and it’s got on his nerves.”
    The pastor said, “It isn’t eminently Christian to work a man into a breakdown.”
    “Huh? I’m not a Christian.”
    “Now, Cullen. Don’t forget I’m onto you.”
    The steel man backed off. “That’s your bluff. I like it in you, Prewitt. I’m about as Christian as a bald eagle, but if you think that worries me any … Feeling better, Ben?”
    “Much.” Kilbourn was swallowing to keep the port down. The blood was sneaking into his cheeks and his eyes looked better. “I knew this was coming. I’ll take another shot of that.”
    Cullen filled the glass and handed it to him.
    “Thanks.” He gulped it, with no respect for the years it had taken to arrive at its label. “You’ve certainly got spots of decency, no doubt about