Homicide Trinity

by Homicide Trinity (lit)

2:55 when the doorbell rang and I went to the hall for a

  look through the one-way glass panel in the front door,

  and there he was on the stoop, no sign of a sag in the

  heavy broad shoulders, the round red face framed by

  his turned-up overcoat collar and the brim of his gray

  felt which should have been retired long ago. Since he

  had no appointment it would have been proper to open

  the door the two inches allowed by the chain bolt and

  greet him through the crack, but that always annoyed

  him, and if it turned out that I had tampered with

  evidence it wouldn't hurt to show him now that I had

  my good points. So I pulled the door wide open. Without

  even a nod, let alone a civil greeting, he crossed the sill,

  tramped down the hall into the office and on to Wolfe's

  desk, and demanded, "What time did Mrs. Barry Hazen

  get here this morning?"

  Wolfe tilted his head back to look up at him and

  inquired, "Is that snow on your hat?"

  Having entered and detoured around him, I too

  looked at the hat. There was nothing whatever on it

  except signs of age, and outdoors the sun was shining.

  It would fluster any man to have it put to him that one

  removes one's hat when one enters a house, but Cramer

  is ready for anything when he faces Wolfe. It didn't faze

  him. He merely barked, "I asked you a question!"

  "Half past eleven," Wolfe said.

  "When did she leave?"

  "Shortly before one o'clock."

  Cramer took his overcoat off, ignored my offer to

  take it, put it on the arm of the red leather chair, and

  sat. "An hour and a half," he said, not barking but a little

  hoarse. He is always a little hoarse when he is dealing

  with Wolfe. "What did she have to say?" He hadn't

  touched the hat.

  Wolfe swiveled and leaned back. "Mr. Cramer. I

  know that Mrs. Hazen's husband has been shot and

  88 Rex Stout

  killed. She was with me when the news came on my

  radio. I know that when I have been consulted by a

  person who is in any way connected with a death by

  violence you automatically assume that I have knowl-

  edge of evidence that would be useful in your investi-

  gation. Sometimes your assumption is valid; sometimes

  it isn't. This time it isn't; that is my considered opinion.

  Mrs. Hazen consulted me in confidence. If at any time I

  have reason to think that by refusing to disclose what

  she told me I am obstructing justice, I'll communicate

  with you at once."

  Cramer got a cigar from a pocket, rolled it between

  his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and clamped his teeth

  on it. He does that instead of counting ten, when he

  knows that the words that are on his tongue would

  make things worse instead of better. He took the cigar

  from his mouth. "Some day," he said, "you're going to

  fall off and get hurt, and this could be it. If and when you

  find it gets too hot to hang onto it any longer, and you

  turn loose, arid you have obstructed justice by not

  telling me now, I'll get your hide. Nothing and no one

  will stop me. I'm asking you to tell me what Mrs. Barry

  Hazen said when she came to see you nine hours after

  her husband was murdered."

  Wolfe shook his head. "I decline to tell you because I

  believe, as matters stand now, that it is not pertinent to

  your inquiry. Should I have occasion to change my

  mind—and by the way, I can offer you an opportunity

  to change it for me. Archie, where's that bullet?"

  I got the envelope from my drawer, took the bullet

  out, and handed it to him. Cramer's sharp gray eyes

  were on me and followed the bullet back to Wolfe.

  Wolfe took it in his fingers, barely glanced at it, handed

  it back to me, and said, "Give it to Mr. Cramer." As I did

  so he turned to Cramer. "This will be pointless if you

  have found the weapon that was used to shoot Mr.

  Hazen. Have you?"

  "No."

  "It will also be pointless if you have not found the

  bullet that killed him. Have you?"

  The Homicide Trinity 89

  "Yes."

  "Then I suggest that you have your laboratory com-

  pare that bullet with it. If you find that they were shot

  by the same gun let me know at once and I'll have some

  information for you. I would want to see the laboratory

  report, certified."

  "You would." Cramer's eyes were slits and his lips

  tightened. "Where did you get this bullet?"

  "I'll tell you, or I won't, when I get your report."

  "By God." Cramer was hoarser. "This is pertinent.

  This is evidence. I'll take you down, both of you—"

  "Nonsense. Evidence of what? I don't know and nei-

  ther do you. If it wasn't fired by the gun that killed Mr.

  Hazen it is evidence of nothing, and I am not obliged to

  account for it until I know. I'm not indulging in a prank,

  Mr. Cramer. There is a possibility that the bullets will

  match, and if so it will indeed be evidence. Let me

  know."

  Cramer opened his mouth to say something, vetoed

  it, got to his feet, put the bullet in his pocket, threw the

  cigar at my wastebasket and missed, picked up his coat

  and put it on, ignoring my offer to help, and marched

  out. I went to the hall to see that when the door shut he

  was on the outside. When I returned to the office Wolfe

  growled. "Confound these interruptions. We have forty

  minutes. Where were we on that letter to Mr. Hewitt?"

  I sat, got my notebook, and told him.

  At four o'clock, when he left to go up to the plant

  rooms for his two-hour afternoon session with the or-

  chids, I got busy at the typewriter. On various occa-

  sions I have had a little trouble turning out perfect

  letters to orchid collectors and providers of food spe-

  cialties when my mind had other interests and con-

  cerns, and that day was one of the worst. Cramer had

  left at 3:20. He would lose no time getting the bullet to

  the laboratory; they probably had it by 3:50, or four

  o'clock at the latest. Examining two bullets with a

  comparison microscope is a simple chore; ten minutes is

  ample to decide if they were fired by the same gun. 4:10.

  Allow a quarter of an hour for writing the report, which

  90 Rex Stout

  wouldn't have to be in shape for a judge and jury. 4:25.

  Cramer would have a man there waiting for it. He

  should phone by 4:30, or ring the doorbell by 4:45. He

  didn't.

  By 5:151 had to keep my jaw set to hit the right keys.

  If you think I was keyed up more than the circum-

  stances warranted, look it over. If the bullets matched I

  was a sap. It was a million to one that the murderer

  hadn't sneaked into the house to put the gun back in the

  drawer in Hazen's room; why would he? Murderers

  often do crazy things, but not that crazy. Therefore

  Mrs. Hazen had lied, and she had either killed him or

  knew who did, and I was a beetlehead. I had to do three


  of the letters twice.

  By six o'clock, when Wolfe came down from the plant

  rooms, I had begun to relax. He went to his desk and

  started on the letters I had put there, which he always

  reads with care. After he had finished a couple and

  signed them I remarked, "Of course Cramer wouldn't

  bother to phone if the bullets didn't match."

  He grunted.

  "And the laboratory got it more than two hours ago,

  so we might as well—"

  The doorbell rang, and the bottom of my spine curled.

  Cramer had waited until six o'clock, when he knew

  Wolfe would be available. I went to the hall and

  switched the stoop light on, and my spine went back to

  normal. It was a stranger, a man about my age, maybe

  a little younger, with no hat and a mop of brown hair

  shuffled by the wind. I had never been so delighted to

  see a stranger, but had it under control by the time I got

  to the door and opened it and said, "Yes, sir?"

  "I want to see Nero Wolfe. My name's Weed, Theodore

  Weed."

  I should have had him wait there while I went and

  told Wolfe, that was the routine, but I was so glad to see

  him that I invited him in and helped him off with his

  coat. Then I went to the office and announced, "The-

  odore Weed to see you. One of the dinner guests. The

  one who—"

  The Homicide Trinity 91

  "What does he want?"

  He knew damn well I hadn't had time to ask what he

  wanted. I said, "You."

  "No. I've been pestered enough on a matter in which

  I have no interest. Tell him so and don't—"

  Weed was there. He crossed to the red leather chair,

  plumped into it as if he owned it, and said, "I'm not

  going to pester you. I'm going to hire you."

  Wolfe glared at me. I had let a man in without con-

  sulting him; he would have something to say about that

  when we were alone. Weed was going on. "I know you

  come high, but I pay my bills. Do you want a retainer?"

  Wolfe had transferred the glare to him. "No. You not

  only intrude, you presume. Archie, show him the door."

  "Now wait a minute. I'm not very . . ." He let it

  hang and started to work his jaw. He had plenty of jaw,

  a little bony but not out of proportion. He got it under

  control. "All right, I started wrong. I'll try again. Mrs.

  Barry Hazen came to see you this morning and left a

  gun with you. Where is it?"

  "Intrusion and presumption," Wolfe said, "and now

  effrontery. I must insist—"

  "Damn it, I know she did! She told me so! She was

  here when she heard about it, that they had found his

  body! And she wanted to hire you, she wanted to give

  you a check, and you wouldn't take it!" He paused to

  control his jaw. "So I want to hire you, and I'll pay your

  bill. I just left the District Attorney's office and she's

  still there. They wouldn't let me see her, but she's there

  and they're going to charge her with murder. I can't see

  why it's presumption for me to want to hire you—

  you're in the detective business and my money is as

  good as anybody's. All right, I got ahead of myself

  asking you about the gun, but when I'm your client

  there's no reason why you shouldn't tell me where it is."

  He stuck a hand in his pocket and brought out a wad of

  bills, not a thick one, and unfolded it.

  I was trying to decide. Either he thought that Lucy

  Hazen had killed her husband, and was being ehival-

  92 Rex Stout

  rous, or he didn't think she had but was selling Wolfe

  the idea that he did think so. Whichever it was, he was

  willing to spend money on it, for he got up from his chair

  to put the bills on Wolfe's desk.

  As Wolfe started to speak the phone rang, and I

  turned and got it. It was Lucy Hazen. She asked for

  Wolfe, and I told her to hold it and turned to him. "The

  woman that brought the sausage this morning wants to

  know if it will do. If you want to ask Fritz you can talk

  on the kitchen extension."

  He got up and went, and I held on. In a moment

  his voice was in my ear. "This is Nero Wolfe. Mrs.

  Hazen?"

  "Yes. You said this morning that if I need your ser-

  vices you would see." Her voice was shaky. "I do need

  them. I'm going to be arrested, and I—"

  "Where are you?"

  "At the District Attorney's. I don't know any—"

  "Say only what you must say on the telephone."

  "I'm in a booth with the door closed."

  "Pfui. It is probably not only heard but also recorded.

  Say only what you must."

  "All right." A little pause. "He said I could phone a

  lawyer, and I don't know any except my husband's, and

  I don't want him. Will you get one for me?"

  "I'll send one to you. After speaking with him you can

  decide whether to engage him."

  "I will. Of course. But I want to engage you too. You

  said you would if I needed you."

  "I said I would see." A pause, longer than hers. If he

  committed himself he would have to work, and he

  would rather eat than work. "Very well." He growled

  it. "I am engaged. One question: have you disclosed any

  of your conversation with me? Yes or no."

  "No."

  "Satisfactory. One instruction: if you have an inten-

  tion to reject property left you by your husband you

  will neither declare it nor indicate it. You're going to

  have some bills to pay."

  "But I don't want anything from him! I told you—"

  The Homicide Trinity 93

  "We're on the phone. The lawyer will join me in that

  instruction. His name is Nathaniel Parker. Archie, get

  Mr. Parker. I'll talk from here."

  Chapter 4

  I pushed the button down, released it, dialed Park-

  er's home number, got him, buzzed the kitchen, and

  Wolfe got on. He gave Parker the necessary facts,

  and not much more—nothing of what Mrs. Hazen had

  told us that morning, nothing about the gun. He did say

  that I had formed the conclusion that she had not shot

  her husband, and that he had accepted it. Parker was to

  arrange for bail if she was bailable, if they held her on

  the big charge he was to get what he could at the DA's

  office. I waited to hang up until Wolfe was at the office

  door. He went to his desk, sat, leveled his eyes at

  Theodore Weed, and spoke.

  "Now sir. That was timely. It was Mrs. Hazen on the

  phone. I have sent—"

  "Where is she?"

  "At the District Attorney's office. She thinks she is

  going to be held. I have sent a lawyer to her, and I have

  agreed to act in her behalf. You were assuming that I

  declined her offer of a check because I thought she was

  guilty of murder or at least was implicated, but you

  were wrong. She is now my client." He wiggled a finger

  at the bills on the desk. "Your money. Take it."

  Weed's jaw was hanging, his lips parted. He found

  words. "But you—I don't see why you—"
r />   "You're not obliged to see and I'm not obliged to

  explain. Why do you think Mrs. Hazen killed her hus-

  band? Was it merely surmise?"

  "I don't—I don't think she killed him. She didn't!"

  "If I had taken your money what were you going to

  ask me to do?"

  94 Rex Stout

  "I don't know exactly. I was going ... to consult

  you. I wanted to know what you did with the gun. Have

  the police got it?"

  Wolfe shook his head. "I am acting for her now, Mr.

  Weed. You are the enemy—one of them. What if you

  killed Mr. Hazen, or know who did, and would like to see

  it imputed to her, and suspecting, for whatever reason,

  that she left a gun with me this morning, you want to

  find out? What if you are indeed the enemy?"

  Weed sat and stared at him. His jaw started to work

  again and he stopped it. "Look here," he said. "I want to

  know something. I know your reputation, I know about

  you. Is that straight, Mrs. Hazen phoned you just now

  and you're working for her?"

  "It is."

  "All right, then this is straight too." He stuck an arm

  out. "You can cut off this arm if it will help her any. And

  the other one. If that's corny, okay, that's where I

  stand."

  Wolfe regarded him with narrowed eyes. So did I. He

  looked as if he meant it, but even if he did, that didn't

  make him our pal. If he would give an arm to help her,

  and if he had known how she felt about her husband, he

  might have taken steps to get rid of him for her, which