tigation, but not in yours. You have your gun, the one
the murderer used. How can it embarrass you to tell me
about this one?"
Cramer considered it. "You're going to tell me what
she said about it."
"I am."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"I have your word?"
"Yes."
"Get the gun, Archie."
I went to the safe and squatted to twirl the knob.
Ordinarily I leave it unlocked when I'm in the office, but
with that box in it I was taking no chances, so after I had
worked the combination and got the gun I shut the door
and turned the knob. As I crossed to Cramer I spoke.
"By the way, I asked a question that wasn't answered.
What make is your gun? The one that killed him."
"Drexel thirty-two."
"So's this." I handed it to him. "Of course there are
millions of Drexel thirty-twos."
He gave it a look, and darned if he didn't sniff it. As I
said, that's automatic. Also he flipped the cylinder open
for a glance.
"It was fired yesterday," Wolfe said, "by Mr. Good-
win, to get a bullet. The bullet I gave you."
Cramer nodded. "Yeah. There's nothing on God's
earth you wouldn't do. It could have been . . . What
the hell, it wasn't. Okay, let's hear you."
Wolfe unloaded. He didn't enjoy it and neither did I,
118 Rex Stout
spilling it, but we had to know about the gun and it
might have taken us days. He skipped the details, in-
cluding no quotes, but gave it straight, both parts,
before the news came over the radio and after. He
didn't include my reasons for deciding that she hadn't
shot her husband, but I didn't mind; it might have got
Cramer confused and that would have been a pity. He
was a little confused anyhow; toward the end he was
frowning, pulling at his lip now and then, a wary look in
his eyes. When Wolfe finished he sat looking at it before
he spoke.
"What have you left out?" he demanded.
Wolfe shook his head. "Nothing material. You said
you wanted the substance; you have it. How long will it
take to trace the gun?"
"I don't get it. After she came to you with that fairy
tale, and the news came about her husband, and you
learned that we were holding her, you took her for a
client? I don't get it. I have never known you to take a
murderer for a client. Whether it's just your goddamn
luck, or what, I don't know, but you haven't. Why did
you take her?"
A corner of Wolfe's mouth turned up. "I asked Mr.
Goodwin's opinion and he said she was innocent. His
judgment of women under thirty is infallible. How long
will it take to trace the gun?"
"Nuts." Cramer stood up. "Maybe an hour, maybe a
week. I'm taking Goodwin. They'll take his statement
at the District Attorney's office, a complete report of
the conversation. I'll have a man here at two o'clock to
take yours. If I took you down you'd only—"
"I shall sign no statement. I am not obliged to. If you
send a man he won't be admitted. If you have questions,
ask them."
Cramer's round red face got redder. But that was as
far as it went; his memory of what had happened on the
three occasions he had taken Wolfe downtown was
presumably what stopped him. He stuck the gun in his
pocket and turned to me. "Come on, Goodwin. We'll
see."
The Homicide Trinity 119
As I arose the phone rang and I reached to get it. It
was Nathaniel Parker. He was upset. "Archie? Nat
Parker. Mrs. Hazen is being held on a charge of homi-
cide, of course without bail. I want to see Wolfe before I
see her. I have to know what she told him yesterday. I'll
be there in twenty minutes."
"Fine," I said. "He's in a perfect mood for it. Come
ahead." I hung up, told Wolfe, "Parker will be here in
twenty minutes," and went to the hall for my coat and
hat, with Cramer at my heels.
Chapter 8
During the next nine hours I had various oppor-
tunities to try to sort it out. En route in a police
car to the DA's office, later from there to Homi-
cide West on 20th Street, and several waiting periods
while assorted officers of the law, including the DA
himself at one point, decided what to do next.
It was complicated enough even before an assistant
DA kindly permitted me to use a phone, around three
o'clock, and I called Wolfe. Of course the game was
button, button, who had the gun when and where?
Either gun. If Lucy Hazen had lied, how much? Had the
gun that the maid had seen in the drawer Tuesday
morning been the one that had shot Hazen or the one
she had brought to Wolfe? If the former, Lucy was a liar
and also either was a murderer or could name him. If
the latter, who had put it in the drawer and when? And
why? It wasn't that there were no possible answers;
there were too many. And too many of them made it too
likely that Lucy had made a monkey of me and there-
fore were not acceptable.
The first hour or so I was entertained by an assistant
DA named Mandel, who was not a stranger to me, and a
120 Rex Stout
Homicide Bureau lieutenant, and it was obvious that
the gun puzzle was as tough for them as it was for me,
though they didn't say so. Then, while we were having
sandwiches and coffee, no recess called, at Mandel's
desk, a phone call came for him, and he took the lieuten-
ant to another room, and when they returned their
attitude was quite different. Apparently they were no
longer interested in guns; they concentrated on what
Lucy had said to Wolfe and me, her exact words; and
finally, a little before three o'clock, Mandel called a
stenographer in and told me to start dictating my state-
ment. Of course the room was wired for sound, and they
would have fun later comparing my dictated statement
with what I had told them. It was then that I insisted on
making a phone call and was escorted to a booth.
I got Wolfe. "Me. In a booth at the DA's office, and it
may be tapped. They should be finished with me by the
end of the week. They were curious about guns, and
then a phone call came and they weren't. I thought you
might like to know."
"I already know." He didn't sound depressed. "Mr.
Cramer phoned shortly after one. The gun we gave him
had been traced without difficulty. It was purchased by
Mrs. Hazen's father, Titus Postel, in 1953, and he com-
mitted suicide with it five years ago, in 1955."
"And she had it?"
"Not established. I have told Mr. Parker to ask her
when he sees her this afternoon. Meanwhile I have got
Saul and given him an errand."
I would have liked to ask him what errand, but that
wasn't advisable since we might have company on the
line. Saul Panzer, the first and best man on our list
> when we need help, charges more than any other free-
lance operative in New York, and is worth five times as
much. I told Wolfe I might or might not be home for
dinner.
Dictating my statement to the stenographer, I had to
keep jerking my mind back to it. The gun puzzle was
okay now for the cops, since they had tagged Lucy; now
The Homicide Trinity 121
they didn't have to buy it that she had been nutty
enough to take the gun home after she shot him and put
it in the drawer, and the next day get it and take it back
to the car. It was much neater. She had got the gun from
the drawer Monday, put the one she had, that had been
her father's, in its place, and left it in the car after she
shot him. And Tuesday she had got the gun from the
drawer and brought it to Wolfe as a prop for her fairy
tale, evidently not knowing that guns have numbers
that can be traced. What better could you ask for?
But for me, unless I was ready to give Lucy up as a
bad job, it was what worse could I ask for. Before, there
had been too many answers; now there weren't any. I
had to file it while I dictated my statement, in which I
was supposed to include everything Lucy had said to us
in Wolfe's office, and while I went over it after it was
typed, and it wasn't easy. Then I was taken to the office
of the DA himself, and he and Mandel pecked at me for
an hour; and when they finished, around 6:30, and I
supposed that was all for the day, I was informed that
Cramer wanted me at Homicide West. If I had balked
they would have booked me as a material witness and
Parker couldn't come to the rescue until morning, so I
took it.
In one respect it was an improvement. The dick at
Homicide West whom Cramer sent for sandwiches hap-
pened to be civilized enough to think that even a dog
has a right to eat what he likes, and I got what I asked
for, corned beef on rye and milk. Except for that, it was
just more of the same, for more than two hours with
Cramer and Sergeant Purley Stebbins. I didn't even
have the satisfaction of getting a chance to break my
record with Lieutenant Rowcliff. I once got him stut-
tering in two minutes and twenty seconds, and I have a
bet with Saul Panzer that I can do it in two minutes flat
with three more tries.
Cramer and Stebbins finally decided they had had
enough of me. It was 9:32 by my watch, and 9:34 by the
clock on the wall, which was wrong, as I crossed the
reception room of the precinct house to the door, and on
122 Rex Stout
out. I stood on the sidewalk for three good breaths of
the cold fresh air, giving my lungs a treat and deciding
which way to turn. If right, toward Eighth Avenue, it
would be for a taxi; if left, toward Ninth, it would be for
a fifteen-minute walk. Voting for the walk, I moved,
and had taken three steps when my shoulder was
grabbed and yanked from behind and a voice came,
with feeling: "You dirty rat!"
The yank had turned me some and I turned myself
the rest of the way. It was Theodore Weed. His hands
were fists, and the right one was back a foot, with the
elbow bent. His eyes were blazing and his bony jaw was
set.
"Not here, you damn fool," I said. "Even if you drop
me with one swing, which is doubtful, I'll yell police as I
go down and here they'll come. Besides, I have a right
to know why I'm a rat while I'm still conscious. Why?"
"You know why. You're a filthy stool, and Nero
Wolfe too. You're working for Lucy? You are like hell.
You gave the police the gun."
"How do you know we did?"
"Things they asked me. Do you deny it?"
My brain was a little tired after the long day, but it
was doing its best. This character was by no means
crossed off. We only had his word for it that he would
give both arms to help Lucy; he had said himself that
she didn't know how he felt about her. A chat with him
wouldn't hurt and might help, but I couldn't take him
home with me until I knew what Wolfe had on his
program, if anything.
He still had fists. "I'll tell you what," I said. "We'll go
around the comer to Jake's and I'll buy you a drink and
we'll discuss it. Then if you still want to take a poke at
me Jake will let us use the back room provided we let
him watch. Afterwards you can comb your hair if you're
up to it. It needs it."
It didn't appeal to him, but what would have? A
couple of passersby, noticing his stance and his fists,
had stopped to see, and a harness bull, emerging from
the station, had also stopped. So he came.
The Homicide Trinity 123
At Jake's, when we had sat at a table by the wall and
given our orders to the white apron, and I said I had to
make a phone call, he got up and came along to the
booth. Very bad manners, but I didn't correct him. I
even let him stand in the door of the booth so I couldn't
close it. I dialed a number and got it.
"Me. In a booth on Eighth Avenue. Theodore Weed is
here at my elbow. He stopped me on the sidewalk to tell
me that you and I are filthy stools because we gave the
gun to the cops. When I asked him how he knew we did
he said from things they asked him, which is possible
since he had just come from Homicide West, probably
from a session with Rowcliff, and you know Rowcliff.
I'm buying him a drink, but I thought you might like to
apologize to him personally for tossing our client to the
wolves. He has blood in his eye."
"No. Come home at once."
"You have Saul."
"Not here. I need you. Mrs. Oliver and Mr. Perdis are
in the front room. Mrs. Oliver has been here since seven
o'clock. Mr. Khoury will arrive at any moment. I have
been pestered by this confounded telephone all day.
Mrs. Talbot called for the fifth time half an hour ago to
say that she hopes to be here by ten o'clock, and it's
nearly that now. On second thought, bring Mr. Weed. I
have a question for him."
"You'll have to bulldog him first."
"Pfui. Bring him. How soon will you be here?"
I told him fifteen minutes, and hung up. "No time for
a drink," I told Weed. "Nor for a floor show, with me on
the floor. Mr. Wolfe wants me. You may came along if
you care to."
"I was going there," he said grimly, "when I saw
you."
"Good. But take it easy. He has a knife in his belt that
he uses to stab people in the back."
On the way out I handed the white apron, whose
name was Gil, a couple of ones. Outside, we flagged a
taxi, and as it rolled uptown I undertook to straighten
him out. "Look at it," I said. "If we're stools and selling
124 Rex Stout
her to the cops there's not much of anything you can do
but shoot us, and even that wouldn't help her any. The
fact is, we're with her and you're not. We know she
didn't kill her husband. Either you thought she had and
probably still do, or you killed him yourself. If the
former, your feeling for her has got a smudge. If
the latter, you did a swell job, handling it so that she
gets the credit for it. Go soak your head."
"Why did you give the police the gun?"
"Soak your head some more. We're working for her,
not you."
No comment until the cab was turning into 35th
Street, then: "I don't think she killed him."
"Good for you. We appreciate it."
"And I didn't."
"That's not so important, but we'll keep it in mind."
At the curb in front of the old brownstone there was
a black limousine with a chauffeur in it. That would be
Mrs. Oliver's. Mounting the seven steps to the stoop, I
used my key, but the chain bolt was on and I had to ring
for Fritz. As he took Weed's coat and I disposed of
mine, he said, "Thank God, Archie, thank God," and I
asked him what for, and he said, "For you. It has been
very bad. Three phone calls during dinner, and that
woman was in the front room."
"I can imagine. How many are in there now?"
"Three. Her and two men."
So Khoury had come. I took Weed to the office. Wolfe
was at his desk with a book. Weed headed for him,
talking. "I want to know why—"
"Shut up!" Wolfe bellowed.
Wolfe's bellow would stop a tiger ready to spring.
Homicide Trinity Page 16
