Homicide Trinity

by Homicide Trinity (lit)

  I put it to my ear and held my breath, and heard

  nothing. But you never know what science will do next,

  and there were at least three dozen people in the met-

  ropolitan area who had it in for Wolfe, not to mention a

  few who didn't care much for me, so instead of taking it

  to the office, to my desk or the safe, I went to the front

  room and stashed it under the couch. If you ask if I

  untied the string and unwrapped the paper for a look,

  your instincts are not as fine as they should be. Any-

  how, I had gloves on.

  Also there had been nothing doing for more than a

  week, since we had cleaned up the Brigham forgery

  case, and my mind needed exercise as much as my legs

  and lungs, so walking crosstown and back I figured out

  144 Rex Stout

  what was in the package. After discarding a dozen

  guesses that didn't appeal to me I decided it was the

  Hope diamond. The one that had been sent to Washing-

  ton was a phony. I was still working on various details,

  such as Hattie Annis's real name and station and how

  she had got hold of it, on the last stretch approaching

  the old brownstone, and therefore got nearly to the

  stoop before I saw that it was occupied. Perched on the

  top step was exactly the kind of female Wolfe expects to

  see when I talk him into seeing one. The right age, the

  right face, the right legs—what showed of them below

  the edge of her fur coat. The coat was not mink or sable.

  As I started to mount she got up.

  "Well," she said. "A grand idea, this outdoor waiting

  room, but there ought to be magazines."

  I reached her level. The top of her fuzzy little turban

  was even with my nose. "I suppose you rang?" I asked.

  "I did. And was told through a crack that Mr. Wolfe

  was engaged and Mr. Goodwin was out. Mr. Goodwin, I

  presume?"

  "Right." I had my key ring out. "I'll bring some

  magazines. Which ones do you like?"

  "Let's go in and look them over."

  Wolfe wouldn't be down for more than half an hour,

  and it would be interesting to know what she was

  selling, so I used the key on the door and swung it open.

  When I had disposed of my hat and coat on the hall rack

  I ushered her to the office, moved one of the yellow

  chairs up for her, and went to my desk and sat.

  "We have no vacancies at the moment," I said, "but

  you can leave your number. Don't call us, we'll call—"

  "That's pretty corny," she said. She had thrown her

  coat open to drape it over the back of the chair, reveal-

  ing other personal details that went fine with the face

  and legs.

  "Okay," I conceded. "It's your turn."

  "My name is Tammy Baxter. Short for Tamiris. I

  haven't decided yet which one to use on a theater

  program when the time comes. What do you think,

  Tammy or Tamiris?"

  The Homicide Trinity 145

  "It would depend on the part. If it's the lead in a

  musical, Tammy. If it packs some weight, O'Neill for

  instance, Tamiris."

  "It's more apt to be a girl at one of the tables in the

  night-club scene. The one who jumps up and says,

  'Come on, Bill, let's get out of here.' That's her big line."

  She fluttered a gloved hand. "Oh, well. What do you

  care? Why don't you ask me what I want?"

  "I'm putting it off because I may not have it."

  "That's nice. I like that. That's a good line, only you

  threw it away. There should be a pause after 'off.' 'I'm

  putting it off ... because I may not have it.' Try it

  again."

  "Nuts. I said it the way I felt it. You actresses are all

  alike. I was getting a sociable feeling about you and look

  what you've done to it. What do you want?"

  She laughed a little ripple. "I'm not an actress, I'm

  only going to be. I don't want anything much, just to ask

  about my landlady, Miss Annis—Hattie Annis. Has she

  been here?"

  I raised a brow. "Here? When?"

  "This morning."

  "I'll ask." I turned my head and sang out, "Fritz!" and

  when he appeared, in the doorway to the hall, I in-

  quired, "Did anyone besides this lady come while I was

  out?"

  "No, sir." He always sirs me when there is company,

  and I can't make him stop.

  "Any phone calls?"

  "No, sir."

  "Okay. Thank you, sir." He went, and I told Tammy

  or Tamiris, "Apparently not. You say your landlady?"

  She nodded. "That's funny."

  "Why, did you tell her to come?"

  "No, she told me. She said she was going to take

  something—she was going to see Nero Wolfe about

  something. She wouldn't say what, and after she left I

  ^ began to worry about her. She never got here?"

  "You heard what Fritz said. Why should you worry?"

  "You would too if you knew her. She almost never

  146

  The Homicide Trinity 147

  Rex Stout

  leaves the house, and she never goes more than a block

  away. She's not a loony, really, but she's not quite all

  there, and I should have come with her. We all feel

  responsible for her. Her house is an awful dump, but

  anybody in show business, or even trying to be, can

  have a room for five dollars a week, and it doesn't have

  to be every week. So we feel responsible. I certainly

  hope—" She stood up, letting it hang. "If she comes will

  you phone me?"

  "Sure." She gave me the number and I jotted it down,

  and then went to hold her coat. My feelings were mixed.

  It would have been a pleasure to relieve her mind, but

  of what? What if her real worry was about the Hope

  diamond, which she had had under her mattress, and

  she knew or suspected that Hattie Annis had snitched

  it? I would have liked to put her in the front room,

  supplied with magazines, to wait until her landlady

  arrived, but you can't afford to be sentimental when the

  fate of a million-dollar diamond is at stake, so I let her

  go. Another consideration was that it would be enough

  of a job to sell Wolfe on seeing Hattie Annis without

  also accounting for the presence of another female in

  the front room. He can stand having one woman under

  his roof temporarily if he has to, but not two at once.

  At eleven o'clock on the nose the sound of the eleva-

  tor came, and its usual clang as it jolted to a stop at the

  bottom, and he entered, told me good morning, went to

  his desk, got his seventh of a ton deposited in the

  oversized custom-built chair, fingered through the

  mail, glanced at his desk calendar, and spoke.

  "No check from Brigham?"

  "Yes, sir, it came." I swiveled to face him. "Without

  comment. I took it to the bank. Also my weakness has

  cropped up again, but with a new slant."

  He grunted. "Which weakness?"

  "Women. One came, a stranger, and I told her to

  come back at eleven-fifteen. The trouble is, she's a type

  that never appealed to me before. I
hope to goodness

  my taste hasn't shifted. I want your opinion."

  "Pfui. Flummery."

  "No, sir. It's a real problem. Wait till you see her."

  "I'm not going to see her."

  "Then I'm stuck. She has a strange fascination. No-

  body believes in witches casting spells any more. I

  certainly don't, but I don't know. As for what she wants

  to see you about, that's simple. She has got something

  that she thinks is good for a reward, and she's coming to

  you instead of the police because she hates cops. I don't

  know what it is or where she got it. That part's easy,

  you can deal with that in two minutes, but what about

  me? Have I got a screw loose?"

  "Yes." He picked up the top item from the little pile

  of mail, an airmail letter from an orchid hunter in Ven-

  ezuela, and started to read it. I swung my chair around

  and started sharpening pencils that didn't need it. The

  noise of the sharpener gets on his nerves. I was on the

  fourth pencil when his voice came.

  "Stop that," he growled. "A witch?"

  "She must be."

  "I'll give her two minutes."

  You can appreciate what I had accomplished only if

  you know how allergic he is to strangers, especially

  women, and how much he hates to work, especially

  when a respectable check has just been deposited. Be-

  sides that satisfaction I had something to look forward

  to, seeing his expression when I escorted Hattie Annis

  in. I thought I might as well go and retrieve the pack-

  age from under the couch and put it in my desk drawer,

  but vetoed it. It could stay put till she came. Wolfe

  finished the letter from the orchid hunter and started

  on a circular from a manufacturer of an automatic hu-

  midifier.

  Eleven-seventeen and the bell didn't ring. At 11:20

  Wolfe looked up to say that he had some letters to give

  me but didn't like to be interrupted, and I said neither

  did I. At 11:25 he got up and went to the kitchen,

  probably to sample the chestnut soup, in which he and

  Fritz had decided to include tarragon for the first time.

  At 11:30 I went to the front room and got the package.

  Nuts to her, if she couldn't be punctual for an appoint-

  148 Rex Stout

  ment. She would get her package back, at the door, and

  that would be all. I was straightening up after fishing it

  from under the couch when the bell rang, and had it in

  my hand when I went to the hall.

  It was her all right, but through the one-way glass

  panel I noticed a couple of changes as I stepped to the

  door: there was a button on her coat where one had

  been been missing, and her face needed washing even

  more than it had before. Her whole right cheek was a

  dark smudge. Touched by the button, I decided to hear

  her excuse for being late, if any, but as I opened the

  door she collapsed. No moan, no sound at all, she just

  crumpled. I jumped and grabbed her, so she didn't go

  clear down, but she was out, dead weight. I tightened

  my right arm around her to free my left to toss the

  package into the hall and then gathered her up, crossed

  the sill, and kicked the door shut.

  As I was turning to the front room Wolfe's voice

  came. "What the devil is that?"

  "A woman," I said, and kept going. On her feet I

  would have guessed her at not more than a hundred and

  fifteen pounds, but loose and sagging she was a good

  deal heavier. I put her on the couch, on her back,

  straightened her legs, and took a look. She was breath-

  ing shallow, but no gasping. I slipped a hand under her

  middle and lifted, and stuffed a couple of cushions be-

  neath her hips. As I took her wrist and put a finger on

  her pulse Wolfe's voice came at my back.

  "Get Doctor Vollmer."

  I turned my head. He had meant it for Fritz, who had

  appeared at the door. "Hold it," I said. "I think she just

  fainted."

  "Nonsense," Wolfe snapped. "Women do not faint."

  I had heard that one before. His basis for it was not

  medical but personal; he is convinced that unless she

  has a really good excuse, like being slugged with a club,

  any woman who passes out is merely putting on an

  act—a subhead under his fundamental principle that

  every woman is always putting on an act. Ignoring it, I

  checked her pulse, which was weak and slow but not too

  The Homicide Trinity 149

  bad, asked Fritz to bring my overcoat and open a win-

  dow, and went to the lavatory for the smelling salts. I

  was waving the bottle under her nose and Fritz was

  spreading the coat over her when her eyes opened. She

  blinked at me and started to lift her head, and I put my

  hand on her brow.

  "I know you," she said, barely audible. "I must have

  made it."

  "Only to the door," I told her. "You flopped on the

  stoop and I carried you in. Lie still. Shut your eyes and

  catch up on your breathing."

  "Brandy?" Fritz asked me.

  "I don't like brandy," she said.

  "Tea?"

  "I don't like tea. Where's my bag?"

  "Coffee," I told Fritz. "She must like something." He

  went. Wolfe had disappeared. "Sniff this," I told her,

  handing her the bottle, and went to the hall. The pack-

  age was over by the rack, and her handbag was on the

  floor near the wall. I didn't know how it got there, and I

  still don't, but since I reject Wolfe's fundamental prin-

  ciple I assume that a fainting woman can hang onto

  something. Returning to the patient, I was just in time

  to keep her from rolling off the couch. She was trying to

  pull the cushions out from under her middle. When I

  put a hand on her shoulder she protested, "Pillows are

  for heads, Buster. Can't you tell my head from my

  fanny? Give me the bag."

  I handed it to her and she turned onto her side,

  propping on her elbow, to open it. Apparently her con-

  cern was for a particular item, for after a brief glance

  inside she was closing it, but I said, "Here, put this in,"

  and offered the package.

  She didn't take it. "So I'm still alive," she said. "I'm

  froze stiff, but I'm alive. Don't Nero Wolfe believe in

  heat?"

  "It's seventy in here," I told her. "When you faint

  your blood does something. Here's your package."

  "Did you open it?"

  "No."

  150 Rex Stout

  "I knew you wouldn't. I'm still dizzy." Her head went

  back down. "You're such a detective, maybe you can tell

  me what he was going to do if he killed me. He would

  have had to stop the car and get out to get the bag.

  Wouldn't he?"

  "I should think so. If it was the bag he wanted."

  "Of course it was." She took a deep breath, and

  another. "He thought the package was in it. Anyhow, it

  was your fault I was there, what you said about the

  button. I've been intending to sew that button on for a

  month, and when you said
to have one put on and

  charge it to you, that was too much. I hadn't done

  anything about my clothes on account of a man for

  twenty years, and here was a man offering to buy me a

  button. So I went home and sewed it on."

  She stopped to breathe. I stuck the package in my

  pocket. "Where is home?" I asked.

  "Forty-seventh Street. Between Eighth and Ninth.

  So that's why I was there, but you keep your head,

  Buster. Don't offer to buy me some hair dye. When I

  left I was going to take a Ninth Avenue bus to come

  back here, and walking along Forty-seventh Street the

  car came on the sidewalk behind me and hit me here."

  She touched her right hip. "Bumping up over the curb

  must have spoiled his aim. It didn't hit me hard enough

  to knock me down, so I must have stumbled when I

  jumped. Anyhow I fell, and I must have rolled over

  more than once because I was walking near the curb

  and I came against a building. Is that Nero Wolfe?"

  The door to the office had opened and Wolfe was

  there, scowling at us. I told her yes, and told him. "Miss

  Hattie Annis. She's telling me why she was late for her

  appointment. She went to her house on Forty-seventh

  Street, and coming back a car climbed the curb and hit

  her. I know there's no chair here big enough for you, but

  she ought to stay flat a little longer."

  "I am capable of standing for two minutes," he said

  stiffly.