"Not of course. Just I discovered it."
He pronounced another contraband word. "Repeat
that address."
I repeated it. The connection went. As I hung up a
notion struck me. Hattie wasn't there to call me a
bootlicker and flunky and toady, and it wouldn't hurt to
be polite; and besides, it would be interesting and in-
structive to see how Stebbins would react to outside
authority sticking a finger in his pie. So I got the phone
book from the stand, found the number, and dialed it.
A man's voice answered. "Rector two, nine one hun-
dred."
Being discreet. Liking it plain, I asked, "Secret Ser-
vice Division?"
"Yes."
"I would like to speak to Mr. Albert Leach."
"Mr. Leach isn't in at the moment. Who is this,
please?"
My reply was delayed because my attention was
diverted. The front door had opened and a man had
entered; and, hearing my voice, he had approached for a
look. I looked back. He was young and handsome—
Broadway handsome. The phone repeated, "Who is
this, please?"
"My name is Archie Goodwin. I have a message for
Mr. Leach. He asked me this morning about a woman
named Tammy Baxter. Tell him that Miss Baxter is
dead. Murdered. Her body was discovered in the parlor
of the house where she lived on Forty-seventh Street. I
have just notified the police. I thought Mr. Leach—"
The Homicide Trinity 167
I dropped the phone on the cradle, moved, and called,
"Hey you! Hold it!"
The handsome young man, halfway to the parlor
door, stopped and wheeled; and at the rear of the hall
there were steps and Martha Kirk's voice, and she came
trotting, the trot of a dancer, with Raymond Dell strid-
ing at her heels. As I crossed the hall a buzzer sounded
in the kitchen, and I went and opened the door. It was
two harness bulls. They stepped in and the one in front
spoke. "Are you Archie Goodwin?"
"I am." I pointed to the parlor door. "In there."
Chapter 4
Two hours later, at twenty minutes to four, as I sat
at the big table in the kitchen eating crackers and
cheese and raspberry preserves, and drinking
coffee, Inspector Cramer of Homicide West sent for me
to ask me a favor. Very few people or situations had
ever got Cramer to the point of asking a favor of me, but
Hattie Annis had managed it.
With me at the table were two of the roomers, Noel
Ferris and Paul Hannah. Ferris was the handsome
young man who had appeared as I was phoning.
Hannah was even younger, but not as handsome. He
had chubby pink cheeks and not enough nose, and his
ears stuck out. A dick had gone for him at the Mush-
room Theater, where he had been rehearsing. At the
moment Cramer sent for me he and Ferris were dis-
cussing the question, when had they last been in the
parlor? Ferris said one evening about a month ago,
when he had gone in to see if the piano was as bad as
Martha said it was, and had found it was worse. Hannah
said two weeks ago yesterday, when he had come
downstairs to make a phone call and Martha was at the
168 Rex Stout
phone talking, and he had stepped into the parlor be-
cause he didn't want to stand there and listen. Before
they had got onto that they had argued about the knife.
Hannah said he had identified it as one from a kitchen
drawer which he had often used, and Ferris said he
shouldn't have identified it; he should have merely said
it was similar. They had got fairly heated, paying no
attention to a city employee who was on a chair by the
door, taking it in.
I hadn't been allowed in the parlor, but I had seen the
experts come and go, and some of them were still there.
My first interview had been with Purley Stebbins, who
had arrived in person only ten minutes behind the pair
from the prowl car. That had taken place in the kitchen.
My second interview had been in the room above the
kitchen, Raymond Dell's room as I learned later, with
Inspector Cramer and the T-man, Albert Leach. That
was an honor, but I felt that I rated it because if it
hadn't been for me they wouldn't have been there. My
phone call to the Secret Service had brought Leach on
the jump, and Leach's appearance had brought the
Inspector. No doubt about it. So it was Cramer, not
Stebbins, that I got to see reacting to outside authority,
and it wasn't very instructive because he was mostly
reacting to me as usual.
"You say Wolfe told her he would expect no fee and
he wasn't interested in a reward, but he sent you here
with her and you paid the cab fare. Nuts. I know Wolfe
and I know you. You expect me to swallow that?"
Or: "You try to tell me that you don't know exactly
how long it was after you found the body until you
called Stebbins because you didn't look at your watch
when you found the body. That's a lie. The way you've
been trained looking at your watch would have been
automatic. Raymond Dell and Martha Kirk say it was
just a few minutes after one when you and Hattie Annis
left the kitchen. You called Stebbins at one-thirty-four.
Half an hour. What were you doing?"
Or: "Quit your clowning!"
Of course he was at a disadvantage, since at the
The Homicide Trinity 169
beginning he expected to be riled because he knew I
knew how, and when he's riled his mind skips. So I got
no bruises, and the one ticklish point was never men-
tioned. I gave him all the facts about the package from
the time Hattie left it with me until I put it in the safe,
excepting one detail, and he didn't even hint at the
possibility that it might be queer, and neither did
Leach. Leach homed in only once, when he got riled
too.
"I warned you," he said, "not to try any fancy tricks
with the Secret Service. And at that moment, when I
was asking you if Hattie Annis had been there, she was
in with Wolfe. You have just admitted it. You withheld
information required by an agent of the Federal gov-
ernment in the performance of his duty, and you will
answer for it."
"I'll answer now," I told him. "Why should I tell you
anything about anybody? If you had any proper ground
for asking me about Hattie Annis you didn't mention it.
Inspector Cramer doesn't have to mention it. She and I
found a dead body in her house, and it's his job to catch
murderers, and it's possible that there is a connection
between the murder and the package that Miss Annis
found and brought to Mr. Wolfe. So I answer his ques-
tions. I can't think offhand of any question whatever
that I owe you an answer to. Do you want to try?"
That was deliberate. Sooner or later someone was
going to ask me if I knew that money was counterfeit,
and I might
as well get it over with and have it on the
record. But he merely looked at Cramer, and Cramer
resumed.
At twenty minutes to four, when a dick named
Callahan entered the kitchen and said the Inspector
wanted me, I supposed it had been decided that it was
time to try me on the ten-thousand-dollar question, but
when I saw Cramer's face I knew that wasn't it. Instead
of being set to blurt a tough one at me, he was chewing
on a cigar, and he does that only when he doesn't like
the prospect. Lieutenant Rowcliff and another dick
were with him, in Dell's room. Leach wasn't there. It
170 Rex Stout
didn't come easy for him. He took the cigar from his
mouth, put it back, and rasped, "We need your help,
Goodwin."
"I'd love to help," I said.
"Yeah." Not at all the right tone for asking a favor.
"Did you tell that Annis woman to bolt herself in?"
"No. I have reported it as it happened."
"Yeah." He removed the cigar. "She won't open the
door. She won't open her trap. We don't want to smash
the door unless we have to. She's your client and if you
tell her to slide that damn bolt she will."
"She is not my client. Nor Mr. Wolfe's."
"So you say. Wouldn't she open the door if you asked
her to?"
"Probably."
"Okay. Ask her."
I allowed a grin to show. "Not the way you mean. Not
with you at my elbow. I'm willing to try if I'm alone in
the hall and the door of this room is shut, and I'll explain
the situation to her. She has a personal attitude to cops.
A cop shot her father."
"Yeah, fifteen years ago. Hasn't she got any sense?"
"No."
"She might know we'll bust the door if we have to.
Will you tell her that?"
"Sure. With conditions as specified. You and yours
stay here with the door shut. Rowcliff is slow in the
skull but his feet are fast."
"Save the gags," Cramer growled, and stuck the
cigar in his mouth. I went, closed the door behind me,
walked down the hall, rapped on Hattie's door, and
called, "It's me. Buster Goodwin. I'm alone. Let me in. I
want to ask you something."
Footsteps and then her voice. "Where are they?"
"Still in the house but at a safe distance. I am not a
flunky."
The bolt grated and the door opened. I entered, shut
the door, and slid the bolt. The blinds were down and
the lights were on. She had a magazine in her hand.
The Homicide Trinity 171
"You might have brought me something to eat," she
said. "I haven't had any lunch. You're no good."
I faced her. "That's the second time you've told me
I'm no good," I said^'Let's get that settled. If you really
mean it why did you let me in?"
"I thought you had something to eat. When I say
you're no good that's just for then, when I say it. I'm
hungry."
"Okay. Actually I'm extremely good. If I wasn't, why
would I bother to come and tell you to stay away from
the door because they're going to bust it in?"
"No, they won't."
"Why won't they?"
"Because they know if they do I'll shoot."
I glanced around. A massive old walnut bed, a big old
rolltop desk, dresser, chest of drawers, chairs, pictures
of men and women all over the walls, actors from a mile
off. "What will you shoot with?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said. "I haven't got a gun, but they
don't know it."
I eyed her. "May I have permission to call you
Hattie?"
"No. Not until I see what happens."
"Very well, Miss Annis. A cop named Cramer, an
inspector, asked me to come and tell you they're going
to break in. They can do that without getting in the line
of fire, and they will. That's all he asked me to tell you,
but I add this on my own, that if they have to smash the
door to get to you it's an absolute certainty that they'll
take you downtown, and they'll probably hold you as a
material witness. They're investigating a murder that
occurred in your house, and you're a suspect. Whereas
if you let them in and answer the questions they have a
right to ask, they probably won't take you downtown
and you can sleep in your own bed."
She was staring at me. "You say I'm a suspect?"
"Certainly. When you came home to sew on the but-
ton, it could have been then."
"You suspect me?"
"Of course not. Even if I'm no good I'm not a halfwit."
172 Rex Stout
Her tips tightened. "They'll have to carry me."
"They can. There's enough of them, and they have
handcuffs."
"They'll need them." She cocked her head. A strand
of gray hair fell across her eye, and she didn't bother to
brush it back. "All right, Buster. I've never hired a
detective. Do you want me to sign something?"
"Whom are you hiring. Miss Annis?"
"I'm hiring you. Call me Hattie."
"You can't hire me. I work for Nero Wolfe on salary."
"Then I'm hiring Nero Wolfe."
"To do what?"
"To show the cops. To make them wish they had
never set foot in my house. To make them eat dirt."
"He wouldn't take the job. You might hire him to
investigate the murder, and he might fill your order as
a by-product. But he has exaggerated ideas about fees,
and I doubt if you could afford it."
"Would you help him?"
"Of course. That's my job."
She shut her eyes, tight. In a moment she opened
them. "I could pay him one-tenth of all I've got besides
the house. I could pay him forty-two thousand dollars.
That ought to be enough."
It took a little effort not to gawk. "I should think so,"
I conceded. "If you want me to put it to him, I have to
ask a question that he'll ask. He's very realistic about
money. What you've got besides the house, is it in
something convenient? Would you have to sell some-
thing, for instance a race horse or a yacht?"
"Don't try to be funny, Buster. I'm realistic about
money too. It's in tax-exempt bonds in a vault in a bank.
Do you want me to sign something?"
"That's not necessary, now that I call you Hattie." I
controlled an impulse to reach and brush the strand of
hair away from her eye. "You may not be very available
the rest of the day, so we'll leave it this way: you
have hired Mr. Wolfe to investigate the murder, and if
he doesn't take the job I'll notify you as soon as I can get
in touch with you. And you'll leave—"
The Homicide Trinity 173
"Why wouldn't he take the job?"
"Because he's a genius and he's eccentric. Geniuses
don't have to have reasons. But leave that to me. And if
you're going to pay us I might as well start earning it.
Have you got a stamp pad?"
She said yes, in the desk, and I went and found it in a
pigeonhole. She said she had no glossy paper, and I took
her magazine and found a page ad in color with wide
margins in white, and tore it out. "I'll want all ten
fingers," I told her. "First your right hand, the thumb.
Like this."
She didn't ask why. She didn't ask anything. Either
she knew why or she merely wanted to humor me, and
your guess is as good as mine. When I had the set, the
right hand on the right margin and the left on the left, I
folded the sheet with care and put it between the pages
of my notebook.
"Okay," I said. "You'll leave the door unbolted, and
I'll tell Cramer—"
"No, I won't. If they break in that door they'll pay for
it."
I explained again. I told her that anyone as realistic
about money as she was ought to be able to be realistic
about murder, but she wouldn't budge. I told her she
didn't have to invite them in or let them in, just leave
the door unbolted, and she said I was no good. So I left,
and the second I was across the sill the door clicked shut
and I heard the bolt go in. I walked to the rear and
opened the door of Dell's room.
"Well?" Cramer demanded.
"No soap." I stood in the doorway. "If she has a brain
I can't imagine what she uses it for. She wants to hire
Nero Wolfe to make you eat dirt. I told her if you had to
break in you would probably take her downtown and
Homicide Trinity Page 22
