Homicide Trinity

by Homicide Trinity (lit)

  through his mouth, straightened up, picked up the bot-

  tle, and poured.

  He spoke. "Saul and Fred and Orrie. At eight in the

  morning in my room."

  My brows went up. Saul Panzer is the best operative

  south of the North Pole. His rate is ten dollars an hour

  and he is worth twenty. Fred Durkin's rate is seven

  dollars and he is worth seven-fifty. Orrie Gather's rate

  is also seven dollars and he is worth six-fifty.

  "Oh." I took a sip of milk. "Then you did get an

  inkling?"

  "I got a conclusion: that it would be futile to go on

  pecking at them. Mr. Leach has been on their flanks for

  three weeks, and now Mr. Cramer's army has them

  under siege. My only chance of priority is to surprise

  him from the rear."

  The foam was down to the rim of his glass, and he

  lifted it and drank, a healthy gulp. "It's a forlorn chance,

  certainly, but it's worth trying for want of a better. I am

  not familiar with the procedures of counterfeiters, but

  it seems unlikely that an underling would be entrusted

  with five hundred twenty-dollar bills. Ten thousand

  dollars. We know he had that large supply; and that

  permits the conjecture that his connection may be not

  190 Rex Stout

  with a mere go-between, but with the source. If so, the

  quickest way to settle it would be to locate the source."

  "Yeah. It's barely possible that Leach has had that

  idea."

  "No doubt. I assume that when Miss Baxter took a

  room in that house her primary mission was to search

  the premises for counterfeiting equipment. Obviously

  she found none. I also assume that, as you suggested, it

  was known that one of the inhabitants of that house had

  passed counterfeit money, but it was not known which

  one, and they were all under surveillance—by Miss

  Baxter in the house and by others outside. And if I were

  a Secret Service agent assigned to keep an eye on

  Raymond Dell I would suppose that any meeting he had

  with a supplier of contraband would be clandestine.

  That is how my mind would work. The first day I

  followed him to an East Side tenement I would of

  course make inquiries, with due caution, but when he

  went there five days a week and I learned from Miss

  Baxter what he did there, my attention would be di-

  verted. But I am not a Secret Service agent. My atten-

  tion is drawn to that tenement house, and specifically to

  Max Eder, a painter. An artist. I shall send Orrie

  Gather there tomorrow morning to reconnoiter. Fred

  Durkin will go to the shop on First Avenue—by the

  way, I want its address. Harry's Zoo." He made a face.

  "Saul Panzer will go to the Mushroom Theater. As I

  said, it's a forlorn chance, but what better can we do

  with tomorrow? Unless you have a suggestion?"

  "I have," I said emphatically. "I respectfully suggest

  that you start thinking up something for day after

  tomorrow."

  He grunted. He picked up his glass, took a gulp of

  beer, swallowed it, licked his lips, and put the glass

  down. "'Forlorn' was too strong a word," he said. "I

  have an expectation that is not wholly unreasonable.

  Twelve hours of the time of those three men plus ex-

  penses comes to more than three hundred dollars. I

  don't hazard that amount, even of a client's money, on a

  pig in a poke."

  The Homicide Trinity 191

  "Then you did get an inkling."

  "Certainly."

  "Fine. I hope it's not counterfeit." I swiveled and got

  the phone and dialed Saul Panzer's number.

  Chapter 7

  I was there at the beginning of the briefing session in

  Wolfe's bedroom at eight o'clock Tuesday morning,

  but when the phone interrupted us a second time

  Wolfe told me to go down to the office and take it there.

  The first time it was a Times reporter wanting to speak

  with Wolfe, and when I told him Wolfe was busy and

  would I do, he said no and hung up. The second call,

  which I took in the office, was from Lon Cohen of the

  Gazette, who preferred me to Wolfe any day. He

  wanted to know when he could send a photographer to

  take a picture of the dirt Wolfe was going to feed the

  cops. Evidently one of the two who had carried Hattie

  out knew a newspaperman. Lon had other questions,

  naturally, but I told him the answers would have to

  wait until I found out what they were.

  I was considering whether to rejoin the briefing ses-

  sion when the phone rang again. It was Nathaniel

  Parker. He was sorry he hadn't been able to spring our

  client, but it had taken him three hours to find out

  where she was, and he hadn't got to see her until

  midnight. He expected to have her out by noon.

  At nine o'clock the trio came down. One of the rea-

  sons they are better than most is that none of them

  looks it. Saul Panzer, under-sized and wiry, with a big

  nose, could be a hackie. Fred Durkin, broad and burly

  and bald, could be a piano mover. Orrie Gather, tall and

  trim and dressy, could be an automobile salesman. They

  stepped into the office, and Saul said they had been told

  192 Rex Stout

  to take three hundred dollars apiece in used bills. I said

  as I went to open the safe that even with inflation and

  even with janitors promoted to building superinten-

  dents, fifty bucks was the top price for one, and they

  would please return the change. Orrie said that if they

  had to buy clerks and elevator men and neighbors there

  wouldn't be any change. Saul said they would each give

  me a ring every couple of hours or so.

  When they had gone I went on with the morning

  chores—opening the mail, dusting the desks, filing the

  cards of propagation and performance records which

  Theodore puts on my desk every evening. That was

  just for my hands and eyes; my mind was busy with

  something else. Of all the things I do to earn my pay,

  from sharpening pencils to jumping a visitor before he

  can get his gun up, the most important is riding Wolfe,

  and he knows it. Sometimes it's next to impossible to

  tell whether he's working or only pretending to. That

  was the question that morning. If he was only stalling, if

  he had sent for Saul and Fred and Orrie just to keep

  from starting his brain going, the thing for me to do was

  to go up to the plant rooms and go to work on him. It

  was the same old problem, and the trouble was that

  that time I would have nothing to say when he nar-

  rowed his eyes at me, as he would, and inquired coldly,

  "What would you suggest?"

  That was what my mind was on, and was still on when

  the doorbell rang a little after ten o'clock and I went to

  the hall for a look. It was Albert Leach, with his snap-

  brim hat down even closer to his ears than yesterday. I

  went and opened the door.

  "Good morning," he said, and slipped his hand inside

 
; his overcoat.

  I supposed he was producing his credentials. "Don't

  bother," I said, "I recognize you."

  But it wasn't credentials. His name came out with a

  folded paper. Extending it, he said, "Order of the Fed-

  eral District Court."

  I took it, unfolded it, and read. I read it through. "You

  know," I said, "this is a new experience. I can't remem-

  The Homicide Trinity 193

  ber that we have ever been served with an order from a

  Federal court. Mr. Wolfe will be glad to add it to his

  collection." I stuck it in my pocket.

  "You note," he said, "that I am empowered to search

  for the object specified if necessary."

  "You won't have to. You heard me tell Cramer yes-

  terday that I put it in the safe, and it's still there. Come

  in." I gave him room.

  He had excellent manners. He entered, removed his

  hat, stood while I shut the door, and followed me to the

  office. I swung the safe door open, got a comer of the

  wrapping paper with my thumb and forefinger, carried

  it dangling and put it on my desk, and went back and

  brought the lettuce and the string. "There you are," I

  said. "I didn't rewrap it after I lifted the prints."

  His lips tightened. "You said nothing to Inspector

  Cramer about lifting prints."

  "No? I thought I had. Of course that was routine

  after Miss Annis told us how and where she found it.

  You won't find any except hers and mine. I couldn't, and

  I was pretty thorough."

  "You tampered with evidence."

  "What was it evidence of—then?" My feelings were

  hurt. "Anyway, the prints are still there. I'll give you a

  bag to carry it in, but first we'll have to count it and I

  want a receipt. It's still the property of Miss Hattie

  Annis."

  He opened his mouth and closed it again. It was a

  situation. He knew that I knew that he knew that I

  knew it was counterfeit, and therefore we both knew

  that Hattie would never see it again, but he was still

  keeping it off the record. "I'll make a concession," I

  offered. "We'll weigh it on the postal scale. Put it on."

  He picked it up and put it on the scale, and we looked.

  Just under seventeen ounces. I brought a shopping bag

  from the kitchen and gave it to him, got at the type-

  writer, and tapped out a receipt for 16-11/12 oz. of

  twenty-dollar bills. I was tempted to add "in good con-

  dition," but remembered that he had warned me not to

  try any fancy tricks with the Secret Service. As I

  194 Rex Stout

  handed him the receipt and my pen the doorbell rang,

  and I stepped to the hall.

  It was Inspector Cramer. I went and opened the

  door. He entered. I shut the door. When I turned his

  hand was emerging from inside his coat with a folded

  paper. He handed it to me. I read it through. It wouldn't

  be worth keeping as a souvenir—just the State of New

  York.

  "You'll notice," he said, "that I can search for it if I

  have to."

  "You won't have to. You know where it is."

  He strode to the office door and on in. I stopped on

  the sill. Leach, at my desk, with the shopping bag in one

  hand and the bills in the other, turned.

  "It's a problem," I said. "Leach has signed a receipt

  for it, but I can tear it up. Why don't you split it half and

  half?"

  Cramer stood at arm's length from the T-man. A

  muscle in the side of his neck was twitching. "That's

  evidence in a murder case," he said. "I have a court

  order for it."

  "So have I," Leach said. "From a Federal court." He

  put the bills in the bag, taking his time, and tucked the

  bag under his arm. "If you'll send a man to our office

  he'll be allowed to examine it, Inspector. We are always

  ready to cooperate with the local authorities."

  He moved, detouring around Cramer. Cramer

  wheeled and followed him, and I stepped aside to let

  them by. As Cramer passed he gave me a glare that

  would have withered a lesser man. I didn't cooperate by

  going to open the door because I wasn't sure I could

  keep my face straight, and when they were out and the

  door had closed I quit trying. A whoop had wanted out

  the second Cramer produced the paper, and now I let it

  come. I laughed so loud and so long that Fritz appeared

  at the kitchen door to ask what had happened.

  There was no point in disturbing Wolfe in the plant

  rooms, so I let it wait until he came down at eleven

  o'clock. He never whoops, but when I reported and

  showed him the court orders he allowed himself an

  The Homicide Trinity 195

  all-out chuckle and there was a twinkle in his eye. He

  said it was just as well he hadn't been present, since

  Cramer would probably have accused him of staging it,

  and I agreed. I said I was glad the stuff was out of the

  house, and he agreed.

  Calls came from Saul and Fred and Orrie during the

  next half hour. Nothing promising. Orrie had spoken

  with Max Eder, the janitor of the building, and three

  other tenants. Fred had bought a squirrel and a kanga-

  roo and had spent an hour in the workroom in the rear

  of the shop. Saul hadn't been inside the building that

  contained the Mushroom Theater. From the outside it

  looked as if it might collapse if you leaned against it. He

  had spent the two hours covering the neighborhood.

  When I relayed the reports to Wolfe, who was doing a

  crossword puzzle in the London Observer, all I got was

  a grunt. I had about decided it was time to go to work on

  him when the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.

  It was our lawyer and our client. I hadn't told him to

  bring her. I was in no mood for her, and Wolfe certainly

  wasn't. All I could tell her was that Wolfe either had an

  inkling or hadn't, and he was spending her money at the

  rate of fifty bucks an hour. I went and opened the door

  but occupied the threshold.

  "Greetings," I said heartily. "This is a relief! I'm

  sorry we couldn't make it sooner, Hattie, but Mr.

  Parker did his best. You'll take her home, Nat? I'm tied

  up here."

  "Don't call me Hattie," she said, "until I find what

  you're up to."

  "I brought her here," Parker said, "because she in-

  sisted." He looked harassed. "I'll be going. I've canceled

  two appointments and I'm late for another one. Let me

  know if you need me." He went.

  "Every time I come here," Hattie said, "there you

  stand. What good does it do to open the door if you fill it

  up?"

  I stood aside and she entered. She took off the gray

  woolen gloves and stuck them in her coat pocket, and

  unbuttoned her coat, and I certainly would have been

  196 Rex Stout

  no good if I hadn't helped her off with the coat, so I did,

  and put it on a hanger. By the time I had it on the rack

  she was at the office door, entering, and by the time I

 
; got to the office she was in the red leather chair and

  Wolfe was glowering at her.

  "About that lawyer," she said. "I'm not going to pay

  him too, and I told him so. When I told Buster I could

  pay forty-two thousand dollars that includes every-

  thing."

  Wolfe looked at me. I nodded. "All right. I told you I

  was under a spell. I scaled it down."

  He looked at her. "Very well, madam, I'll pay the

  lawyer. You came to tell me that?"

  "I told you before not to madam me. First I want to

  see that counterfeit money, then I'll know I can trust

  you. Show it to me."

  Wolfe looked at me. I have seen him handle many a

  crisis, but that was too tough for him. "Archie?" he said.

  I opened my desk drawer, took out three sheets of

  paper, and went and handed her one of them. "A cop

  named Cramer brought that," I said. "Signed by a

  judge, ordering us to give him the bills and the wrap-

  per. Cramer knows Mr. Wolfe and me and doesn't like

  us. When he handed me that he sneered."

  "I thought so. You're no good. So you—"

  "Wait a minute. We had been afraid that would hap-

  pen. The cop was too late." I handed her another paper.

  "A man had already come with that, signed by a Fed-

  eral judge, and I had turned the money over to him, so

  the cop was out of luck. I don't say we had arranged it,

  but facts are facts. The cop was so sore he marched out

  without a word." I handed her the third paper. "That's

  the receipt the man signed."

  She hadn't even glanced at any of the documents. She

  handed them back. "I wish I had been here," she said.