knowledge of a murder might have ended his life. You
might have known—”
MRS. SORELL: “If he says he believes I killed that
woman he’s lying. He killed her. He’s a rat and a liar. He
phoned me twice yesterday, first to tell me that we had
been seen in the lunchroom, to warn me, and again
about an hour later to say that he had dealt with it, that
our plan was safe. So he had killed her. When Goodwin
told me there had been developments I knew what it
was, I knew he would lose his nerve, I knew he would
lie. He’s a rat. That’s why I came. I admit I concealed
guilty knowledge of a murder, and I know that was
wrong, but it’s not too late. Is it too late?”
WOLFE: “No. A purge can both clean your conscience
and save your skin. What time did he phone you the
second time?”
MRS. SORELL: “I don’t know exactly. It was between
five and six. Around half past five.”
WOLFE: “What was the plan he had made safe?”
MRS. SORELL: “Of course he has lied about that too. It
was his plan. He came to me about a month ago and said
he could give me information about my husband that I
could use to make—that I could use to get my rights.
He wanted—”
Heydecker jerked his head up and yapped, “That’s a
lie! I didn’t go to her, she came to me!” That added to my
knowledge of human nature. He hadn’t uttered a peep
when she accused him of murder. Edey, who was still
there staring down at him, said something I didn’t catch.
Mrs. Sorell was going on: “He wanted me to agree to
pay him a million dollars for it, but I couldn’t because I
didn’t know how much I would get, and I finally said I
would pay him one-tenth of what I got. That was that
evening at the lunchroom.”
WOLFE: “Has he given you the information?”
MRS. SORELL: “No. He wanted too much in advance. Of
course that was the difficulty. We couldn’t put it in
writing and sign it.”
WOLFE: “No indeed. A signed document is of little
66 Rex Stout
value when neither party would dare to produce it. I
presume you realize, Mrs. Sorell, that your purge will
have to include your appearance on the stand at a
murder trial. Are you prepared to testify under oath?”
MRS. SORELL: “I suppose I’ll have to. I knew I would
have to when I decided to come to see you.”
Wolfe (in a new tone, the snap of a whip): “Then
you’re a dunce, madam.”
Again that would have been my cue if I were needed.
The whole point of the set-up, having the four members
of the firm in the front room listening in, was to get
Heydecker committed before witnesses. If his nerve
had held it would have been risky for Wolfe to crack the
whip. But he was done for. He hadn’t written out a
confession and signed it, but he might as well have.
MRS. SORELL: “Oh, no, Mr. Wolfe. I’m not a dunce.”
WOLFE: “But you are. One detail alone would sink you.
After you rang this number yesterday afternoon, and
Miss Aaron answered, and you spoke with her, you got
here as quickly as possible. Since you were not then
contemplating murder, there was no reason for you to
use caution. I don’t know if you have a car and chauf-
feur, but even if you have, to send for it would have
meant delay, and minutes were precious. There is no
crosstown subway. Buses, one downtown and one
crosstown, would have been far too slow. Unquestion-
ably you took a cab. In spite of the traffic that would
have been much faster than walking. The doorman at
the Churchill probably summoned one for you, but even
if he didn’t, it will be a simple matter to find it. I need
only telephone Mr. Cramer, the police inspector who
was here this afternoon, and suggest that he locate the
cab driver who picked you up at or near the Churchill
yesterday afternoon and drove you to this address. In
fact, that is what I intend to do, and that will be enough.”
Ann Paige stood up. She was in a fix. She wanted to
go to Gregory Jett, where her eyes already were, but
she didn’t want to leave Lamont Otis, who was slumped
in his chair, his head sagging and his eyes shut. Luckily
Jett saw her difficulty and went to her and put an arm
The Homicide Trinity 67
around her. It scored a point for romance that he could
have a thought for personal matters at the very mo-
ment his firm was getting a clout on the jaw.
WOLFE: “I shall also suggest that he send a man here
to take you in hand until the cab driver is found. If you
ask why I don’t proceed to do this, why I first announce
it to you, I confess a weakness. I am savoring a satis-
faction. I am getting even with you. Twenty-five hours
ago, in this room, you subjected me to the severest
humiliation I have suffered for many years. I will not
say it gives me pleasure, but I confess it—”
There was a combination of sounds from the speaker:
a kind of cry or squeal, presumably from Mrs. Sorell, a
sort of scrape or flutter, and what might have been a
grunt from Wolfe. I dived for the connecting door and
went with it as I swung it open, and kept going, but two
paces short ofWolfe’s desk I halted to take in a sight I
had never seen before and never expect to see again:
Nero Wolfe with his arms tight around a beautiful
young woman in his lap, pinning her arms, hugging her
close to him. I stood paralyzed.
“Archie!” he roared. “Confound it, get her!”
I obeyed.
Chapter 9
I would like to be able to report that Wolfe got
somewhere with his effort to minimize the damage
to the firm, but I have to be candid and accurate.
He tried but there wasn’t much he could do, since
Heydecker was the chief witness for the prosecution at
the trial and was cross-examined for six hours. Of
course that finished him professionally. Wolfe had bet-
ter luck with another effort; the DA finally conceded
that I was competent to identify Exhibit C, a brown silk
necktie with little yellow curlicues, and Wolfe wasn’t
68 Rex Stout
called. Evidently the jury agreed with him, since it only
took them five hours to bring in a verdict of guilty.
At that, the firm is still doing business at the old
stand, and Lament Otis still comes to the office five
days a week, and I hear that since Gregory Jett’s mar-
riage to Ann Paige he has quit being careless about the
balance between income and outgo. I don’t know if his
eleven-percent cut has been boosted. That’s a confiden-
tial matter.
DEATH OF A
DEMON
Chapter 1
The red leather chair was four feet away from the
end of Nero Wolfe’s desk, so when she got the
gun from her handbag she had to get up and
take a step to put it on the desk. Then she returned to
the chair, closed the bag, and told Wolfe, “That’s the
gun I’m not going to shoot my husband with.”
Sitting facing her with my back to my desk, which
was at right angles to Wolfe’s, I raised my brows. I
hadn’t expected her to put on an act. When she had
phoned the previous afternoon to ask for an appoint-
ment she had of course sounded a little jumpy, as most
people do when they call the office of a private detec-
tive, but she had been quite matter-of-fact in giving the
details. Her name was Lucy Hazen, Mrs. Barry Hazen.
She gave her address, on East 37th Street between
Park and Lexington. All she wanted was thirty minutes
with Nero Wolfe, to tell him something confidential.
She didn’t want him to do anything, not even give her
advice; she merely wanted to tell him something; and
she would pay one hundred dollars for the half-hour.
She could and would pay more if she had to, but she
hoped the hundred would be enough.
72 Rex Stout
In November or December, when Wolfe’s income has
reached a point where out of a hundred received he can
keep only twenty bucks, he will make an appointment
only for someone or something very special, but this
was January, no big fee was in prospect, and even a
measly C would help in the upkeep of his old brown-
stone on West 35th Street, including staff, particularly
since he wouldn’t have to work for it. So it was set for
11:30 the following morning, Tuesday.