here with that jabber, she is either completely loony or
the trickiest specimen I have ever laid eyes on, and I’ll
buy neither one. Second, and this is really it, her face
when she realized he was dead. She might fake a faint
or the staggers or even some fancy hysterics, but no
woman alive could make her blood go like that. I said I
would need facts to make it final, but I should have said
I would need facts, and good ones, to make me guess
again.”
Wolfe grunted and turned to her with a scowl.
“Granting that Mr. Goodwin’s grounds are valid, what
then? When the police leam that the widow of a man
murdered last night came to see me this morning they
will harass me beyond tolerance. I owe you nothing.
You are not my client. You have paid me a hundred
dollars for half an hour of my time, now stretched to
more than an hour, and released me from my promise,
so that incident is closed. You asked me to tell you what
to say when they ask you what you came here for, but
The Homicide Trinity 81
they will also ask me. What if you fail to follow my
advice and my account differs from yours? Why should
I take that risk? I can see no alternative— What are
you doing now?”
She had opened her bag and was taking out the
check-fold and pen. “I’m going to write a check,” she
said. “Then I’ll be your client. What shall I … how
much?”
He nodded. “I expected that too. It won’t do. I am not
a blackmailer. I take pay for services, not for forbear-
ance, and you may not need my services. If you do, we’ll
see. Will you answer some questions?”
“Of course. But I’ve taken more than my half an hour,
and I owe you—”
“No. If you didn’t shoot your husband we have both
been snared by circumstance. First, instead of a ques-
tion, a statement: you can’t take the gun. The gun stays
here. Now. When and where did—”
“But I’m going to put it back where I got it!”
“No. I accept Mr. Goodwin’s guess as a hypothesis,
but I can’t let you take the gun. When and where did
you last see your husband?”
“Last night. At home. We had people for dinner.”
“Details. How many people? Their names.”
“They were clients of Barry’s, important clients—all
but one. Mrs. Victor Oliver. Anne Talbot, Mrs. Henry
Lewis Talbot. Jules Khoury. Ambrose Perdis. Ted—
Theodore Weed—he’s not a client, he works for Barry.
Seven, counting Barry and me.”
“When did the guests leave?”
“I don’t know exactly. Barry had told me he was
going to discuss something with them, and I wouldn’t
be needed, and after the coffee I left. That’s when I last
saw him, there with them. I went upstairs to my bed-
room.”
“Did you hear him when he went up to bed?”
“No. There’s a spare bedroom between his room and
mine. And I was played out. I told you, I had the first
good night’s sleep I have had for a month.”
“You didn’t see him this morning?”
82 Rex Stout
“No. He wasn’t there. He rises early. The maid
who—oh. Oh!”
“What?”
“Nothing—nothing that matters to you. I am not
liking myself, Mr. Wolfe. I said he rises early, but now I
can say he rose early, and I wanted to sing it. I did! No
one is good enough to have a right to be glad that
someone has died. The Lord knows I’m not. What if I
never loved him? What if I married him because—”
Wolfe cut her off. “If you please. You’ll have plenty of
time for that. About the maid?”
She swallowed with her lips pressed tight. “I’m
sorry. The maid who sleeps in and gets breakfast said
he hadn’t come down, and she had gone up and the door
of his room was open and his bed hadn’t been slept in.
He had done that before, not very often, once or twice a
month.”
“Without telling you where he was going or, after-
wards, where he had been?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know or can you guess where he went last
night, or with whom, or to whom?”
“No. I have no idea.”
“I am still assuming that you didn’t kill him, but how
vulnerable are you? Were you continually in your
house—it is a house, not an apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Were you in it continually from the time you went to
your bedroom last night until you left this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Would the maid have heard you if you had gone out
during the night? Sneaked out, and later in again?”
“I don’t think so. Her room is in the basement.”
Wolfe nodded. “You are vulnerable. What time did
you leave this morning?”
“At five minutes past eleven. I wanted to be sure to
get here on time.”
“When did you take the gun from the drawer in your
husband’s room?”
The Homicide Trinity 83
“Just before I left. I didn’t decide to bring it until the
last minute.”
“How many people know that you despised your
husband?”
She gazed at him, not blinking, no reply.
“‘Despise’ is your word, Mrs. Hazen. It is not ade-
quate. No one kills a man, or wants to, merely because
she despises him. But I’m not going into that; it could
take all day. How many people know that you despised
him?”
“I don’t think anyone does.” It was barely audible,
and I have good ears. “I have never told anyone, not
even my best friend. She may have suspected, I sup-
pose she did.”
“Pfui.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “Your maid knows, for
one, if she’s not a dolt. She is of course being questioned
at this moment. Was your husband wealthy?”
“I don’t know. He had a large income, he must have,
he was free with money. He owned the house.”
“Any children?”
“No.”
“You will inherit?”
Her eyes flashed. “Mr. Wolfe, this is ridiculous! I
don’t want anything from him!”
“I am merely examining your position. You will in-
herit?”
“Yes. He told me I would.”
“Didn’t he know you despised him?”
“He was incapable of believing that anyone could
despise him. I suppose he was a psychopath. I looked up
psychopathy in the dictionary.”
“No doubt that was a help.” He looked up at the wall
clock. “I presume you will now go home. Since you must
tell the police that you were here you might as well say
that you learned of your husband’s death from my
radio; it will save you the bother of feigning surprise
and shock.” He eyed her. “I said you would be in a
pickle, and you are. When I asked what you wanted of
me, I shall say that you consulted me in confidence and
I will reveal nothing of your conversation. It will be a
84 Rex Stout
little ticklish, but until and unless you are arrested on a
charge of murder the pressure will not be intolerable.
So you may tell them as much about your visit here, or
as little, as you please.”
She opened her bag. “I’m going to write a check. You
must take it. You must!”
“No. You may not be in jeopardy. They may get the
murderer today or tomorrow. If they do I may send you
a bill for the extra hour; it will depend on my mood. If
they don’t, and you wish to engage my services, and Mr.
Goodwin’s guess has not been discredited, we’ll see.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up.
She rose to her feet, steady this time, and I went and
held her coat for her.
Chapter 3
When I returned to the office after letting her
out, Wolfe had straightened up in his chair to
lean forward, and, with his head cocked, was
sniffing the air. For a second I thought he was pretend-
ing that our ex-client had polluted the atmosphere with
perfume, but then I realized that he was merely trying
to catch an odor from the kitchen, where Fritz was
baking scallops in shells—or probably, since I could
catch the odor without sniffing, he was deciding
whether Fritz had used only shallots in the sauce or had
added an onion. By the time I got to my chair he had
settled it; anyway, he turned to me.
“I do not intend,” he stated, “to serve the conve-
nience of a murderer. What about her face? I was at one
side.”
“One will get you fifty,” I said. “You heard her stut-
ter that I was m-m-making it up. Then when I said no,
he had been shot dead and it hit her as a fact, she went
The Homicide Trinity 85
white, all white, in three seconds. Maybe she can wiggle
her ears, but she can’t do that. No one can.”