information for you. I would want to see the laboratory
report, certified.”
“You would.” Cramer’s eyes were slits and his lips
tightened. “Where did you get this bullet?”
“I’ll tell you, or I won’t, when I get your report.”
“By God.” Cramer was hoarser. “This is pertinent.
This is evidence. I’ll take you down, both of you—”
“Nonsense. Evidence of what? I don’t know and nei-
ther do you. If it wasn’t fired by the gun that killed Mr.
Hazen it is evidence of nothing, and I am not obliged to
account for it until I know. I’m not indulging in a prank,
Mr. Cramer. There is a possibility that the bullets will
match, and if so it will indeed be evidence. Let me
know.”
Cramer opened his mouth to say something, vetoed
it, got to his feet, put the bullet in his pocket, threw the
cigar at my wastebasket and missed, picked up his coat
and put it on, ignoring my offer to help, and marched
out. I went to the hall to see that when the door shut he
was on the outside. When I returned to the office Wolfe
growled. “Confound these interruptions. We have forty
minutes. Where were we on that letter to Mr. Hewitt?”
I sat, got my notebook, and told him.
At four o’clock, when he left to go up to the plant
rooms for his two-hour afternoon session with the or-
chids, I got busy at the typewriter. On various occa-
sions I have had a little trouble turning out perfect
letters to orchid collectors and providers of food spe-
cialties when my mind had other interests and con-
cerns, and that day was one of the worst. Cramer had
left at 3:20. He would lose no time getting the bullet to
the laboratory; they probably had it by 3:50, or four
o’clock at the latest. Examining two bullets with a
comparison microscope is a simple chore; ten minutes is
ample to decide if they were fired by the same gun. 4:10.
Allow a quarter of an hour for writing the report, which
90 Rex Stout
wouldn’t have to be in shape for a judge and jury. 4:25.
Cramer would have a man there waiting for it. He
should phone by 4:30, or ring the doorbell by 4:45. He
didn’t.
By 5:151 had to keep my jaw set to hit the right keys.
If you think I was keyed up more than the circum-
stances warranted, look it over. If the bullets matched I
was a sap. It was a million to one that the murderer
hadn’t sneaked into the house to put the gun back in the
drawer in Hazen’s room; why would he? Murderers
often do crazy things, but not that crazy. Therefore
Mrs. Hazen had lied, and she had either killed him or
knew who did, and I was a beetlehead. I had to do three
of the letters twice.
By six o’clock, when Wolfe came down from the plant
rooms, I had begun to relax. He went to his desk and
started on the letters I had put there, which he always
reads with care. After he had finished a couple and
signed them I remarked, “Of course Cramer wouldn’t
bother to phone if the bullets didn’t match.”
He grunted.
“And the laboratory got it more than two hours ago,
so we might as well—”
The doorbell rang, and the bottom of my spine curled.
Cramer had waited until six o’clock, when he knew
Wolfe would be available. I went to the hall and
switched the stoop light on, and my spine went back to
normal. It was a stranger, a man about my age, maybe
a little younger, with no hat and a mop of brown hair
shuffled by the wind. I had never been so delighted to
see a stranger, but had it under control by the time I got
to the door and opened it and said, “Yes, sir?”
“I want to see Nero Wolfe. My name’s Weed, Theodore
Weed.”
I should have had him wait there while I went and
told Wolfe, that was the routine, but I was so glad to see
him that I invited him in and helped him off with his
coat. Then I went to the office and announced, “The-
odore Weed to see you. One of the dinner guests. The
one who—”
The Homicide Trinity 91
“What does he want?”
He knew damn well I hadn’t had time to ask what he
wanted. I said, “You.”
“No. I’ve been pestered enough on a matter in which
I have no interest. Tell him so and don’t—”
Weed was there. He crossed to the red leather chair,
plumped into it as if he owned it, and said, “I’m not
going to pester you. I’m going to hire you.”
Wolfe glared at me. I had let a man in without con-
sulting him; he would have something to say about that
when we were alone. Weed was going on. “I know you
come high, but I pay my bills. Do you want a retainer?”
Wolfe had transferred the glare to him. “No. You not
only intrude, you presume. Archie, show him the door.”
“Now wait a minute. I’m not very . . .” He let it
hang and started to work his jaw. He had plenty of jaw,
a little bony but not out of proportion. He got it under
control. “All right, I started wrong. I’ll try again. Mrs.
Barry Hazen came to see you this morning and left a
gun with you. Where is it?”
“Intrusion and presumption,” Wolfe said, “and now
effrontery. I must insist—”
“Damn it, I know she did! She told me so! She was
here when she heard about it, that they had found his
body! And she wanted to hire you, she wanted to give
you a check, and you wouldn’t take it!” He paused to
control his jaw. “So I want to hire you, and I’ll pay your
bill. I just left the District Attorney’s office and she’s
still there. They wouldn’t let me see her, but she’s there
and they’re going to charge her with murder. I can’t see
why it’s presumption for me to want to hire you—
you’re in the detective business and my money is as
good as anybody’s. All right, I got ahead of myself
asking you about the gun, but when I’m your client
there’s no reason why you shouldn’t tell me where it is.”
He stuck a hand in his pocket and brought out a wad of
bills, not a thick one, and unfolded it.
I was trying to decide. Either he thought that Lucy
Hazen had killed her husband, and was being ehival-
92 Rex Stout
rous, or he didn’t think she had but was selling Wolfe
the idea that he did think so. Whichever it was, he was
willing to spend money on it, for he got up from his chair
to put the bills on Wolfe’s desk.
As Wolfe started to speak the phone rang, and I
turned and got it. It was Lucy Hazen. She asked for
Wolfe, and I told her to hold it and turned to him. “The
woman that brought the sausage this morning wants to
know if it will do. If you want to ask Fritz you can talk
on the kitchen extension.”
He got up and went, and I held on. In a moment
his voice was in my ear. “This is Nero Wolfe. Mrs.
Hazen?”
“Yes. You said this morning that if I need your ser-
vices you would see.” Her voice was shaky. “I do need
them. I’m going to be arrested, and I—”
“Where are you?”
“At the District Attorney’s. I don’t know any—”
“Say only what you must say on the telephone.”
“I’m in a booth with the door closed.”
“Pfui. It is probably not only heard but also recorded.
Say only what you must.”
“All right.” A little pause. “He said I could phone a
lawyer, and I don’t know any except my husband’s, and
I don’t want him. Will you get one for me?”
“I’ll send one to you. After speaking with him you can
decide whether to engage him.”
“I will. Of course. But I want to engage you too. You
said you would if I needed you.”
“I said I would see.” A pause, longer than hers. If he
committed himself he would have to work, and he
would rather eat than work. “Very well.” He growled
it. “I am engaged. One question: have you disclosed any
of your conversation with me? Yes or no.”
“No.”
“Satisfactory. One instruction: if you have an inten-
tion to reject property left you by your husband you
will neither declare it nor indicate it. You’re going to
have some bills to pay.”
“But I don’t want anything from him! I told you—”
The Homicide Trinity 93
“We’re on the phone. The lawyer will join me in that