bet with Saul Panzer that I can do it in two minutes flat
with three more tries.
Cramer and Stebbins finally decided they had had
enough of me. It was 9:32 by my watch, and 9:34 by the
clock on the wall, which was wrong, as I crossed the
reception room of the precinct house to the door, and on
122 Rex Stout
out. I stood on the sidewalk for three good breaths of
the cold fresh air, giving my lungs a treat and deciding
which way to turn. If right, toward Eighth Avenue, it
would be for a taxi; if left, toward Ninth, it would be for
a fifteen-minute walk. Voting for the walk, I moved,
and had taken three steps when my shoulder was
grabbed and yanked from behind and a voice came,
with feeling: “You dirty rat!”
The yank had turned me some and I turned myself
the rest of the way. It was Theodore Weed. His hands
were fists, and the right one was back a foot, with the
elbow bent. His eyes were blazing and his bony jaw was
set.
“Not here, you damn fool,” I said. “Even if you drop
me with one swing, which is doubtful, I’ll yell police as I
go down and here they’ll come. Besides, I have a right
to know why I’m a rat while I’m still conscious. Why?”
“You know why. You’re a filthy stool, and Nero
Wolfe too. You’re working for Lucy? You are like hell.
You gave the police the gun.”
“How do you know we did?”
“Things they asked me. Do you deny it?”
My brain was a little tired after the long day, but it
was doing its best. This character was by no means
crossed off. We only had his word for it that he would
give both arms to help Lucy; he had said himself that
she didn’t know how he felt about her. A chat with him
wouldn’t hurt and might help, but I couldn’t take him
home with me until I knew what Wolfe had on his
program, if anything.
He still had fists. “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “We’ll go
around the comer to Jake’s and I’ll buy you a drink and
we’ll discuss it. Then if you still want to take a poke at
me Jake will let us use the back room provided we let
him watch. Afterwards you can comb your hair if you’re
up to it. It needs it.”
It didn’t appeal to him, but what would have? A
couple of passersby, noticing his stance and his fists,
had stopped to see, and a harness bull, emerging from
the station, had also stopped. So he came.
The Homicide Trinity 123
At Jake’s, when we had sat at a table by the wall and
given our orders to the white apron, and I said I had to
make a phone call, he got up and came along to the
booth. Very bad manners, but I didn’t correct him. I
even let him stand in the door of the booth so I couldn’t
close it. I dialed a number and got it.
“Me. In a booth on Eighth Avenue. Theodore Weed is
here at my elbow. He stopped me on the sidewalk to tell
me that you and I are filthy stools because we gave the
gun to the cops. When I asked him how he knew we did
he said from things they asked him, which is possible
since he had just come from Homicide West, probably
from a session with Rowcliff, and you know Rowcliff.
I’m buying him a drink, but I thought you might like to
apologize to him personally for tossing our client to the
wolves. He has blood in his eye.”
“No. Come home at once.”
“You have Saul.”
“Not here. I need you. Mrs. Oliver and Mr. Perdis are
in the front room. Mrs. Oliver has been here since seven
o’clock. Mr. Khoury will arrive at any moment. I have
been pestered by this confounded telephone all day.
Mrs. Talbot called for the fifth time half an hour ago to
say that she hopes to be here by ten o’clock, and it’s
nearly that now. On second thought, bring Mr. Weed. I
have a question for him.”
“You’ll have to bulldog him first.”
“Pfui. Bring him. How soon will you be here?”
I told him fifteen minutes, and hung up. “No time for
a drink,” I told Weed. “Nor for a floor show, with me on
the floor. Mr. Wolfe wants me. You may came along if
you care to.”
“I was going there,” he said grimly, “when I saw
you.”
“Good. But take it easy. He has a knife in his belt that
he uses to stab people in the back.”
On the way out I handed the white apron, whose
name was Gil, a couple of ones. Outside, we flagged a
taxi, and as it rolled uptown I undertook to straighten
him out. “Look at it,” I said. “If we’re stools and selling
124 Rex Stout
her to the cops there’s not much of anything you can do
but shoot us, and even that wouldn’t help her any. The
fact is, we’re with her and you’re not. We know she
didn’t kill her husband. Either you thought she had and
probably still do, or you killed him yourself. If the
former, your feeling for her has got a smudge. If
the latter, you did a swell job, handling it so that she
gets the credit for it. Go soak your head.”
“Why did you give the police the gun?”
“Soak your head some more. We’re working for her,
not you.”
No comment until the cab was turning into 35th
Street, then: “I don’t think she killed him.”
“Good for you. We appreciate it.”
“And I didn’t.”
“That’s not so important, but we’ll keep it in mind.”
At the curb in front of the old brownstone there was
a black limousine with a chauffeur in it. That would be
Mrs. Oliver’s. Mounting the seven steps to the stoop, I
used my key, but the chain bolt was on and I had to ring
for Fritz. As he took Weed’s coat and I disposed of
mine, he said, “Thank God, Archie, thank God,” and I
asked him what for, and he said, “For you. It has been
very bad. Three phone calls during dinner, and that
woman was in the front room.”
“I can imagine. How many are in there now?”
“Three. Her and two men.”
So Khoury had come. I took Weed to the office. Wolfe
was at his desk with a book. Weed headed for him,
talking. “I want to know why—”
“Shut up!” Wolfe bellowed.
Wolfe’s bellow would stop a tiger ready to spring.
Weed stood and glared at him. Wolfe finished a para-
graph, inserted his marker, put the book down, and
issued a command. “Sit down. I prefer eyes at my level.
Sit down! When you arrived at the Hazens’ for dinner
Monday evening were the others already there?”
“I want to know why you gave the gun—”
“Bah. Are you a jackass? You must be, to suppose
you can call me to account. Sit down! You said you
The Homicide Trinity 125
would give an arm to help Mrs. Hazen. Keep your arm;
I want only some information. Must I repeat my ques-
tion?”
Five of the yellow chairs were there. Weed took the
nearest one. He ran his fingers through his mop of hair,
but only a comb and brush could have handled it. “Mrs.
Oliver was there,” he said. “And Khoury. Perdis and
Mrs. Talbot came soon after I did. I don’t see why—”
“This is what I want to know. While you were there,
was any one of them absent from the gathering long
enough to go to Mr. Hazen’s bedroom and back? Con-
sider it. Dismiss your fatuous huff for the moment and
put your mind on something pertinent.”
Weed tried to. To do so he had to take his eyes from
Wolfe, so he tilted his head back and looked at the
ceiling. He took his time, then lowered his head. “I don’t
think so. I’m pretty sure none of them left the room at
all, either before we went to the dining room or after. Of
course they were all there when I left, so—”
The doorbell rang. I went to the hall, but Fritz was
there opening the door. When the newcomer had
crossed the sill I stepped back into the office and gave
Wolfe a nod, and he asked, “Mrs. Talbot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Weed to the hall, then bring them in, and Mr.
Weed to the front room. We may need him later.”
“I’m staying right here,” Weed declared, “until I—”
“You are not. I have work to do and no time to bicker
with you. Out. Out!”
“But damn it—”
“Out.”
Weed looked at me, standing at the door. What he