not a liar. I’m under her spell and I’m in her debt. She
made Cramer ask me a favor.”
Silence. Then, more growl. “Come home and report.
We’ll see.”
Chapter 5
One of the rules in that house is no business talk at
meals, ever, and another is no business in the
plant rooms except in emergencies. That winter
day the emergency was not that some sudden develop-
ment demanded immediate action or that an important
case had reached a crisis; it was that Wolfe had to
decide, to work or not to work, and he could get no
pleasure fiddling with orchids with that hanging over
him. He took my report not in one of the three plant
rooms, with their dazzle of color, but in the potting
room, perched on his made-to-order stool, at the bench.
Theodore was washing pots at the sink, and I used his
stool.
Wolfe keeps his eyes closed when I am reporting and
176 Rex Stout
rarely interrupts with questions. When I finished he
took in air clear down to his middle, let it out, opened his
eyes, and grunted. “Any comments or suggestions?”
“Yes, sir, plenty. First, Hattie Annis is out. She
couldn’t possibly have been faking it when we went in
and found the body. I wouldn’t try to predict what she’s
going to do, but I know what she didn’t do. She didn’t
kill Tammy Baxter. Second, their not asking if I knew
the money is counterfeit is an insult to my intelligence
and yours too. Leach had told Canner not to mention it
because what he wants is to find the source. He’d rather
catch a counterfeiter than a murderer any day, and if
counterfeiting was mentioned to me I might mention it
to a reporter. Evidently he thinks we can’t add two and
two. A T-man coming to ask me about a woman who had
left a package of bills with me, and the idea that they
might be counterfeit wouldn’t occur to me?”
“He didn’t know she had been here and left a pack-
age.”
“He did when I was being questioned. He heard me
tell Cramer. Cramer must have been biting nails. He’d
love to get us for being in possession of a stack of the
queer. Ten to one Leach didn’t know he sent Stebbins
here to get it. Third, Tammy Baxter was a T-woman.”
Wolfe made a face. “That mean something?”
“It does now. If there are T-men there can be a
T-woman, though I’ve never heard of one. This morning
Leach asked if she was here, and when I told him she
had been and gone he asked if she had been back or
phoned and then switched to Hattie Annis. Why didn’t
he ask what Tammy Baxter had said? Because he knew;
she had reported to him. Also he knew the phone num-
ber of that house. Also Cramer. Why wasn’t he more
interested in my talk with Tammy Baxter only an hour
or so before she was murdered? Because he already
knew about it from Leach.”
“Then she had been posted in that house by the
Secret Service?”
“Sure. A good guess is that they knew someone who
lived there had passed bad money. I doubt if they knew
The Homicide Trinity 177
which one, because if so they know who killed Tammy
Baxter, and I don’t think they would dare not to tell
Cramer—but it’s possible. Their big play isn’t for the
passers, it’s for the plant. Four, one of the four roomers
is it, on account of the knife. It came from that kitchen.
Raymond Dell, Noel Ferris, Paul Hannah, Martha
Kirk. If one or more of them have been crossed off by
alibis that would narrow it. Five, if Hattie Annis is your
client you probably want to speak to Parker, since you
are against leaving a client in the coop. I’ll ring him.”
“I haven’t told you to.”
“Do you tell me not to?”
He tightened his lips. He took a deep breath. “Con-
found you. Call him.”
“Right. But first one more. Six, I see no reason why I
shouldn’t try the package for prints, since it hasn’t
occurred to us that the bills may be phony. I’m assum-
ing that you don’t intend to let loose of your client’s
property unless a court orders you to.”
“Certainly not. But there will be other prints than
yours. Hers.”
“I’ve got hers.”
“You have.”
“Yes, sir. In case.”
“So.” He got off the stool. “So you make the decisions.
Let me know if you wish to confer. Go.”
I went. It isn’t easy to pass down the aisles of those
three rooms without stopping, even in an emergency,
but that time I stopped only once, where a group of
Miltonia roezlis were sporting more than fifty racemes
on four feet of bench. It was the best crop of Miltonias
Wolfe (and Theodore) had ever had. The display is
always harder to believe when snow is dancing on the
sloping glass overhead.
Since it was after office hours I dialed the home
number of Nathaniel Parker, the lawyer, got him, put
him through to Wolfe, and listened in, as I am supposed
to when not told to get off. He was a little doubtful
about springing our client before morning, since they
had had to smash a door to get to her and she wasn’t
178 Rex Stout
talking, but he said he would get on it immediately and
do his best. That done, I went to the safe and got the
wrapping paper and bills.
It was a two-hour job, and I took an hour out for
dinner, so it was after nine o’clock when I finished. It
took so long because (a) wrapping paper is a mean
surface to lift prints from, (b) I had to check and double-
check every print with Hattie’s and mine, and (c) I had
to be darned careful to leave the evidence intact if there
was any there. During the last hour, after dinner, Wolfe
was there at his desk in the only chair he really likes,
reading his current book. Now and then he shot me a
glance, of course hoping that I would announce that we
had him, and his job would be simple. But at a quarter
past nine I swiveled and spoke. “No. Positively. Seven
good prints, twelve fair ones, and fourteen smudges.
The only ones that can be identified are Hattie’s and
mine. Either he never handled it without gloves or he
wiped it.”
I’ll say this for him, he never asks silly questions like
Are you sure, or Have you tried the bills too. He merely
growled, “It was too much to expect.” He picked up his
bookmark, a thin strip of gold that had been given him
by a client in spite of the size of his bill, inserted it, and
put the book down. “What do you suggest?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, I took the bills and wrapping
paper, still handling them with care, and went to the
safe and put them in. “Now,” I said, returning, “it will
take a brain, and you know where one is. I only run
errands. I know you never leave the house on business,
but if you—”
The doorbell rang. I offered myself three to one that
it was Cramer, probably with Leach for company,
stepped to the hall, and flipped the switch for the stoop
light. It had been a bad bet. I stepped back in and told
Wolfe, “All four of them. Dell, Ferris, Hannah, and
Martha Kirk.”
He glared at me. “You invited them?”
“No, sir. It’s a surprise party. People have no consid-
eration. They might at least have phoned.”
The Homicide Trinity 179
“It’s impossible! I’m not ready. I haven’t prepared
my mind.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s
impossible. Bring them in.”
I went to the front and opened the door, and invited
them to enter. Martha Kirk, first in, did not curtsy, and
Raymond Dell didn’t bow. When I turned after shut-
ting the door she was sitting on the bench pulling off her
galoshes and the men were removing their coats.
“Have you written your piece?” Dell demanded.
That had been so long ago, eight whole hours, that for
a second I didn’t get him. “Oh,” I said. “I had forgotten
I was doing one. I got interrupted.”
“We want to see Nero Wolfe,” Martha Kirk said.
“And you.”
“Then you might as well have us together. This way.”
I went to the office door and stood aside, and they filed
in. Wolfe arose, inclined his head an eighth of an inch as
I pronounced each name, and sat. He never shakes
hands with strangers. I was going to put Martha Kirk in
the red leather chair, but Dell beat us to it, so I moved
up a yellow one for her, next to me, and Ferris and