question is, what are you here for? To oblige a friend or
parade your conceit?”
“I’m here because of what Hattie said to Martha and
I wanted to hear what you had to say. And you asked if
I’ve paid my room rent, for God’s sake. All right, I have.
I’ve been there four months and I’ve paid every week.
That proves something?”
“Obviously. That you are not a pauper. You have an
income?”
“No. I have money that I saved.”
“So. That point is covered.” Wolfe’s eyes went to
Martha. “Now, Miss Kirk, for what you have told the
police—at least one detail. Your movements this mom-
ing, say from ten-thirty until one o’clock. Where were
you?”
“I was in my room,” she said, “until about a quarter
after twelve. The police wanted to know exactly, but I
couldn’t tell them. I got in late last night, and I always
do exercises for an hour when I get up. About a quarter
after twelve I went down to the kitchen. There were no
oranges and I went out and got some. I wasn’t gone
more than ten minutes. I was cooking bacon and eggs
when Mr. Dell came in, and Hattie with Mr. Goodwin,
and Hattie said he was going to do a piece for a maga-
zine, and they went—”
“That’s far enough. Which room is yours?”
“The third floor front, above Hattie’s.”
“And the others? Their rooms?”
The Homicide Trinity 185
“Ray’s is the second floor rear—Raymond Dell’s. The
rear room on my floor, the third, is Tammy Baxter’s.
The one above mine, on the fourth floor, is Noel Fer-
ris’s, and the rear one on that floor is Paul Hannah’s.”
“Did you see any of them this morning?”
“No. Not until Ray came to the kitchen, and that was
afternoon.”
“Did you hear any of them moving or speaking?”
“No.”
“Not even Mr. Ferris in the room above you?”
“No. I suppose he was up and gone before I woke up.”
“Did you hear or see anything at all that might be of
significance?”
She shook her head. “The police thought I must have,
when I was in the kitchen, but I didn’t.”
Wolfe’s head went left, to Raymond Dell in the red
leather chair. “Mr. Dell. I know you came downstairs
when Miss Annis entered the house with Mr. Goodwin
shortly after one o’clock. Before that?”
“Nothing,” Dell rumbled.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. That was when I left my room for the first
time. Until then I had seen no one, heard nothing, and
seen nothing. I had been asleep.”
“Then how did you know there were no oranges?”
Dell’s chin jerked up. “What’s that? Oh.” He ges-
tured. “That man Goodwin. I knew because there had
been none when I went down for some in the early
hours—the late hours. I don’t sleep at night; I read. I
was reading Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, and when I fin-
ished it, at five o’clock perhaps, or six, I wanted or-
anges. I always do around that hour. Finding none, I
returned to my room and finally dozed.”
“So that was customary? You rarely stir before
twelve?”
“I never do.”
“And at night you read. How do you spend your
afternoons?”
Dell frowned. “Could that conceivably apply?”
“Yes. Conceivably.”
186 Rex Stout
“I want to be present when you apply it. That would
be a revelation worthy of the Cumaean sybil. I baby-
sit ”
“You what?”
“The current abhorrent term is ‘baby-sit.’ I have a
friend who is a painter, by name Max Eder, who lives in
an East Side tenement. His wife is dead. He has a son
and daughter aged three and four, and five days a week
I am their keeper for five hours, fi-om two till seven. For
a stipend. Mondays and Tuesdays I am free to roam the
market if I am so inclined. You frown. To offer my
talents in television dens. I am so inclined only by
necessity.”
“What is Mr. Elder’s address?”
Dell shrugged, an actor’s shrug. “This approaches
lunacy. However, it’s in the phone book. Three-
fourteen Mission Street.”
“How long have you been—uh—performing this ser-
vice for him?”
“Something over a year.”
Wolfe left him. “Mr. Hannah. Since I am now merely
asking for what you have already told the police, your
whereabouts today from ten-thirty to one, I hope you
won’t be provoked.”
“You do like hell,” Hannah blurted. “Parading my
conceit, huh? I’m sticking only because I told Martha I
would. I left the house a little after nine o’clock and
spent a couple of hours around the West Side docks, and
then I took a bus downtown and got to the Mushroom
Theater a little before twelve. We start rehearsal at
noon. Around two o’clock a man came and flashed a
badge and said I was wanted for questioning and took
me to Forty-seventh Street.”
“What were you doing around the docks?”
“I was looking and listening. In the play we’re doing,
Do As Thou Wilt, I’m a longshoreman, and I want to get
it right.”
“Where is the Mushroom Theater?”
“Bowie Street. Near Houston Street.”
“Do you have a leading role in the play?”
The Homicide Trinity 187
“No. Not leading.”
“How many lines have you?”
“Not many. It’s not a big part. I’m young and I’m
learning.”
“How long have you been rehearsing?”
“About a month.”
“Have you appeared at that theater before?”
“Once, last fall. I had a walk-on in The Pleasure Is
Mine.”
“How long did it run?”
“Six weeks. Pretty good for off-Broadway.”
“Do you favor any particular spot when you visit the
docks?”
“No. I just move around and look and listen.”
“Do you do that every day?”
“Hell, no.”
“How many times in the past month?”
“Only once before today. A couple of times when I got
the part, in November.”
I was thinking that at least he had one of the basic
qualifications for an actor. He was ready and willing to
answer any and all questions about his career, with or
without a dare, whether they applied or not. If Wolfe
thought it would help to have the plot of Do As Thou
Wilt described in detail all he had to do was ask.
But apparently he didn’t need it. His head moved.
“And you, Mr. Fen-is?”
“I’m feeling a lot better,” Noel Ferris said. “When
the questions they asked made me realize that I was
actually suspected of murder, and I also realized that I
had no alibi, it looked pretty dark. Believe me. What if
the others had all been somewhere else and could prove
it? So I thank you, Mr. Wolfe. I feel a lot better. As for
me, I left the house a little after ten and called at four
agencies. Two of them would remember I was there,
but probably not the exact time. When I got hungry I
went back to the house to eat. I can’t afford five-dollar
lunches, and I can’t eat eighty-cent ones. When I entered
the house a man was at the phone telling someone that
188 Rex Stout
Tammy Baxter had been murdered and her body was in
the parlor.”
“What kind of agencies?”
“Casting. Theater and television.”
“Do you visit them daily?”
“No. About twice a week.”
“And the other five days? How do you pass the
time?”
“I don’t. It passes me. Two days, sometimes three, I
make horses and kangaroos and other animals. I go to a
workroom and model them and make molds. Something
on the order of Cellini. I get eight dollars for a squirrel.
Twenty for a giraffe.”
“Where is the workroom?”
“In the rear of a shop on First Avenue. The name of
the shop is Harry’s Zoo. The name of the owner is
Harry Arkazy. He has a sixteen-year-old daughter
as beautiful as a rosy dawn, but she lisps. Her name is
Ilonka. His son’s name—”
“This is not a comedy, Mr. Ferris,” Wolfe snapped.
He twisted his neck to look at the wall clock. “I engaged
to act for Miss Annis only five hours ago and I haven’t
arranged my mind, so my questions may be at random,
but they are not frivolous.” His eyes moved to take
them in. “Now that I have seen you and heard you I am
better prepared, and I can consider how to proceed. I
will leave it to Miss Annis to thank you—three of you—
for coming.” He arose. “I expect to see you again.”
Martha was gawking at him. “But Hattie said to tell
you everything we told the cops!”
He nodded. “I know. It would take all night. I’ll go to
that extreme only by compulsion; and if you told them
anything indicative they are hours ahead of me and I
would only breathe their dust.”
Dell boomed. “You call this investigating a murder?
Asking me if I had paid my room rent and how I spend
my afternoons?”