they had. Otis had been sure they had, until he had read
the copy of my statement. Now he was sure of nothing.
But he was still alive. When he got up to go, at two
hours past midnight, he had bounced back some. He
wasn’t nearly as jittery as he had been when he asked
for a glass of water to take the pills. He hadn’t accepted
30 Rex Stout
Wolfe’s offer in so many words, but he had agreed to
take no steps until he had heard further from Wolfe,
provided he heard within thirty-two hours, by ten
o’clock Wednesday morning. The only action he would
take during that period would be to instruct Ann Paige
to tell no one that he had read my statement and to
leam why she had skedaddled. He didn’t think the
police would tell him the contents of my statement, but
if they did he would say that he would credit it only if
it had corroboration. Of course he wanted to know
what Wolfe was going to do, but Wolfe said he didn’t
know and probably wouldn’t decide until after break-
fast.
When I returned to the office after holding Otis’s coat
for him and letting him out, Fritz was there.
“No,” Wolfe was saying grimly. “You know quite
well I almost never eat at night.”
“But you had no dinner. An omelet, or at least—”
“No! Confound it, let me starve! Go to bed!”
Fritz looked at me, I shook my head, and he went. I
sat down and spoke. “Do I get Saul and Fred and
Orrie?”
“No.” He took in air through his nose and let it out
through his mouth. “If I don’t know how I am going to
proceed, how the deuce can I have errands for them?
“Rhetorical,” I said.
“It is not rhetorical. It’s logical. There are the obvi-
ous routine errands, but that would be witless. Find the
cheap restaurant or lunchroom where they met? How
many are there?”
“Oh, a thousand. More.”
He grunted. “Or question the entire personnel of that
law office to learn which of those three men spoke at
length with Miss Aaron yesterday afternoon? Or, as-
suming that he followed her here, left the office on her
heels? Or which one cannot account for himself from
five o’clock to ten minutes past six? Or find the nearby
phone booth from which he dialed this number? Or
investigate their relations with Mrs. Sorell? Those are
The Homicide Trinity 31
all sensible and proper lines of inquiry, and by mid-
moming Mr. Cramer and the District Attorney will
have a hundred men pursuing them.”
“Two hundred. This is special.”
“So for me to put three men on them, four including
you, would be frivolous. A possible procedure would be
to have Mr. Otis get them here—Edey, Heydecker, and
Jett. He could merely tell them that he has engaged me
to investigate the murder that was committed in my
house.”
“If they’re available. They’ll be spending most of the
day at the DA’s office. By request.”
He shut his eyes and tightened his lips. I picked up
the copy of my statement which Otis had surrendered,
got the second carbon from my drawer, went and
opened the safe, and put them on a shelf. I had closed
the safe door and was twirling the knob when Wolfe
spoke.
“Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will they tackle Mrs. Sorell?”
“I doubt it. Not right away. What for? Since Cramer
warned us that if we blab what Bertha Aaron told me
we may be hooked for libel, which was kind of him,
evidently he’s going to save it, and going to Mrs. Sorell
would spill it.”
He nodded. “She is young and comely.”
“Yeah. I’ve never seen her offstage. You have seen
pictures of her.”
“You have a flair for dealing with personable young
women.”
“Sure. They melt like chocolate bars in the sun. But
you’re exaggerating it a little if you think I can go to
that specimen and ask her which member of the firm
she met in a cheap restaurant or lunchroom and she’ll
wrap her arms around me and murmur his name in my
ear. It might take me an hour or more.”
“You can bring her here.”
“Maybe. Possibly. To see the orchids?”
82 Rex Stout
“I don’t know.” He pushed the chair back and raised
his bulk. “I am not myself. Come to my room at eight
o’clock.” He headed for the hall.
Chapter 4
At 10:17 that Tuesday morning I left the house,
walked north fourteen short blocks and east six
long ones, and entered the lobby of the
Churchill. I walked instead of flagging a taxi for two
reasons: because I had had less than five hours’ sleep
and needed a lot of oxygen, especially from the neck up,
and because eleven o’clock was probably the earliest
Mrs. Morton Sorell, bom Rita Ramsey, would be acces-
sible. It had taken only a phone call to Lon Cohen at the
Gazette to leam that she had taken an apartment at the
Churchill Towers two months ago, when she had left
her husband’s roof.
In my pocket was a plain white envelope, sealed, on
which I had written by hand:
Mrs. Morton Sorell
Personal and Confidential
and inside it was a card, also handwritten:
We were seen that evening in the
lunchroom as we sat in the booth. It would
be dangerous to phone you or for you to
phone me. You can trust the bearer of this
card.
No signature. It was twelve minutes to eleven when
I handed the envelope to the charge d’affaires at the
lobby desk and asked him to send it up, and it still
lacked three minutes of eleven when he motioned me to
The Homicide Trinity 33
the elevator. Those nine minutes had been tough. If it
hadn’t worked, if word had come down to bounce me, or
no word at all, I had no other card ready to play. So as
the elevator shot up I was on the rise in more ways than
one, and when I stepped out at the thirtieth floor and
saw that she herself was standing there in the doorway
my face wanted to grin at her but I controlled it.
She had the card in her hand. “You sent this?” she
asked.
“I brought it.”
She looked me over, down to my toes and back up.
“Haven’t I seen you before? What’s your name?”
“Goodwin. Archie Goodwin. You may have seen my
picture in the morning paper.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Of course.” She lifted the card.
“What’s this about? It’s crazy! Where did you get it?”
“I wrote it.” I advanced a step and got a stronger
whiff of the perfume of her morning bath—or it could
have come from the folds other yellow robe, which was
very informal. “I might as well confess, Mrs. Sorell. It
was a trick. I have been at your feet for years. The only
pictures in my heart are of you. One smile from you, just
for me, would be rapture. I have never tried to meet
you because I knew it would be hopeless, but now that
you have left your husband I might be able to do some-
thing, render some little service, that would earn me a
smile. I had to see you and tell you that, and that card
was just a trick to get to you. I made it up. I tried to
write something that would make you curious enough
to see me. Please—please forgive me!”
She smiled the famous smile, just for me. She spoke.
“You overwhelm me, Mr. Goodwin, you really do. You
said that so nicely. Have you any particular service in
mine?”
I had to hand it to her. She knew darned well I was a
double-breasted liar. She knew I hadn’t made it up. She
knew I was a licensed private detective and had come
on business. But she hadn’t batted an eye—or rather,
she had. Her long dark lashes, which were home-grown
and made a fine contrast with her hair, the color of corn
34 Rex Stout The Homicide Trinity
35
silk just before it starts to turn, also home-grown, had
lowered for a second to veil the pleasure I was giving
her. She was as good offstage as she was on, and I had to
hand it to her.
“If I might come in?” I suggested. “Now that you’ve
smiled at me?”
“Of course.” She backed up and I entered. She waited
while I removed my hat and coat and put them on a
chair and then led me through the foyer to a large living
room with windows on the east and south, and across to
a divan.
“Not many people ever have a chance like this,” she
said, sitting. “An offer of a service from a famous detec-
tive. What shall it be?”
“Well.” I sat. “I can sew on buttons.”