a million dollars in twenty-four hours or else. Perdis
demanded that they be given the time and opportunity
to talk with Mrs. Hazen, but of course she was in the
coop. Anne Talbot was the only one who had nothing to
say; she was on her feet, gripping the back of the chair,
the muscle in her neck still twitching. Thinking it might
help if I went and brought their coats, I did so, and it
took Anne Talbot three tries to find the armhole.
When they were out, and the door shut, and I re-
turned to the office, Wolfe was out from behind his
desk. “A notion,” I said. “Mrs. Hazen may be out on bail
by the middle of the morning and accessible to them,
and you’re up in the plant rooms until eleven o’clock,
not to be disturbed. Even if she’s locked up, those
people have lawyers and connections, Perdis especially.
He may play poker with the DA. I could phone Parker
to see her in the morning and tell her that no matter
what she hears you’re not loony, you’re just a genius,
and you know where you’re headed for even when
nobody else does, including me.”
“Not necessary.” He went to the door and turned.
“Make sure that the safe’s locked. I’m tired. Good
night.”
He knows darned well that I always make sure the
safe’s locked, but of course it doesn’t often have some-
114 Rex Stout
thing in it that’s supposed to be worth a million bucks.
Up in my room on the third floor, as I undressed I made
assorted tries at deciding what was next on his pro-
gram, and didn’t like any of them.
As it turned out the next thing on the program wasn’t
decided either by me or by him, but by Inspector
Cramer. In the morning Wolfe came down from the
plant rooms at eleven o’clock as usual, and also as usual
I had the mail opened and the dusting done and fresh
water in the vase on his desk. He went first to the front
of the desk to put a spray of orchids in the vase, Odon-
toglossum pyramus, then circled around to his chair. As
he sat the doorbell rang. I went to the office door for a
look and told him it was Cramer. He slapped a palm on
the desk, glared at me, and said nothing, and I went to
the front and opened up. I didn’t like the look on Cram-
er’s face as he entered and let me take his coat and hat.
He almost grinned at me, and he didn’t stride to the
office, he just walked. He sat in the red leather chair,
crossed his legs comfortably, and told Wolfe, “I haven’t
got much time. I want to hear it from you, what Mrs.
Hazen came to you for yesterday, just the substance,
and then Goodwin will come downtown and get it down
in a statement, all of it. With his wonderful memory.”
Wolfe was glowering at him. “Mr. Cramer. It
shouldn’t be—”
“Save it. She’s booked for murder. We have the gun.
Hazen got his car from the garage Monday night. It has
been found parked on Twenty-first Street. There was a
gun in the dashboard compartment, and it fired the
bullet that killed him. We have traced it. It was bought
by Hazen six years ago and he had a permit for it. He
kept it in a drawer in his bedroom, and the maid saw it
there yesterday morning when she went up to see why
he hadn’t come down for breakfast. Don’t ask me why
Mrs. Hazen took it from there afterwards and went to
where she had parked the car on Twenty-first Street
and put it in the car. I don’t know, but maybe you do. So
let’s hear you.”
Chapter 7
I squeezed my eyes shut because if I had kept them
open they would have popped, and I didn’t want to
give Cramer that satisfaction. But I am supposed
to help Wolfe when he needs it, and right then he sure
could use a few seconds to arrange his mind, so I opened
my eyes and asked Cramer, just curious, “What kind of
a gun?”
He ignored it. He was having too good a time looking
at Wolfe to bother with me. Wolfe was paying me
another compliment. I was responsible for our assump-
tion that Mrs. Hazen was innocent, but he didn’t glance
at me. He lowered his chin, scratched the tip of his nose,
regarded Cramer for ten seconds, and then turned to
me.
“Archie. It may be desirable to have a record of what
Mr. Cramer just said. Type it. Verbatim. Double-
spaced, one carbon.”
As I got at the typewriter Cramer said, “I don’t
object. Naturally you’ve got to stall while you try to
figure a way to climb down without breaking your
neck.”
No comment from Wolfe. I put in paper and hit the
keys. Since I had had years of practice reporting long
and involved conversations that had had time to fade,
that one was no trick at all. As I rolled the paper out
Wolfe said, “Initial the original,” and I did so, and
handed it to him. He read it through, in no hurry, took
his pen and initialed it, handed it back to me, and turned
to Cramer.
“I’m not stalling,” he said. “If what you just told me is
true, your demand for information is warranted. If it
116 Rex Stout
isn’t true you’re gulling me into disclosing a confidential
communication from a client, and I want a record—”
“Then she’s your client?”
“She is now. She wasn’t when you were here yester-
day, but she hired me later through Mr. Parker. I want
a record of your words, and I have it. I also want more
facts, to make sure that those you have given me are
not qualified by others. That’s a reasonable precaution,
I think. What time did Mr. Hazen take his car from the
garage Monday evening?”
“A little after eleven o’clock.”
“That was after the dinner guests left?”
“Yes. They left at a quarter to eleven.”
“Was anyone with him at the garage?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else with him anywhere, out of the car
or in it, after a quarter to eleven?”
“No.”
“Is it assumed that he was shot in that alley where
the body was found?”
“No. He was shot in the car.”
“Have you any additional facts implicating Mrs. Ha-
zen, of any kind? Not conjectures, facts. For example,
was she seen in or near the car, driving it, or when it
was parked on Twenty-first Street during the night, or
when—as you have it—she went there yesterday to put
the gun in the dashboard compartment?”
“No. No more facts. I expect to get some from you.”
“You will. Naturally, when you learned that Mrs.
Hazen had been to see me you focused on her, but
surely not exclusively. Have you inquired into the
movements of the dinner guests after they left?”
“Yes.”
“Have any of them been conclusively eliminated?”
“No. Not conclusively.”
Wolfe closed his eyes. In a moment he opened them.
“That seems to cover it.” He took a breath. “Of course I
don’t like this. And you’re not squeezing it out of me,
though you think you are. I would tell you nothing and
take the consequences if it weren’t that I need some
The Homicide Trinity 117
information that I can get only from you. I have to know
where the gun came from that Mrs. Hazen left with me
yesterday. If you’ll agree—”
“She left a gun with you?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you about it, and give it to you, if you
will give me its history at the earliest possible moment.
I want your word.”
“You won’t get it. Mrs. Hazen is charged with mur-
der. If she left a gun with you it’s evidence in a murder
investigation.”
Wolfe shook his head. “No. It’s evidence in my inves-
tigation, but not in yours. You have your gun, the one
the murderer used. How can it embarrass you to tell me
about this one?”
Cramer considered it. “You’re going to tell me what
she said about it.”
“I am.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“I have your word?”
“Yes.”
“Get the gun, Archie.”
I went to the safe and squatted to twirl the knob.
Ordinarily I leave it unlocked when I’m in the office, but
with that box in it I was taking no chances, so after I had
worked the combination and got the gun I shut the door
and turned the knob. As I crossed to Cramer I spoke.
“By the way, I asked a question that wasn’t answered.
What make is your gun? The one that killed him.”
“Drexel thirty-two.”
“So’s this.” I handed it to him. “Of course there are
millions of Drexel thirty-twos.”
He gave it a look, and darned if he didn’t sniff it. As I