“No, they won’t.”
“Why won’t they?”
“Because they know if they do I’ll shoot.”
I glanced around. A massive old walnut bed, a big old
rolltop desk, dresser, chest of drawers, chairs, pictures
of men and women all over the walls, actors from a mile
off. “What will you shoot with?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I haven’t got a gun, but they
don’t know it.”
I eyed her. “May I have permission to call you
Hattie?”
“No. Not until I see what happens.”
“Very well, Miss Annis. A cop named Cramer, an
inspector, asked me to come and tell you they’re going
to break in. They can do that without getting in the line
of fire, and they will. That’s all he asked me to tell you,
but I add this on my own, that if they have to smash the
door to get to you it’s an absolute certainty that they’ll
take you downtown, and they’ll probably hold you as a
material witness. They’re investigating a murder that
occurred in your house, and you’re a suspect. Whereas
if you let them in and answer the questions they have a
right to ask, they probably won’t take you downtown
and you can sleep in your own bed.”
She was staring at me. “You say I’m a suspect?”
“Certainly. When you came home to sew on the but-
ton, it could have been then.”
“You suspect me?”
“Of course not. Even if I’m no good I’m not a halfwit.”
172 Rex Stout
Her tips tightened. “They’ll have to carry me.”
“They can. There’s enough of them, and they have
handcuffs.”
“They’ll need them.” She cocked her head. A strand
of gray hair fell across her eye, and she didn’t bother to
brush it back. “All right, Buster. I’ve never hired a
detective. Do you want me to sign something?”
“Whom are you hiring. Miss Annis?”
“I’m hiring you. Call me Hattie.”
“You can’t hire me. I work for Nero Wolfe on salary.”
“Then I’m hiring Nero Wolfe.”
“To do what?”
“To show the cops. To make them wish they had
never set foot in my house. To make them eat dirt.”
“He wouldn’t take the job. You might hire him to
investigate the murder, and he might fill your order as
a by-product. But he has exaggerated ideas about fees,
and I doubt if you could afford it.”
“Would you help him?”
“Of course. That’s my job.”
She shut her eyes, tight. In a moment she opened
them. “I could pay him one-tenth of all I’ve got besides
the house. I could pay him forty-two thousand dollars.
That ought to be enough.”
It took a little effort not to gawk. “I should think so,”
I conceded. “If you want me to put it to him, I have to
ask a question that he’ll ask. He’s very realistic about
money. What you’ve got besides the house, is it in
something convenient? Would you have to sell some-
thing, for instance a race horse or a yacht?”
“Don’t try to be funny, Buster. I’m realistic about
money too. It’s in tax-exempt bonds in a vault in a bank.
Do you want me to sign something?”
“That’s not necessary, now that I call you Hattie.” I
controlled an impulse to reach and brush the strand of
hair away from her eye. “You may not be very available
the rest of the day, so we’ll leave it this way: you
have hired Mr. Wolfe to investigate the murder, and if
he doesn’t take the job I’ll notify you as soon as I can get
in touch with you. And you’ll leave—”
The Homicide Trinity 173
“Why wouldn’t he take the job?”
“Because he’s a genius and he’s eccentric. Geniuses
don’t have to have reasons. But leave that to me. And if
you’re going to pay us I might as well start earning it.
Have you got a stamp pad?”
She said yes, in the desk, and I went and found it in a
pigeonhole. She said she had no glossy paper, and I took
her magazine and found a page ad in color with wide
margins in white, and tore it out. “I’ll want all ten
fingers,” I told her. “First your right hand, the thumb.
Like this.”
She didn’t ask why. She didn’t ask anything. Either
she knew why or she merely wanted to humor me, and
your guess is as good as mine. When I had the set, the
right hand on the right margin and the left on the left, I
folded the sheet with care and put it between the pages
of my notebook.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ll leave the door unbolted, and
I’ll tell Cramer—”
“No, I won’t. If they break in that door they’ll pay for
it.”
I explained again. I told her that anyone as realistic
about money as she was ought to be able to be realistic
about murder, but she wouldn’t budge. I told her she
didn’t have to invite them in or let them in, just leave
the door unbolted, and she said I was no good. So I left,
and the second I was across the sill the door clicked shut
and I heard the bolt go in. I walked to the rear and
opened the door of Dell’s room.
“Well?” Cramer demanded.
“No soap.” I stood in the doorway. “If she has a brain
I can’t imagine what she uses it for. She wants to hire
Nero Wolfe to make you eat dirt. I told her if you had to
break in you would probably take her downtown and
hold her, and she said you’d have to carry her. When I
left she pushed the bolt.”
“All right,” Cramer said, “if that’s the way she wants
it.” He turned to speak to Rowcliff, but I didn’t stay to
listen, because I had an urgent errand. Callahan, the
dick who had brought me from the kitchen, wasn’t in
174 Rex Stout
sight, and if I went downstairs unescorted I probably
wouldn’t be stopped. I backed off, made the landing,
descended, asked the dick in the lower hall if it was still
snowing as I got my hat and coat, took my time putting
my coat on, opened the front door, and was gone.
The snow was coming down thicker and was an inch
deep on the sidewalk. Outside were two harness bulls,
four police cars double-parked, and a small group of
unofficial criminologists. I headed east, found a phone
booth in a bar and grill around the corner on Eighth
Avenue, and dialed. It was after four and Wolfe would
be up in the plant rooms for his afternoon session with
the orchids, which is from four to six, so it was Fritz
who answered, and I told him to switch it.
“Yes?” Wolfe is always gruff on the phone, but when
it interrupts him up there he is even gruffer.
“Me again. From a booth on Eighth Avenue. I left the
scene informally because I have something to report.
We won’t be contradicted about the money. Miss Annis,
whom I now call Hattie, has buttoned her lip and will
keep it buttoned. She is in her room with the door
bolted and Cramer and Rowcliff are going to batter
their way in. Stebbins isn’t around. I was re—”
“He was here.”
“Who? Stebbins?”
“Yes. I spoke with him at the door. He wanted the
package of money. I told him it was not mine to surren-
der, since it had been left in your safekeeping. He said
nothing about its being bogus. I didn’t admit him. He
was not pleased.”
“I’ll bet. I was requested by Cramer to persuade
Hattie to let them in, and I tried—not through the door,
she let me in. When I told her that if they had to bust the
door to get to her they would take her downtown and
hold her, she said she wanted to hire you to make them
eat dirt. I said the only job you might take would be to
investigate the murder, and dirt-eating, if any, would
be a by-product, and your fee would be high. She said
she could pay you twenty-one thousand dollars, one-
tenth of the tax-exempt bonds she has in a bank vault. I
The Homicide Trinity 175
said we would leave it that you are hired, and if you
refuse to take it on because you’re eccentric I’ll notify
her. The trouble is, how can I notify her if she’s not
accessible? Shall I ask Cramer to tell her you’re too
busy?”
“Yes.”
“Naturally,” I said sympathetically. “You would
rather starve than work if only you had no appetite.
The fact is, she wanted to hire me and I told her to get
me she had to hire you. I’ll hold the wire while you count
ten.”
“Confound you.” It was a growl from the depths.
“She may have no bonds. She is probably indigent.”
“Not a chance. She’s my favorite screwball, but she’s