Rex Stout

Counterfeit for Murder

Chapter 1

My rule is, never be rude to anyone unless you mean it. But when I looked through the one-way glass panel of the front door and saw her out on the stoop, my basic feelings about the opposite sex were hurt. Granting that women can’t stay young and beautiful forever, that the years are bound to show, at least they don’t have to let their gray hair straggle over their ears or wear a coat with a button missing or forget to wash their face, and this specimen was guilty on all three counts. So, as she put a finger to the button and the bell rang, I opened the door and told her, “I don’t want any, thanks. Try next door.” I admit it was rude.

“I would have once, Buster,” she said. “Thirty years ago I was a real treat.”

That didn’t help matters any. I have conceded that the years are bound to show.

“I want to see Nero Wolfe,” she said. “Do I walk right through you?”

“There are difficulties,” I told her. “One, I’m bigger than you are. Two, Mr. Wolfe can be seen only by appointment. Three, he won’t be available until eleven o’clock, more than an hour from now.”

“All right, I’ll come in and wait. I’m half froze. Are you nailed down?”

A notion struck me. Wolfe believes, or claims he does, that any time I talk him into seeing a female would-be client he knows exactly what to expect if and when he sees her, and this would show him how wrong he was.

“Your name, please?” I asked her.

“My name’s Annis. Hattie Annis.”

“What do you want to see Mr. Wolfe about?”

“I’ll tell him when I see him. If my tongue’s not froze.”

“You’ll have to tell me, Mrs. Annis. My name—”

“Miss Annis.”

“Okay. My name is Archie Goodwin.”

“I know it is. If you’re thinking I don’t look like I can pay Nero Wolfe, there’ll be a reward and I’ll split it with him. If I took it to the cops they’d do the splitting. I wouldn’t trust a cop if he was naked as a baby.”

“What will the reward be for?”

“For what I’ve got here.” She patted her black leather handbag, the worse for wear, with a hand in a woolen glove.

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell Nero Wolfe. Look, Buster, I’m no Eskimo. Let the lady in.”

That wasn’t feasible. I had been in the hall with my hat and overcoat and gloves on, on my way for a morning walk crosstown to the bank to deposit a check for $7417.65 in Wolfe’s account, when I had seen her through the one-way glass panel aiming her finger at the bell button. Letting her in and leaving her in the office while I took my walk was out of the question. The other inhabitants of that old brownstone on West 35th Street, the property of Nero Wolfe except for the furniture and other items in my bedroom, were around but they were busy. Fritz Brenner, the chef and housekeeper, was in the kitchen making chestnut soup. Wolfe was up in the plant rooms on the roof for his two-hour morning session with the orchids, and of course Theodore Horstmann was with him.

I wasn’t rude about it. I told her there were several places nearby where she could spend the hour and thaw out — Sam’s Diner at the corner of Tenth Avenue, or the drug store at the corner of Ninth, or Tony’s tailor shop where she could have a button sewed on her coat and charge it to me. She didn’t push. I said if she came back at a quarter past eleven I might have persuaded Wolfe to see her, and she turned to go, and then turned back, opened the black leather handbag, and took out a package wrapped in brown paper with a string around it.

“Keep this for me, Buster,” she said. “Some nosy cop might take it on himself. Come on, it won’t bite. And don’t open it. Can I trust you not to open it?”

I took it because I liked her. She had fine instincts and no sense at all. She had refused to tell me what was in it, and was leaving it with me and telling me not to open it — my idea of a true woman if only she would comb her hair and wash her face and sew a button on. So I took it, and told her I would expect her at a quarter past eleven, and she went. When I had seen her descend the seven steps to the sidewalk and turn left, toward Tenth Avenue, I shut the door from the inside and took a look at the package. It was rectangular, some six inches long and three wide, and a couple of inches thick. I put it to my ear and held my breath, and heard nothing. But you never know what science will do next, and there were at least three dozen people in the metropolitan area who had it in for Wolfe, not to mention a few who didn’t care much for me, so instead of taking it to the office, to my desk or the safe, I went to the front room and stashed it under the couch, If you ask if I untied the string and unwrapped the paper for a look, your instincts are not as fine as they should be. Anyhow, I had gloves on.

Also there had been nothing doing for more than a week, since we had cleaned up the Brigham forgery case, and my mind needed exercise as much as my legs and lungs, so walking crosstown and back I figured out what was in the package. After discarding a dozen guesses that didn’t appeal to me I decided it was the Hope diamond. The one that had been sent to Washington was a phony. I was still working on various details, such as Hattie Annis’s real name and station and how she had got hold of it, on the last stretch approaching the old brownstone, and therefore got nearly to the stoop before I saw that it was occupied. Perched on the top step was exactly the kind of female Wolfe expects to see when I talk him into seeing one. The right age, the right face, the right legs — what showed of them below the edge of her fur coat. The coat was not mink or sable. As I started to mount she got up.

“Well,” she said. “A grand idea, this outdoor waiting room, but there ought to be magazines.”

I reached her level. The top of her fuzzy little turban was even with my nose. “I suppose you rang?” I asked.

“I did. And was told through a crack that Mr. Wolfe was engaged and Mr. Goodwin was out. Mr. Goodwin, I presume?”

“Right.” I had my key ring out. “I’ll bring some magazines. Which ones do you like?”

“Let’s go in and look them over.”

Wolfe wouldn’t be down for more than half an hour, and it would be interesting to know what she was selling, so I used the key on the door and swung it open. When I had disposed of my hat and coat on the hall rack I ushered her to the office, moved one of the yellow chairs up for her, and went to my desk and sat.

“We have no vacancies at the moment,” I said, “but you can leave your number. Don’t call us, we’ll call—”

“That’s pretty corny,” she said. She had thrown her coat open to drape it over the back of the chair, revealing other personal details that went fine with the face and legs.

“Okay,” I conceded. “It’s your turn.”

“My name is Tammy Baxter. Short for Tamiris. I haven’t decided yet which one to use on a theater program when the time comes. What do you think, Tammy or Tamiris?”

“It would depend on the part. If it’s the lead in a musical, Tammy. If it packs some weight, O’Neill for instance, Tamiris.”

“It’s more apt to be a girl at one of the tables in the night-club scene. The one who jumps up and says, ‘Come on, Bill, let’s get out of here.’ That’s her big line.” She fluttered a gloved hand. “Oh, well. What do you care? Why don’t you ask me what I want?”

“I’m putting it off because I may not have it.”

“That’s nice. I like that. That’s a good line, only you threw it away. There should be a pause after ‘off.’ ‘I’m putting it off... because I may not have it.’ Try it again.”

“Nuts. I said it the way I felt it. You actresses are all alike. I was getting a sociable feeling about you and look what you’ve done to it. What do you want?”

She laughed a little ripple. “I’m not an actress, I’m only going to be. I don’t want anything much, just to ask about my landlady, Miss Annis — Hattie Annis. Has she been here?”

I raised a brow. “Here? When?”

“This morning.”

“I’ll ask.” I turned my head and sang out, “Fritz!” and when he appeared, in the doorway to the hall, I inquired, “Did anyone besides this lady come while I was out?”

“No, sir.” He always sirs me when there is company, and I can’t make him stop.

“Any phone calls?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay. Thank you, sir.” He went, and I told Tammy or Tamiris, “Apparently not. You say your landlady?”

She nodded. “That’s funny.”

“Why, did you tell her to come?”

“No, she told me. She said she was going to take something — she was going to see Nero Wolfe about something. She wouldn’t say what, and after she left I began to worry about her. She never got here?”

“You heard what Fritz said. Why should you worry?”

“You would too if you knew her. She almost never leaves the house, and she never goes more than a block away. She’s not a loony, really, but she’s not quite all there, and I should have come with her. We all feel responsible for her. Her house is an awful dump, but anybody in show business, or even trying to be, can have a room for five dollars a week, and it doesn’t have to be every week. So we feel responsible. I certainly hope—” She stood up, letting it hang. “If she comes will you phone me?”

“Sure.” She gave me the number and I jotted it down, and then went to hold her coat. My feelings were mixed. It would have been a pleasure to relieve her mind, but of what? What if her real worry was about the Hope diamond, which she had had under her mattress, and she knew or suspected that Hattie Annis had snitched it? I would have liked to put her in the front room, supplied with magazines, to wait until her landlady arrived, but you can’t afford to be sentimental when the fate of a million-dollar diamond is at stake, so I let her go. Another consideration was that it would be enough of a job to sell Wolfe on seeing Hattie Annis without also accounting for the presence of another female in the front room. He can stand having one woman under his roof temporarily if he has to, but not two at once.

At eleven o’clock on the nose the sound of the elevator came, and its usual clang as it jolted to a stop at the bottom, and he entered, told me good morning, went to his desk, got his seventh of a ton deposited in the oversized custom-built chair, fingered through the mail, glanced at his desk calendar, and spoke.

“No check from Brigham?”

“Yes, sir, it came.” I swiveled to face him. “Without comment. I took it to the bank. Also my weakness has cropped up again, but with a new slant.”

He grunted. “Which weakness?”

“Women. One came, a stranger, and I told her to come back at eleven-fifteen. The trouble is, she’s a type that never appealed to me before. I hope to goodness my taste hasn’t shifted. I want your opinion.”

“Pfui. Flummery.”

“No, sir. It’s a real problem. Wait till you see her.”

“I’m not going to see her.”

“Then I’m stuck. She has a strange fascination. Nobody believes in witches casting spells any more. I certainly don’t, but I don’t know. As for what she wants to see you about, that’s simple. She has got something that she thinks is good for a reward, and she’s coming to you instead of the police because she hates cops. I don’t know what it is or where she got it. That part’s easy, you can deal with that in two minutes, but what about me? Have I got a screw loose?”

“Yes.” He picked up the top item from the little pile of mail, an airmail letter from an orchid hunter in Venezuela, and started to read it. I swung my chair around and started sharpening pencils that didn’t need it. The noise of the sharpener gets on his nerves. I was on the fourth pencil when his voice came.

“Stop that,” he growled. “A witch?”

“She must be.”

“I’ll give her two minutes.”

You can appreciate what I had accomplished only if you know how allergic he is to strangers, especially women, and how much he hates to work, especially when a respectable check has just been deposited. Besides that satisfaction I had something to look forward to, seeing his expression when I escorted Hattie Annis in. I thought I might as well go and retrieve the package from under the couch and put it in my desk drawer, but vetoed it. It could stay put till she came. Wolfe finished the letter from the orchid hunter and started on a circular from a manufacturer of an automatic humidifier.

Eleven-seventeen and the bell didn’t ring. At 11:20 Wolfe looked up to say that he had some letters to give me but didn’t like to be interrupted, and I said neither did I. At 11:25 he got up and went to the kitchen, probably to sample the chestnut soup, in which he and Fritz had decided to include tarragon for the first time. At 11:30 I went to the front room and got the package. Nuts to her, if she couldn’t be punctual for an appointment. She would get her package back, at the door, and that would be all. I was straightening up after fishing it from under the couch when the bell rang, and had it in my hand when I went to the hall.

It was her all right, but through the one-way glass panel I noticed a couple of changes as I stepped to the door: there was a button on her coat where one had been been missing, and her face needed washing even more than it had before. Her whole right cheek was a dark smudge. Touched by the button, I decided to hear her excuse for being late, if any, but as I opened the door she collapsed. No moan, no sound at all, she just crumpled. I jumped and grabbed her, so she didn’t go clear down, but she was out, dead weight. I tightened my right arm around her to free my left to toss the package into the hall and then gathered her up, crossed the sill, and kicked the door shut.

As I was turning to the front room Wolfe’s voice came. “What the devil is that?”

“A woman,” I said, and kept going. On her feet I would have guessed her at not more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, but loose and sagging she was a good deal heavier. I put her on the couch, on her back, straightened her legs, and took a look. She was breathing shallow, but no gasping. I slipped a hand under her middle and lifted, and stuffed a couple of cushions beneath her hips. As I took her wrist and put a finger on her pulse Wolfe’s voice came at my back.

“Get Doctor Vollmer.”

I turned my head. He had meant it for Fritz, who had appeared at the door. “Hold it,” I said. “I think she just fainted.”

“Nonsense,” Wolfe snapped. “Women do not faint.”

I had heard that one before. His basis for it was not medical but personal; he is convinced that unless she has a really good excuse, like being slugged with a club, any woman who passes out is merely putting on an act — a subhead under his fundamental principle that every woman is always putting on an act. Ignoring it, I checked her pulse, which was weak and slow but not too bad, asked Fritz to bring my overcoat and open a window, and went to the lavatory for the smelling salts. I was waving the bottle under her nose and Fritz was spreading the coat over her when her eyes opened. She blinked at me and started to lift her head, and I put my hand on her brow.

“I know you,” she said, barely audible. “I must have made it.”

“Only to the door,” I told her. “You flopped on the stoop and I carried you in. Lie still. Shut your eyes and catch up on your breathing.”

“Brandy?” Fritz asked me.

“I don’t like brandy,” she said.

“Tea?”

“I don’t like tea. Where’s my bag?”

“Coffee,” I told Fritz. “She must like something.” He went. Wolfe had disappeared. “Sniff this,” I told her, handing her the bottle, and went to the hall. The package was over by the rack, and her handbag was on the floor near the wall. I didn’t know how it got there, and I still don’t, but since I reject Wolfe’s fundamental principle I assume that a fainting woman can hang onto something. Returning to the patient, I was just in time to keep her from rolling off the couch. She was trying to pull the cushions out from under her middle. When I put a hand on her shoulder she protested, “Pillows are for heads, Buster. Can’t you tell my head from my fanny? Give me the bag.”

I handed it to her and she turned onto her side, propping on her elbow, to open it. Apparently her concern was for a particular item, for after a brief glance inside she was closing it, but I said, “Here, put this in,” and offered the package.

She didn’t take it. “So I’m still alive,” she said. “I’m froze stiff, but I’m alive. Don’t Nero Wolfe believe in heat?”

“It’s seventy in here,” I told her. “When you faint your blood does something. Here’s your package.”

“Did you open it?”

“No.”

“I knew you wouldn’t. I’m still dizzy.” Her head went back down. “You’re such a detective, maybe you can tell me what he was going to do if he killed me. He would have had to stop the car and get out to get the bag. Wouldn’t he?”

“I should think so. If it was the bag he wanted.”

“Of course it was.” She took a deep breath, and another. “He thought the package was in it. Anyhow, it was your fault I was there, what you said about the button. I’ve been intending to sew that button on for a month, and when you said to have one put on and charge it to you, that was too much. I hadn’t done anything about my clothes on account of a man for twenty years, and here was a man offering to buy me a button. So I went home and sewed it on.”

She stopped to breathe. I stuck the package in my pocket. “Where is home?” I asked.

“Forty-seventh Street. Between Eighth and Ninth. So that’s why I was there, but you keep your head, Buster. Don’t offer to buy me some hair dye. When I left I was going to take a Ninth Avenue bus to come back here, and walking along Forty-seventh Street the car came on the sidewalk behind me and hit me here.” She touched her right hip. “Bumping up over the curb must have spoiled his aim. It didn’t hit me hard enough to knock me down, so I must have stumbled when I jumped. Anyhow I fell, and I must have rolled over more than once because I was walking near the curb and I came against a building. Is that Nero Wolfe?”

The door to the office had opened and Wolfe was there, scowling at us. I told her yes, and told him. “Miss Hattie Annis. She’s telling me why she was late for her appointment. She went to her house on Forty-seventh Street, and coming back a car climbed the curb and hit her. I know there’s no chair here big enough for you, but she ought to stay flat a little longer.”

“I am capable of standing for two minutes,” he said stiffly.

“You don’t look it,” Hattie said. “You would do fine for Falstaff.”

“Finish it,” I told her. “And the car went on?”

“It must have. When I got up it was gone. A man and a woman helped me up, and another man stopped, but nothing was broke and I could walk. So I walked. I didn’t want to try climbing on a bus. I kept in close to the buildings, and I stopped to rest about every block, and the last two blocks I didn’t think I would make it, but I did. How did you know I was there if I fainted?”

“You rang the bell. I caught you before you hit bottom.”

“And you carried me in and I missed it. Carried by a man and didn’t know it. What’s life up to?”

Wolfe came in a step. “Madam. I told Mr. Goodwin I would give you two minutes.”

She had lifted her head and I had put a cushion under it. “I appreciate it,” she said. “A wonderful day. Buster carries me in and Falstaff gives me two minutes — and here’s another one with coffee!”

Fritz coming with the coffee eased the situation. To Wolfe anyone having food or drink in his house is a guest, and guests have to be humored, within reason. He couldn’t tell me to bounce her while I was bringing a stand for the tray and Fritz was filling her cup. So he stood and scowled. When she had taken a sip he spoke.

“Mr. Goodwin said you have something that you think is good for a reward. What is it?”

She had sat up and taken off the woolen gloves. She took another sip. “That’s good coffee,” she said. “First I’ll tell you how I got it. I own that house on Forty-seventh Street. I was born in it.” Another sip. “Do you happen to know that all stage people are crazy?”

Wolfe grunted. “They have no monopoly.”

“Maybe not, but theirs is a special kind. I’m not saying I like them, but they give me a feeling. My father owned a theater. My house is only an eight-minute walk from Times Square, and I only need one room and a kitchen, so they can live there whether they can pay or not. Five of them are living there now — three men and two girls — and they use the kitchen. They’re supposed to make their beds and keep their rooms decent, and some of them do. I never go in their rooms. My room is the second floor front—”

“If you please.” Wolfe was curt. “To the point.”

“I’ll get there, Falstaff. Let the lady talk.” She took a sip. “Good coffee. The ground floor front is the parlor. Nobody goes in there much since my mother died years ago, but once a week I go in and look around, and when I went in yesterday afternoon a mouse ran out from under the piano and went in back of the bookshelves. Do you believe a mouse could run up a woman’s leg?”

“No.” Wolfe was emphatic.

“Neither do I. I got my umbrella from the hall and poked behind the shelves, but he didn’t come out. There’s no back to the shelves, so if I took the books out I’d have him. The bottom shelf has a History of the Thirteen Colonies in ten volumes and a set of Macaulay with the backs coming off. I took them all out, but the mouse wasn’t there. He must have moved while I was getting the umbrella. But in back of the books was a little package I had never seen before, and I opened it, and that’s what I’ve got. If I took it to the cops, good-by. We can split the reward three ways, you and me and Buster here.”

“What’s in it?”

Her head turned. “Open it, Buster.”

I took it from my pocket, sat on a chair, untied the string, and unwrapped the paper. It was a stack of new twenty-dollar bills. I flipped through it at a corner and then at another corner. All twenties.

“Imagine handing that to the cops,” Hattie said. “Of course he knew I had it and he tried to kill me.”

Wolfe grunted. “How much, Archie?”

“About two inches thick. Two hundred and fifty to the inch. Ten thousand dollars, more or less.”

“Madam. You say he tried to kill you. Who?”

“I don’t know which one.” She put her cup down and picked up the pot to pour. “It could be one of the girls, but I’d rather not. If he hadn’t tried to kill me I would just as soon—”

The doorbell rang. After putting the lettuce and paper and string on the chair, I went to the hall and took a look. It was a medium-sized round-shouldered stranger in a dark gray overcoat and a snap brim nearly down to his ears. Before opening the door I shut the one to the front room.

“Yes, sir?”

He took a leather fold from a pocket, flipped it open, and offered it. I took it, Treasury Department of the United States. Secret Service Division. Albert Leach. In the picture he had no hat on, but it was probably him. I handed it back.

“My name is Albert Leach,” he said.

“Check,” I said.

“I’d like to speak with Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Goodwin.”

“Mr. Wolfe isn’t available. I’m Goodwin.”

“May I come in?”

It was a little ticklish. Of course I had smelled a rat the second I saw his credentials. The walls and doors on that floor were all soundproofed, but with Wolfe and Hattie in there together there was no telling, and I didn’t want him inside. But it had started to snow and the stoop had no roof, and I certainly wanted to know what was on his mind.

I have him room and he stepped in. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but Mr. Wolfe is busy and I’m helping him with something, so if you’ll tell me—”

“Certainly.” He had removed his hat. His hair was going, but it would be a couple of years before he could be called bald. “I want to ask about a woman named Baxter. Tamiris Baxter or Tammy Baxter. Is she here?”

“No. Around twenty-five? Five feet four, light brown hair, hazel eyes, hundred and twenty pounds, fur coat and fuzzy turban?”

He nodded. “That fits her.”

“She was here this morning. She came at twenty minutes past ten, uninvited and unexpected, and left at ten-thirty.”

“Has she been back?”

“No.”

“Has she phoned?”

“No.”

“Another woman named Annis, Hattie Annis. Has she been here?”

I cocked my head. “You know, Mr. Leach, I don’t mind being polite, but what the hell. Mr. Wolfe is a licensed private detective and so am I, and we don’t answer miscellaneous questions just to pass the time. I’ve heard of Hattie Annis because Miss Baxter asked if she had been here, and I told her no. She asked me to phone her if she came, but I probably won’t. What if this Hattie Annis comes and hires Mr. Wolfe to do a job? She might not want anyone to know she had been here. So skip it.”

“I’m an officer of the law, Goodwin. I’m an agent of the United States government.”

“So you are. And?”

“I want to know if Hattie Annis has been here today.”

“Ask her. Miss Baxter gave me the phone number. Do you want it?”

“I have it.” He put his hat on. “I know your reputation, Goodwin, and Wolfe’s. You may get away with fancy tricks with the New York Police Department, but I advise you not to try any with the Secret Service.” He turned and went, leaving the door open.

I shut the door and then went to the office. I got the best glass from a drawer of Wolfe’s desk and a new twenty-dollar bill from the safe, and proceeded to the front room. Wolfe was still standing, scowling down at her, and she was talking. She broke off as I entered and turned to me. “You’re just in time, Buster. He’s trying to tell me there may be no reward, and I never heard of — what are you doing?”

I had picked up the stack of bills and was going to a window. Putting the one on top side by side with the one I had taken from the safe, one minute with the glass settled it. I took the one from the bottom of the stack, and one from the middle, and used the glass on them. The same. I stuck the good one in my pocket and crossed to them.

“There’ll probably be an award,” I told her. “Official. They’re phonies. Counterfeit.”

Chapter 2

I told a friend of mine about this incident one day a few weeks later, and when I got this far I asked her to guess what Hattie’s reaction had been. “That’s easy,” my friend said. “She accused you of taking good bills from the package and substituting bad ones. You should have known she would.” My friend couldn’t have been more wrong, but I admit it was my fault. I hadn’t drawn Hattie true to life. What Hattie actually said was, “Of course they’re counterfeit. Why would he hide real money in my parlor? And why would I bring it to Nero Wolfe?”

“You knew they were phonies?” I demanded.

“I knew they must be.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“Why should I? To you two great detectives? You knew it too or you wouldn’t have examined them with a magnifying glass.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know it, I only suspected it. I suspected it when I answered the bell just now and found a T-man at the door. A T-man is a Secret Service agent of the Treasury Department. He wanted to know if a woman named Tamiris Baxter was here. I told him no, that she was here this morning for ten minutes and left her—”

“Tammy Baxter? Tammy was here?”

“Right. She wanted to know if you had been here and I told her no. She left her phone number and asked me to ring her if you came. Then the T-man asked if Hattie Annis had been here, and I told him I was against answering miscellaneous questions, which is true, but the thing was I had got curious about this stack of bills and wanted to take a look. So he left and I came and looked. Now you say you knew they were counterfeit.”

“Archie.” Wolfe was gruff. “You saw that man’s credentials?”

“Of course.”

“He asked for Miss Annis?”

“He asked if she had been here.”

“Why didn’t you bring him in?”

“Because he wanted to look at the bills. If they were okay I saw no reason to let the T-man disturb a guest of yours who appreciates Fritz’s coffee.”

The trouble was, she had finished with the coffee. “Very well,” he said, “you have looked at them. Does the Secret Service have a New York office?”

“Yes.” A list of the things any two-bit dick knows and he doesn’t would fill a book.

“Call them and report. If Miss Annis leaves before they arrive keep the bills, and of course they will want the wrapping paper. Give her a receipt if she wants one.” He turned and made for the office, shutting the door.

It didn’t stay shut long. I admit I could have stopped her, by taking a step and stretching an arm, but I thought he might at least have given her a chance to thank him for the coffee. So I didn’t take the step until she had the door open, and then went only to the sill. Wolfe was in his chair behind his desk before he knew she was there.

“Did you mean that?” she demanded. “Call the cops and hand it over?”

“Not the cops, madam.” He was sharp. “The Secret Service. I have a responsibility as a citizen. Counterfeit money is contraband. I can’t let you walk out of my house with it.”

She put a hand on the desk edge for a prop. “Bootlicker,” she said. “The great detective Nero Wolfe just a flunky for the cops. If Falstaff was here I’d apologize to him. Maybe he wasn’t much of a hero, but he was no toady. You can’t glare me down, the lady’s going to talk. I found that stuff in my house, and I thought, I’d rather just burn it than turn it over to the cops. I thought the thing to do was find out who put it there and then go to a newspaper. Finding a counterfeiter ought to call for a reward. But I didn’t know how to find out because my mind doesn’t work like that, so I thought I would get a detective and split the reward with him, and I might as well get the best, so I go to Nero Wolfe, and this is what happens. Counterfeit money may be contraband, but it’s not your counterfeit money, it’s mine, I found it in my house, but what do you care, you want to suck up to the cops, so you tell him to call them and report, and keep the bills, and swaggle out. I spit at you. I don’t spit, but I spit at you.” She about-faced. “You too, Buster? Is this what you carried me in for?”

“Madam,” Wolfe said.

She whirled back. “Don’t madam me!”

“You have a point,” Wolfe said. “I reject your charge of servility, but you have a point, and an interesting one. I am not an officer of the law. Has a private citizen the right to confiscate contraband? I doubt it. Even if he has the right, is it a duty? Surely not. That counterfeit money is yours until it is seized by public authority. I confess to error, but I was prompted by expedience, not sycophancy. I merely wanted to get clear of a muddle. Now, confound it, you have raised a point I can’t ignore, but neither can I ignore my obligation as a citizen. I offer a suggestion: Mr. Goodwin will put the bills in my safe and go with you to your house and investigate. You say you wanted to engage me to identify and expose the counterfeiter; he will decide if that is feasible without prolonged and expensive inquiry. If it isn’t I’ll return your property to you, but I shall notify the Secret Service that I am doing so. In either case, I shall expect no fee. You are not my client. I am merely wriggling out of a muddle. Well?”

“We split the reward three ways,” she said.

“I have no interest in a reward.” He flipped a hand, discarding it. “There probably won’t be any.”

“There had better be. I don’t need it, I’ve got enough to go on and then some, but I’ve never earned any money and this is my chance. Keeping it in your safe, that’s all right. I’m not going to apologize for what I said until I see what happens.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Archie?”

I moved. The bills were still in my hand, but the wrapping paper and string were on the chair. I went and brought them, holding the paper by the corner. “A question,” I said. “Since he hid it where it might possibly be found he might have had sense enough not to leave prints, but he might not. If not, I’ve got him right here. I can find out in ten minutes, but it would be tampering with evidence, and the question is, do I?”

“Of course,” Hattie said. “I thought of that but I didn’t know how.”

“You can’t test it without leaving traces,” Wolfe said.

“No.”

“Then don’t. That can wait.”

Of course my prints were already there, on both the bills and the paper, but there was no point in adding more, so I took care putting them in the safe. I asked Wolfe if he had any instructions, and he said no, I knew what the situation required. I got Hattie’s bag and gloves from the front room; she hadn’t taken her coat off. I thought I might as well try her pulse, but she wouldn’t let me. When I showed her to the lavatory to look in the mirror she had to admit her face could stand some attention, and when she came out the smudge was gone and she had even tucked her hair in some.

Walking to Tenth Avenue for a taxi she limped a little, but she said it was nothing, just that her hip had a sore spot. When we were stopped by a red light at 38th Street the sight of a harness bull on the sidewalk prompted her to explain why she was so down on him and his. I got it that her father had been shot by one without provocation, but she seemed a little hazy about the details, and I was more interested in something else: what did she know of Tammy Baxter? She must be involved somehow, since the T-man wanted her. Hattie said no, it couldn’t be Tammy, because she only had one suit, two dresses, three blouses, and two skirts, and her fur coat was rabbit, and if she were a counterfeiter she would have more clothes. I conceded that that was pretty decisive, but why was the T-man interested in her? How long had she been living in Hattie’s house? Three weeks. What did Hattie know of her background and history? Nothing. Hattie never asked for references. When someone came and wanted a place to sleep she just sized him up. Or her.

The other four current roomers had all been there longer — one of them, Raymond Dell, more than three years. In the thirties Dell had always had enough work to lunch at Sardi’s twice a week, and in the forties he had done fairly well in Hollywood, but now he was down to a few television crumbs.

Noel Farris, a year and a half. A year ago he had been in a play which had folded in four days, and this season in one which had lasted two weeks.

Paul Hannah, four months. A kid in his early twenties with no Broadway record. He was rehearsing in a show that was to open next month at an off-Broadway theater, the Mushroom.

Martha Kirk, eleven months. Twenty years old. Was in Short and Sweet for a year. Now studying at the Eastern Ballet Studio.

That was what I had got when the taxi rolled to the curb in 47th Street. Tammy Baxter had said the house was a dump, and it was, like hundreds of others in that part of town. The wind whirled some snow into the vestibule when I pushed the door open. Hattie used her key on the inner door and we entered. I had told her that I would first take a look at the bookshelf, to see if the dust situation could furnish any information as to how long the package had been there, but as we were taking off our coats in the hall a voice came booming down the stairs.

“Is that you, Hattie?”

The owner of the voice was following it down. He was a tall thin guy with a marvelous mane of wavy white hair, in an ancient blue dressing gown with spots on it. He was rumbling, “Where on earth have you been, or above it or beneath? Without you this house is a sepulcher! There are no oranges.” He noticed me. “How do you do, sir.”

“Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Dell,” Hattie said. I started to offer a hand, but he was bowing, so I bowed instead. A voice sounded behind me. “This way for oranges, Ray! I got some. Good morning, Hattie — I mean good afternoon.”

Raymond Dell headed for the rear of the hall, where a girl was standing in a doorway, and when Hattie followed him I tagged along, on into the kitchen. On a big linoleum-topped table in the center a large brass bowl was piled high with oranges, and by the time I entered Dell had taken one and started to peel it. There was a smell of coffee.

“Miss Kirk, Mr. Goodwin,” Hattie said.

Martha Kirk barely looked her twenty. She was ornamental both above the neck and below, with matching dimples. She gave me a glance and a nod, and asked Hattie, “Do you know where Tammy is? Two phone calls. A man, no name.”

Hattie said she didn’t know. Dell looked up from his orange to rumble at me, “You’re a civilian, Mr. Goodwin?”

It was a well-put question, since if I wasn’t in show business my reply would show whether I was close enough to it to know that stage people call outsiders civilians. But Hattie replied for me.

“You watch your tongue with Mr. Goodwin,” she told him. “He thinks he’s going to do a piece for a magazine about me and my house, and that’s why he’s here. We’re all going to be famous. There’ll be a picture of us with Carol Jasper. She lived here nearly a year.”

“What magazine?” Dell demanded. Martha Kirk skipped around the table to curtsy to me. “What would you like?” she asked. “An omelet of larks’ eggs? With truffles?”

I was a little sorry I had suggested that explanation of me to Hattie. It would be a shame to disappoint a girl who could curtsy like that. “You’d better save it,” I said. “This egg not only hasn’t hatched, it’s not even laid yet.”

Raymond Dell was boring holes through me with deep-set blue-gray eyes. “I wouldn’t have my picture taken with Carol Jasper,” he said, “for all the gold of Ormus and of Ind.”

“You can squat down behind,” Hattie said. “Come on Mr. Goodwin.” She moved. “He wants to see the house. I hope the beds are made.”

I said I’d see them later and followed her out. Halfway down the hall she asked, not lowering her voice, “How was that? All right?”

“Fine,” I said, loud enough to carry back. “They’re interested and that’ll help.”

She stopped at a door on the left toward the front, opened it, and went in. I followed and closed the door. The window blinds were down and it was almost as dark as night, but she flipped a wall switch and light came from a cluster of bulbs in the ceiling. I glanced around. A sofa, dark red plush or velvet, chairs to match; a fireplace with a marble mantel; worn and faded carpet; an upright piano against the wall on the right, and beyond the piano shelves of books.

“Here,” Hattie said, and went to the shelves. “I put the books back like they were.” As I moved to join her the corner of my eye caught something, and I turned my head; and, seeing it, I turned more and then froze. It was Tammy Baxter, flat on the floor behind the sofa, staring up at the ceiling; and, as if to show her where to stare, the handle of a knife at right angles to her chest was pointing straight at the cluster of lights.

Chapter 3

To show you how freaky a human mind can be, as if you didn’t already know, the thought that popped into mine was that Hattie had been right, a counterfeiter would have more clothes; and what brought it was the fact that Tammy’s skirt was up nearly to her waist, exposing her legs. That took the first tenth of a second. The next thought was also of Hattie, just as freaky but for men only, based on the strictly male notion that women aren’t tough enough to take the sight of a corpse. I turned, and she was there at my elbow, staring down at it.

“That’s a knife,” she said.

That plain statement of fact brought my mind to. I went and squatted, lifted Tammy’s hand, and pressed hard on the thumbnail. When I released the pressure it stayed white. The dead hand flopped back to the carpet and I stood up. I glanced at my wrist; twelve minutes past one. “You’ll see the cops now,” I said. “If you don’t want — Hands off! Don’t touch her!”

“I won’t,” she said, and didn’t. She only touched the skirt, the hem, to pull it down, but it was bunched underneath and would come only to the knees.

“It’s your house,” I said, “so you ought to phone, but I will if you prefer.”

“Phone for a cop?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have to?”

“Certainly.”

She went to a chair and sat. “This is the way it goes,” she said. “It always has. When I want to think I can’t. But you can, Buster, that’s your business. You ought to be able to think of something better than calling a cop.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Hattie.” I stopped. I hadn’t realized she had become Hattie to me until I heard it come out. I went on, “But first a couple of questions, in case some thinking is called for later. When you came back here this morning to sew on the button did you see Tammy?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“The car that came up on the sidewalk and hit you. Did you see the driver?”

“No, how could I? It came from behind.”

“The man and woman who helped you up, and the other man. Did they see the driver?”

“No, I asked them. They said they didn’t. I can’t think about that, I’m thinking about this. We’ll go up to my room. Ray and Martha don’t know we came in here. We’ll go up to my room and you’ll think of something.”

“I can’t think her alive and I can’t think her body somewhere else. If you mean we forget we came in and saw it, then what? You said nobody comes in here much. Do you phone or do I?”

Her mouth worked. “You’re no good, Buster. I wish I hadn’t sewed that button on.” She got to her feet, none too steady. “I’m going upstairs, and I’m not going to see any cops.” She moved, but not toward the door. She stood and looked down at the corpse, and said, “It’s not your fault, Tammy. Your name won’t ever be on a marquee now.” She moved again, stopped at the door to say, “The phone’s in the hall,” and went.

I looked around. There was no sign of a struggle. There was nothing to be seen that might not have belonged to the room — Tammy’s handbag, for instance. I went and squatted by her for a look at the knife handle; it was plain black wood, four inches long, the kind for a large kitchen knife. It was clear in to the handle and there was no blood. I got erect and went to the hall, where I had noticed the phone on a stand under the stairs. Voices were coming from the kitchen. That it wasn’t a coin phone, out in the open in that house, was worthy of remark; either Hattie’s roomers could be trusted not to take liberties, or she could afford not to care if they did. Only now, evidently, one of them had taken the liberty of sticking a knife in Tammy Baxter. I dialed the number I knew best.

“Yes?”

I have tried to persuade Wolfe that that is no way to answer the phone, with no success. “Me,” I said. “Calling from Miss Annis’s house to report a complication. We went in the parlor to look at the bookshelf and found Tammy Baxter on the floor with a knife in her chest. The girl that came this morning to ask if Miss Annis had been there and that the T-man asked about. Miss Annis won’t call the police, so I have to. I am keeping my voice low because this phone is in the hall and there are people in the kitchen with the door open, I have my eye on it. I need instructions. You told Miss Annis you would return her property to her, and you like to do what you say you’ll do. So when I answer questions what do I save?”

“Again,” he growled.

“Again what?”

“Again you. Your talent for dancing merrily into a bog is extraordinary. Why the deuce should you save anything? Save for what?”

“I’m not dancing and I’m not merry. You sent me here. In one minute, possibly two, it would occur to you as it has to me that it would be a nuisance to have to explain why we postponed reporting that counterfeit money. I could omit the detail that I inspected it and found it was counterfeit. If and when the question is put I could deny it.”

“Pfui. That woman.”

“It would be two against one, if it came to that, but I don’t think it will. She says she’s not going to see any cops and has gone to her room. Of course she’ll see them, or they’ll see her, but I doubt if they’ll hear much. Her attitude toward cops is drastic. One will get you ten that she won’t even tell them where she went this morning. But if you would prefer to open the bag—”

“I would prefer to obliterate the entire episode. Confound it. Very well. Omit that detail.”

“Right. I’ll be home when I get there.”

I cradled the phone and stood and frowned at it. A citizen finding a dead body is supposed to report it at once, and in addition to being a citizen I was a licensed private detective, but another five minutes wouldn’t hang me. Raymond Dell’s boom was still coming from the kitchen. Hattie had said her room was the second floor front. I went to the stairs, mounted a flight, turned right in the upper hall, and tapped on a door.

Her voice came. “Who is it?”

“Goodwin. Buster to you.”

“What do you want? Are you alone?”

“I’m alone and I want to ask you something.”

The sound of footsteps, then of a sliding bolt that needed oiling, and the door opened. I entered and she closed the door and bolted it. “They haven’t come yet,” I said. “I phoned Mr. Wolfe to suggest that it would simplify matters if we leave out one item, that we knew the bills were counterfeit. Including you. That hadn’t occurred to us. If you admit you knew or suspected they were phony, it will be a lot more unpleasant. So I thought I’d—”

“Who would I admit it to?”

“The cops. Naturally.”

“I’m not going to admit anything to the cops. I’m not going to see any cops.”

“Good for you.” There was no point in telling her how wrong she was. “If you change your mind, remember that we didn’t know the money was counterfeit. I’m sorry I’m no good.”

I went, shutting the door, and as I headed for the stairs I heard the bolt slide home. In the lower hall voices still came from the kitchen. I went to the phone, dialed Watkins 9-8241, got it, gave my name, asked for Sergeant Stebbins, and after a short wait had him.

“Goodwin? I’m busy.”

“You’re going to be busier. I thought it would save time to bypass headquarters. I’m calling from the house of Miss Hattie Annis, Six-twenty-eight West Forty-seventh Street. There’s a dead body here in the parlor — a woman with a knife in her chest. DOA — that is, my arrival. I’m leaving to get a bite of lunch.”

“You are like hell. You again. I needed this. This was all I needed.” He pronounced a word which it is a misdemeanor to use on the telephone. “You’re staying there, and you’re keeping your hands off. Of course you discovered it.”

“Not of course. Just I discovered it.”

He pronounced another contraband word. “Repeat that address.”

I repeated it. The connection went. As I hung up a notion struck me. Hattie wasn’t there to call me a bootlicker and flunky and toady, and it wouldn’t hurt to be polite; and besides, it would be interesting and instructive to see how Stebbins would react to outside authority sticking a finger in his pie. So I got the phone book from the stand, found the number, and dialed it.

A man’s voice answered. “Rector two, nine one hundred.”

Being discreet. Liking it plain, I asked, “Secret Service Division?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to speak to Mr. Albert Leach.”

“Mr. Leach isn’t in at the moment. Who is this, please?”

My reply was delayed because my attention was diverted. The front door had opened and a man had entered; and, hearing my voice, he had approached for a look. I looked back. He was young and handsome — Broadway handsome. The phone repeated, “Who is this, please?”

“My name is Archie Goodwin. I have a message for Mr. Leach. He asked me this morning about a woman named Tammy Baxter. Tell him that Miss Baxter is dead. Murdered. Her body was discovered in the parlor of the house where she lived on Forty-seventh Street. I have just notified the police. I thought Mr. Leach—”

I dropped the phone on the cradle, moved, and called, “Hey you! Hold it!”

The handsome young man, halfway to the parlor door, stopped and wheeled; and at the rear of the hall there were steps and Martha Kirk’s voice, and she came trotting, the trot of a dancer, with Raymond Dell striding at her heels. As I crossed the hall a buzzer sounded in the kitchen, and I went and opened the door. It was two harness bulls. They stepped in and the one in front spoke. “Are you Archie Goodwin?”

“I am.” I pointed to the parlor door. “In there.”

Chapter 4

Two hours later, at twenty minutes to four, as I sat at the big table in the kitchen eating crackers and cheese and raspberry preserves, and drinking coffee, Inspector Cramer of Homicide West sent for me to ask me a favor. Very few people or situations had ever got Cramer to the point of asking a favor of me, but Hattie Annis had managed it.

With me at the table were two of the roomers, Noel Ferris and Paul Hannah. Ferris was the handsome young man who had appeared as I was phoning. Hannah was even younger, but not as handsome. He had chubby pink cheeks and not enough nose, and his ears stuck out. A dick had gone for him at the Mushroom Theater, where he had been rehearsing. At the moment Cramer sent for me he and Ferris were discussing the question, when had they last been in the parlor? Ferris said one evening about a month ago, when he had gone in to see if the piano was as bad as Martha said it was, and had found it was worse. Hannah said two weeks ago yesterday, when he had come downstairs to make a phone call and Martha was at the phone talking, and he had stepped into the parlor because he didn’t want to stand there and listen. Before they had got onto that they had argued about the knife. Hannah said he had identified it as one from a kitchen drawer which he had often used, and Ferris said he shouldn’t have identified it; he should have merely said it was similar. They had got fairly heated, paying no attention to a city employee who was on a chair by the door, taking it in.

I hadn’t been allowed in the parlor, but I had seen the experts come and go, and some of them were still there. My first interview had been with Purley Stebbins, who had arrived in person only ten minutes behind the pair from the prowl car. That had taken place in the kitchen. My second interview had been in the room above the kitchen, Raymond Dell’s room as I learned later, with Inspector Cramer and the T-man, Albert Leach. That was an honor, but I felt that I rated it because if it hadn’t been for me they wouldn’t have been there. My phone call to the Secret Service had brought Leach on the jump, and Leach’s appearance had brought the Inspector. No doubt about it. So it was Cramer, not Stebbins, that I got to see reacting to outside authority, and it wasn’t very instructive because he was mostly reacting to me as usual.

“You say Wolfe told her he would expect no fee and he wasn’t interested in a reward, but he sent you here with her and you paid the cab fare. Nuts. I know Wolfe and I know you. You expect me to swallow that?”

Or: “You try to tell me that you don’t know exactly how long it was after you found the body until you called Stebbins because you didn’t look at your watch when you found the body. That’s a lie. The way you’ve been trained looking at your watch would have been automatic. Raymond Dell and Martha Kirk say it was just a few minutes after one when you and Hattie Annis left the kitchen. You called Stebbins at one-thirty-four. Half an hour. What were you doing?”

Or: “Quit your clowning!”

Of course he was at a disadvantage, since at the beginning he expected to be riled because he knew I knew how, and when he’s riled his mind skips. So I got no bruises, and the one ticklish point was never mentioned. I gave him all the facts about the package from the time Hattie left it with me until I put it in the safe, excepting one detail, and he didn’t even hint at the possibility that it might be queer, and neither did Leach. Leach horned in only once, when he got riled too.

“I warned you,” he said, “not to try any fancy tricks with the Secret Service. And at that moment, when I was asking you if Hattie Annis had been there, she was in with Wolfe. You have just admitted it. You withheld information required by an agent of the Federal government in the performance of his duty, and you will answer for it.”

“I’ll answer now,” I told him. “Why should I tell you anything about anybody? If you had any proper ground for asking me about Hattie Annis you didn’t mention it. Inspector Cramer doesn’t have to mention it. She and I found a dead body in her house, and it’s his job to catch murderers, and it’s possible that there is a connection between the murder and the package that Miss Annis found and brought to Mr. Wolfe. So I answer his questions. I can’t think offhand of any question whatever that I owe you an answer to. Do you want to try?”

That was deliberate. Sooner or later someone was going to ask me if I knew that money was counterfeit, and I might as well get it over with and have it on the record. But he merely looked at Cramer, and Cramer resumed.

At twenty minutes to four, when a dick named Callahan entered the kitchen and said the Inspector wanted me, I supposed it had been decided that it was time to try me on the ten-thousand-dollar question, but when I saw Cramer’s face I knew that wasn’t it. Instead of being set to blurt a tough one at me, he was chewing on a cigar, and he does that only when he doesn’t like the prospect. Lieutenant Rowcliff and another dick were with him, in Dell’s room. Leach wasn’t there. It didn’t come easy for him. He took the cigar from his mouth, put it back, and rasped, “We need your help, Goodwin.”

“I’d love to help,” I said.

“Yeah.” Not at all the right tone for asking a favor. “Did you tell that Annis woman to bolt herself in?”

“No. I have reported it as it happened.”

“Yeah.” He removed the cigar. “She won’t open the door. She won’t open her trap. We don’t want to smash the door unless we have to. She’s your client and if you tell her to slide that damn bolt she will.”

“She is not my client. Nor Mr. Wolfe’s.”

“So you say. Wouldn’t she open the door if you asked her to?”

“Probably.”

“Okay. Ask her.”

I allowed a grin to show. “Not the way you mean. Not with you at my elbow. I’m willing to try if I’m alone in the hall and the door of this room is shut, and I’ll explain the situation to her. She has a personal attitude to cops. A cop shot her father.”

“Yeah, fifteen years ago. Hasn’t she got any sense?”

“No.”

“She might know we’ll bust the door if we have to. Will you tell her that?”

“Sure. With conditions as specified. You and yours stay here with the door shut. Rowcliff is slow in the skull but his feet are fast.”

“Save the gags,” Cramer growled, and stuck the cigar in his mouth. I went, closed the door behind me, walked down the hall, rapped on Hattie’s door, and called, “It’s me. Buster Goodwin. I’m alone. Let me in. I want to ask you something.”

Footsteps and then her voice. “Where are they?”

“Still in the house but at a safe distance. I am not a flunky.”

The bolt grated and the door opened. I entered, shut the door, and slid the bolt. The blinds were down and the lights were on. She had a magazine in her hand. “You might have brought me something to eat,” she said. “I haven’t had any lunch. You’re no good.”

I faced her. “That’s the second time you’ve told me I’m no good,” I said. “Let’s get that settled. If you really mean it why did you let me in?”

“I thought you had something to eat. When I say you’re no good that’s just for then, when I say it. I’m hungry.”

“Okay. Actually I’m extremely good. If I wasn’t, why would I bother to come and tell you to stay away from the door because they’re going to bust it in?”

“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 button, it could have been then.”

“You suspect me?”

“Of course not. Even if I’m no good I’m not a halfwit.”

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 something, 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—”

“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 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 surrender, 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 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 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 development 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 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 Carmer 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 package.”

“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 number 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 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. “Confound 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 assuming 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 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 consideration. They might at least have phoned.”

“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 shutting 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 Hannah moved their own, beyond her. Wolfe’s eyes went from left to right and back again.

“Go ahead, Martha,” Paul Hannah said. “This was your idea.”

“No,” Martha said, “it was Hattie’s idea.” She was still ornamental, and the dimples were still there, but she didn’t look up to making an omelet of larks’ eggs. She turned her face to me and then to Wolfe. “It’s crazy,” she said. “The idea that Hattie — It’s just crazy.”

“She doesn’t mean,” Noel Ferris explained, “that Hattie’s idea is crazy, she means the idea that Hattie killed Tammy Baxter. Hattie’s idea was that we should come and see you.”

“According to Martha,” Paul Hannah said.

“Idiot children,” Raymond Dell rumbled. His hat had pressed his white mane down, but it was starting to unfurl. “Snapping and yapping in the face of tragedy.”

“Death isn’t tragedy,” Ferris said. “Life is tragedy.”

“Was it Miss Annis’s idea,” Wolfe inquired, “that you should come and expound philosophy to me? Miss Kirk. I gather that she spoke with you?”

Martha nodded. “She spoke to me. She said she had hired you and Mr. Goodwin to make the cops eat dirt, and we must come and tell you everything we had told the cops.”

“When did she hire you?” Hannah demanded. His chubby pink cheeks were a little saggy.

Wolfe ignored him and kept his eyes at Martha. “What else did she say?”

“Nothing. She couldn’t. I was coming downstairs, and they were carrying her out, and she saw me and said that, and I said we would. Of course I couldn’t tell the others then, they were still questioning us, but I did as soon as they left.”

“They were carrying her literally? Bodily?”

“Yes. Two men.”

“Had they forced the door of her room?”

“Yes.”

Wolfe grunted. “Possibly actionable. For the record, Miss Annis is my client, but my job is not as she defined it. I have engaged to investigate the murder that was committed in her house.”

“It wasn’t committed by her,” Martha declared. “But they’ve arrested her. It’s crazy!”

“It was committed by a sex maniac,” Paul Hannah said. “Twice last week a man followed her right to the door. When she told me about it I offered to ambush him, but she said no, if he did it again and came close she would handle him. She would, too.”

Noel Ferris twisted his lip. “Lochinvar Hannah,” he drawled. “These sex maniacs are damn clever. Of course getting in wasn’t much, he could have a bag of assorted keys, but getting the knife from the kitchen was a real stroke. We know he did because you identified it.”

“You keep harping on that.” Hannah’s cheeks were pinker. “Certainly I identified it, with that nick in it. I supposed you all would. I knew Hattie would.”

“I did,” Martha said.

Ferris turned a hand over. “Then I should have too. I was too sentimental, I always am. I had a vague notion that it would be better to leave it plausible that the knife was a stranger. Also I am too sensitive. I couldn’t bear the thought that the knife I had sliced ham with had been...” He finished it with a gesture, an actor’s gesture.

Raymond Dell snorted. “Adolescent imbeciles! All three of you! We came here to serve a friend in whose debt we are, not to prattle. Tammy Baxter was new in that house, not yet of us. For all we know, Hattie may have had reason to fear her beyond endurance. In a frenzy of fear, in the panic of desperation, she killed her. That is quite possible. We know that Hattie was not herself. We thought her incapable of guile, but she brought this man Goodwin, a professional detective — she brought him there and presented him to Martha and me in false colors.”

Ferris’s brows were up. “But you came here to serve her?”

“I did.” Dell’s boom would have carried to the gallery if there had been one. “Whether she killed or not, whether she was wise to trust her fate to this man Wolfe and this man Goodwin — we are not to judge. We can only ask, what can we do or say to help her?” His deep-set blue-gray eyes focused on Wolfe. “And we can only ask you.”

Martha Kirk put in, “Hattie said we should tell him everything we told the cops.”

Wolfe shook his head. “That may not be necessary. I hope not.” He cleared his throat. “It has already been of some slight help to sit and listen to you; that is inherent in the situation. When four people are conversing in my presence and I know that one of them committed murder less than twelve hours ago, I would be a dolt to get no inkling at all. Look at you now — your reaction to what I just said. You are all staring at me. One of you opened his mouth to interrupt, but closed it. None of you glances at the others, or at any other. But I know that one of you is feeling the pinch. He is asking himself, are my eyes all right, how about my mouth, should I say something? He is aware, of course, that it will take more than an inkling to undo him, but an inkling can give me a start.”

It wasn’t giving me one. They all kept their stares at him. Martha’s lips were parted, and Ferris’s were twisted. Paul Hannah’s jaw was working. Dell’s chin was up and he was frowning. Ferris demanded, “You know it was one of us? How?”

“Not by an inkling, Mr. Ferris. There is the knife, and there is my conviction, on grounds that satisfy me, that Miss Annis didn’t use it, but that isn’t all. I prefer not to disclose why she took Mr. Goodwin to her house in masquerade; though one of you has certainly guessed why I’ll leave it a guess.” He flattened his palms on the chair arms. “And now we may proceed. Three of you came here to help a friend, and one of you came because he didn’t dare to refuse; nor will he dare to refuse to answer my questions; and I expect him to expose himself. If he has already exposed himself to the police we are wasting our time, but I’ll proceed on the assumption that he hasn’t. If I fail, it will be because I haven’t asked the right questions, and I don’t intend to fail.”

His head turned. “Mr. Dell. Have you paid your room rent for the past three months?”

Chapter 6

Raymond Dell’s chin lifted another quarter of an inch. “We could all refuse,” he said.

Wolfe nodded. “You could indeed. If you think that would serve your friend in whose debt you are. Shall I try the others?”

“No. As for that question, if Hattie is your client you could ask her. Perhaps you already have. I have paid no room rent for three years and she has asked for none.”

Wolfe’s head moved. “Miss Kirk?”

She was still staring at him. “The cops didn’t ask me that,” she said.

Wolfe grunted. “They have their technique and I have mine. That question applies to the problem as I see it. Does it embarrass you?”

“No. I have lived there nearly a year and I have paid five dollars every week.”

“From current income?”

“I haven’t any current income. I get a check from my father every month.”

“I trust it doesn’t embarrass him. Mr. Ferris?”

Noel Ferris passed his tongue over his lips. “How this applies is beyond me,” he said, “but I don’t dare to refuse to answer. I haven’t figured how I stand on rent, but you can. I’ve had a room there for eighteen months. Last summer I was on television for thirteen weeks and I gave Hattie a hundred and fifty dollars. A show I was in flopped in November, and since then it has been television crumbs. Two weeks ago I gave her sixty dollars. You figure it.”

“You’re a hundred and eighty dollars short. Mr. Hannah?”

Paul Hannah was looking determined. “I’m not taking any dare,” he blurted. “You may think your question applies, but I don’t. You say you know one of us killed Tammy Baxter, but I don’t believe it. I know damn well I didn’t. You don’t kill someone without a reason, and what was it? She had only been there three weeks and we barely knew her. The knife doesn’t prove anything. Whoever killed her got in the house somehow, and if he was in the house he could have got the knife. I’m not taking any dare.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Your spunk is impressive, Mr. Hannah, but it bounces off. If you are innocent the question whether you’ll take a dare doesn’t arise; the 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 morning, 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 magazine, and they went—”

“That’s far enough. Which room is yours?”

“The third floor front, above Hattie’s.”

“And the others? Their rooms?”

“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 Ferris’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 gestured. “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 finished it, at five o’clock perhaps, or six, I wanted oranges. 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.”

“I want to be present when you apply it. That would be a revelation worthy of the Cumaean sybil. I babysit.”

“You what?”

“The current abhorrent term is ‘babysit.’ 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, from 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 service 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?”

“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. Ferris?”

“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 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?”

It was a little odd, the four suspects coming uninvited to empty the bag and being told to go almost before they got started. Noel Ferris, his lip twisted, got up and headed for the hall. Martha Kirk, getting no satisfaction from Wolfe, appealed to me: didn’t I realize that Hattie had been arrested for a murder she didn’t commit? Paul Hannah sat and listened to us, chewing his lip, then got up and touched her arm and said they might as well go. Raymond Dell stood, lowered his chin, gazed at Wolfe half a minute, registering indignation, wheeled, and marched out. (Exit Dell, center.) I followed Martha and Hannah to the hall, but she preferred to put on her galoshes herself. When I opened the door for them a few snowflakes danced in.

Back in the office, Wolfe was sitting again, leaning back with his eyes closed. I asked if he wanted beer, got a nod, and went to the kitchen and brought a bottle and glass, and a glass of milk for me. He opened his eyes, took in a bushel of air through his nose and let it out through his mouth, straightened up, picked up the bottle, and poured.

He spoke. “Saul and Fred and Orrie. At eight in the morning in my room.”

My brows went up. Saul Panzer is the best operative south of the North Pole. His rate is ten dollars an hour and he is worth twenty. Fred Durkin’s rate is seven dollars and he is worth seven-fifty. Orrie Gather’s rate is also seven dollars and he is worth six-fifty.

“Oh.” I took a sip of milk. “Then you did get an inkling?”

“I got a conclusion: that it would be futile to go on pecking at them. Mr. Leach has been on their flanks for three weeks, and now Mr. Cramer’s army has them under siege. My only chance of priority is to surprise him from the rear.”

The foam was down to the rim of his glass, and he lifted it and drank, a healthy gulp. “It’s a forlorn chance, certainly, but it’s worth trying for want of a better. I am not familiar with the procedures of counterfeiters, but it seems unlikely that an underling would be entrusted with five hundred twenty-dollar bills. Ten thousand dollars. We know he had that large supply; and that permits the conjecture that his connection may be not with a mere go-between, but with the source. If so, the quickest way to settle it would be to locate the source.”

“Yeah. It’s barely possible that Leach has had that idea.”

“No doubt. I assume that when Miss Baxter took a room in that house her primary mission was to search the premises for counterfeiting equipment. Obviously she found none. I also assume that, as you suggested, it was known that one of the inhabitants of that house had passed counterfeit money, but it was not known which one, and they were all under surveillance — by Miss Baxter in the house and by others outside. And if I were a Secret Service agent assigned to keep an eye on Raymond Dell I would suppose that any meeting he had with a supplier of contraband would be clandestine. That is how my mind would work. The first day I followed him to an East Side tenement I would of course make inquiries, with due caution, but when he went there five days a week and I learned from Miss Baxter what he did there, my attention would be diverted. But I am not a Secret Service agent. My attention is drawn to that tenement house, and specifically to Max Eder, a painter. An artist. I shall send Orrie Cather there tomorrow morning to reconnoiter. Fred Durkin will go to the shop on First Avenue — by the way, I want its address. Harry’s Zoo.” He made a face. “Saul Panzer will go to the Mushroom Theater. As I said, it’s a forlorn chance, but what better can we do with tomorrow? Unless you have a suggestion?”

“I have,” I said emphatically. “I respectfully suggest that you start thinking up something for day after tomorrow.”

He grunted. He picked up his glass, took a gulp of beer, swallowed it, licked his lips, and put the glass down. “‘Forlorn’ was too strong a word,” he said. “I have an expectation that is not wholly unreasonable. Twelve hours of the time of those three men plus expenses comes to more than three hundred dollars. I don’t hazard that amount, even of a client’s money, on a pig in a poke.”

“Then you did get an inkling.”

“Certainly.”

“Fine. I hope it’s not counterfeit.” I swiveled and got the phone and dialed Saul Panzer’s number.

Chapter 7

I was there at the beginning of the briefing session in Wolfe’s bedroom at eight o’clock Tuesday morning, but when the phone interrupted us a second time Wolfe told me to go down to the office and take it there. The first time it was a Times reporter wanting to speak with Wolfe, and when I told him Wolfe was busy and would I do, he said no and hung up. The second call, which I took in the office, was from Lon Cohen of the Gazette, who preferred me to Wolfe any day. He wanted to know when he could send a photographer to take a picture of the dirt Wolfe was going to feed the cops. Evidently one of the two who had carried Hattie out knew a newspaperman. Lon had other questions, naturally, but I told him the answers would have to wait until I found out what they were.

I was considering whether to rejoin the briefing session when the phone rang again. It was Nathaniel Parker. He was sorry he hadn’t been able to spring our client, but it had taken him three hours to find out where she was, and he hadn’t got to see her until midnight. He expected to have her out by noon.

At nine o’clock the trio came down. One of the reasons they are better than most is that none of them looks it. Saul Panzer, under-sized and wiry, with a big nose, could be a hackie. Fred Durkin, broad and burly and bald, could be a piano mover. Orrie Cather, tall and trim and dressy, could be an automobile salesman. They stepped into the office, and Saul said they had been told to take three hundred dollars apiece in used bills. I said as I went to open the safe that even with inflation and even with janitors promoted to building superintendents, fifty bucks was the top price for one, and they would please return the change. Orrie said that if they had to buy clerks and elevator men and neighbors there wouldn’t be any change. Saul said they would each give me a ring every couple of hours or so.

When they had gone I went on with the morning chores — opening the mail, dusting the desks, filing the cards of propagation and performance records which Theodore puts on my desk every evening. That was just for my hands and eyes; my mind was busy with something else. Of all the things I do to earn my pay, from sharpening pencils to jumping a visitor before he can get his gun up, the most important is riding Wolfe, and he knows it. Sometimes it’s next to impossible to tell whether he’s working or only pretending to. That was the question that morning. If he was only stalling, if he had sent for Saul and Fred and Orrie just to keep from starting his brain going, the thing for me to do was to go up to the plant rooms and go to work on him. It was the same old problem, and the trouble was that that time I would have nothing to say when he narrowed his eyes at me, as he would, and inquired coldly, “What would you suggest?”

That was what my mind was on, and was still on when the doorbell rang a little after ten o’clock and I went to the hall for a look. It was Albert Leach, with his snap-brim hat down even closer to his ears than yesterday. I went and opened the door.

“Good morning,” he said, and slipped his hand inside his overcoat.

I supposed he was producing his credentials. “Don’t bother,” I said, “I recognize you.”

But it wasn’t credentials. His name came out with a folded paper. Extending it, he said, “Order of the Federal District Court.”

I took it, unfolded it, and read. I read it through. “You know,” I said, “this is a new experience. I can’t remember that we have ever been served with an order from a Federal court. Mr. Wolfe will be glad to add it to his collection.” I stuck it in my pocket.

“You note,” he said, “that I am empowered to search for the object specified if necessary.”

“You won’t have to. You heard me tell Cramer yesterday that I put it in the safe, and it’s still there. Come in.” I gave him room.

He had excellent manners. He entered, removed his hat, stood while I shut the door, and followed me to the office. I swung the safe door open, got a corner of the wrapping paper with my thumb and forefinger, carried it dangling and put it on my desk, and went back and brought the lettuce and the string. “There you are,” I said. “I didn’t rewrap it after I lifted the prints.”

His lips tightened. “You said nothing to Inspector Cramer about lifting prints.”

“No? I thought I had. Of course that was routine after Miss Annis told us how and where she found it. You won’t find any except hers and mine. I couldn’t, and I was pretty thorough.”

“You tampered with evidence.”

“What was it evidence of — then?” My feelings were hurt. “Anyway, the prints are still there. I’ll give you a bag to carry it in, but first we’ll have to count it and I want a receipt. It’s still the property of Miss Hattie Annis.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. It was a situation. He knew that I knew that he knew that I knew it was counterfeit, and therefore we both knew that Hattie would never see it again, but he was still keeping it off the record. “I’ll make a concession,” I offered. “We’ll weigh it on the postal scale. Put it on.”

He picked it up and put it on the scale, and we looked. Just under seventeen ounces. I brought a shopping bag from the kitchen and gave it to him, got at the typewriter, and tapped out a receipt for 16–11/12 oz. of twenty-dollar bills. I was tempted to add “in good condition,” but remembered that he had warned me not to try any fancy tricks with the Secret Service. As I handed him the receipt and my pen the doorbell rang, and I stepped to the hall.

It was Inspector Cramer. I went and opened the door. He entered. I shut the door. When I turned his hand was emerging from inside his coat with a folded paper. He handed it to me. I read it through. It wouldn’t be worth keeping as a souvenir — just the State of New York.

“You’ll notice,” he said, “that I can search for it if I have to.”

“You won’t have to. You know where it is.”

He strode to the office door and on in. I stopped on the sill. Leach, at my desk, with the shopping bag in one hand and the bills in the other, turned.

“It’s a problem,” I said. “Leach has signed a receipt for it, but I can tear it up. Why don’t you split it half and half?”

Cramer stood at arm’s length from the T-man. A muscle in the side of his neck was twitching. “That’s evidence in a murder case,” he said. “I have a court order for it.”

“So have I,” Leach said. “From a Federal court.” He put the bills in the bag, taking his time, and tucked the bag under his arm. “If you’ll send a man to our office he’ll be allowed to examine it, Inspector. We are always ready to cooperate with the local authorities.”

He moved, detouring around Cramer. Cramer wheeled and followed him, and I stepped aside to let them by. As Cramer passed he gave me a glare that would have withered a lesser man. I didn’t cooperate by going to open the door because I wasn’t sure I could keep my face straight, and when they were out and the door had closed I quit trying. A whoop had wanted out the second Cramer produced the paper, and now I let it come. I laughed so loud and so long that Fritz appeared at the kitchen door to ask what had happened.

There was no point in disturbing Wolfe in the plant rooms, so I let it wait until he came down at eleven o’clock. He never whoops, but when I reported and showed him the court orders he allowed himself an all-out chuckle and there was a twinkle in his eye. He said it was just as well he hadn’t been present, since Cramer would probably have accused him of staging it, and I agreed. I said I was glad the stuff was out of the house, and he agreed.

Calls came from Saul and Fred and Orrie during the next half hour. Nothing promising. Orrie had spoken with Max Eder, the janitor of the building, and three other tenants. Fred had bought a squirrel and a kangaroo and had spent an hour in the workroom in the rear of the shop. Saul hadn’t been inside the building that contained the Mushroom Theater. From the outside it looked as if it might collapse if you leaned against it. He had spent the two hours covering the neighborhood. When I relayed the reports to Wolfe, who was doing a crossword puzzle in the London Observer, all I got was a grunt. I had about decided it was time to go to work on him when the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.

It was our lawyer and our client. I hadn’t told him to bring her. I was in no mood for her, and Wolfe certainly wasn’t. All I could tell her was that Wolfe either had an inkling or hadn’t, and he was spending her money at the rate of fifty bucks an hour. I went and opened the door but occupied the threshold.

“Greetings,” I said heartily. “This is a relief! I’m sorry we couldn’t make it sooner, Hattie, but Mr. Parker did his best. You’ll take her home, Nat? I’m tied up here.”

“Don’t call me Hattie,” she said, “until I find what you’re up to.”

“I brought her here,” Parker said, “because she insisted.” He looked harassed. “I’ll be going. I’ve canceled two appointments and I’m late for another one. Let me know if you need me.” He went.

“Every time I come here,” Hattie said, “there you stand. What good does it do to open the door if you fill it up?”

I stood aside and she entered. She took off the gray woolen gloves and stuck them in her coat pocket, and unbuttoned her coat, and I certainly would have been no good if I hadn’t helped her off with the coat, so I did, and put it on a hanger. By the time I had it on the rack she was at the office door, entering, and by the time I got to the office she was in the red leather chair and Wolfe was glowering at her.

“About that lawyer,” she said. “I’m not going to pay him too, and I told him so. When I told Buster I could pay forty-two thousand dollars that includes everything.”

Wolfe looked at me. I nodded. “All right. I told you I was under a spell. I scaled it down.”

He looked at her. “Very well, madam, I’ll pay the lawyer. You came to tell me that?”

“I told you before not to madam me. First I want to see that counterfeit money, then I’ll know I can trust you. Show it to me.”

Wolfe looked at me. I have seen him handle many a crisis, but that was too tough for him. “Archie?” he said.

I opened my desk drawer, took out three sheets of paper, and went and handed her one of them. “A cop named Cramer brought that,” I said. “Signed by a judge, ordering us to give him the bills and the wrapper. Cramer knows Mr. Wolfe and me and doesn’t like us. When he handed me that he sneered.”

“I thought so. You’re no good. So you—”

“Wait a minute. We had been afraid that would happen. The cop was too late.” I handed her another paper. “A man had already come with that, signed by a Federal judge, and I had turned the money over to him, so the cop was out of luck. I don’t say we had arranged it, but facts are facts. The cop was so sore he marched out without a word.” I handed her the third paper. “That’s the receipt the man signed.”

She hadn’t even glanced at any of the documents. She handed them back. “I wish I had been here,” she said.

“So do I, Miss Annis. You would have enjoyed it.”

“Call me Hattie.”

“With pleasure.” I returned the papers to the drawer and sat. “Did you have a hard night?”

“Not too hard. There was a couch and I got some naps, but the woman that stayed with me wouldn’t turn the lights out, and every two hours they came back and started in again. Cops are too mean to live, and they’re too dumb. They might have known I wouldn’t speak to a cop.”

“Didn’t you speak at all?”

“No. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t?”

“Not a word?”

“No. The worst part was I was hungry. They brought some stuff twice last night and again this morning, but of course I wouldn’t touch it. I don’t know what kind of drug they had in it, something to make me talk.”

“You haven’t eaten at all?”

“Of course not.”

Wolfe grunted. “That’s ridiculous. We have a spare room that is comfortable. Mr. Goodwin will take you to it, and my chef will take you a tray. After your fast you should eat with caution. Have you a preference?”

She cocked her head. “You bet I have, Falstaff. Let the lady enjoy herself. I know about your chef. How about some lamb kidneys bourguignonne?”

Wolfe doesn’t flabbergast easy, but that did it. He stared. “That would take time, mad — Miss Annis. At least two hours.”

“I don’t mind, I’ll take a nap. Is there a bathroom?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I can wash the smell of the cops off. But the other thing I want to know, what about the reward? We want that reward.”

“That’s problematical. I’ll keep it in mind. We have a more urgent matter to deal with. After you are refreshed—”

“What matter?”

“The job you hired me for. Investigation of the murder committed in your house.”

“I hired you to make the cops eat dirt, and you already have. The one named Cramer, is he a big one with a big red face and little blue eyes like a pig?”

“Pigs’ eyes are not blue. Otherwise the description fits.”

“Then you’ve already made him eat dirt. I wish I had been here. He was the first one in my room when they busted the door. That’s part of your job, to make them pay for that door. The murder, that’s their job. I’m surprised it was Tammy Baxter because I thought a counterfeiter would have more clothes, but of course when somebody came for the package and it wasn’t there he thought she had taken it and he killed her, but she should have known I had it because I told her yesterday morning—”

The phone rang and I swiveled and got it. A female said that Mr. Mandel wanted to speak to me, and after a wait he came on.

“Goodwin? Mandel of the District Attorney’s office. I want to see you. How soon can you be here?”

“Twenty minutes. If necessary.”

“It’s necessary. It’s ten minutes past twelve. I’ll expect you at twelve-thirty. Right?”

I told him yes, traffic permitting, hung up, and arose. “The DA’s office,” I announced. “I’m surprised it didn’t come sooner. You don’t need me anyway, you understand each other so well.”

I left them.

Chapter 8

They kept me at 155 Leonard Street five and a half hours. All I got out of it was two corned beef sandwiches, a piece of blueberry pie, and two glasses of milk, on the house, eaten at the desk of assistant DA Mandel. What they got out of it was doubtful. In addition to Mandel, I had conversations with another assistant DA named Lindstrom, two detectives attached to the DA’s office, and District Attorney Macklin himself.

Over the years I have been suspected of a lot of things by various authorities, from corrupting a cop by buying him a drink to complicity in a murder, and that day they added a new one to the list. None of them came right out with it, but what was really biting them was their suspicion that I was in collusion with the United States government. Of course they covered other aspects of the case, all of them and thoroughly, but what they concentrated on was the package of phony lettuce. That was all the DA himself asked me about, and he put it to me point-blank: did I know the money was counterfeit? I told him point-blank no, and felt better; it’s always a relief to get a lie off your chest. He said of course I was lying, that I would have been a nitwit not to suspect it. I said it didn’t matter now anyway, since the Secret Service had it, and he blew his top. I admit it’s hard to believe that he actually thought I had disposed of evidence in a murder case by arranging for Leach to beat Cramer to it, but I suppose a DA has as much right to be a damfool as the people who voted for him.

It was a quarter past six when I left the building and flagged a taxi. By the time it turned into 35th Street I had decided that I wouldn’t wait until after dinner to go for Wolfe. He was too darned lazy to live. Since, thanks to me, Hattie had told him that he had already made Cramer eat dirt, he would consider that no matter what happened or didn’t happen he could send her a bill for a modest hunk of the forty-two thousand, say five grand, and why should he strain his brain? She was out on bail as a material witness and in no real danger. We had got rid of the contraband. There was no great hurry. Nuts, I decided. He had to be poked. As I mounted the stoop and put my key in the door I was choosing my opening remark from three I had hatched.

But I didn’t get to use it. The rack in the hall was so crowded with coats that I had to squeeze mine between two that I recognized — Inspector Cramer’s and Saul Panzer’s. Cramer’s voice was raised in the office, and it was hoarse, as it always was when he was in a huff. As I reached the office door he was saying, “... not just to hear you spout! If you’ve got something let’s have it!”

Wolfe, seated behind his desk with his fingers laced at the summit of his middle mound, had sent his eyes to me. “Ah,” he said. “Satisfactory. I was concerned.”

Sure he was. The bigger the audience the better when he is staging a scene. Before I headed for my desk I glanced around: Cramer in the red leather chair, Sergeant Stebbins at his right, Paul Hannah and Noel Ferris on chairs facing Wolfe’s desk, Raymond Dell and Albert Leach, the T-man, behind them, and Martha Kirk and Hattie Annis on the couch to the left of my desk. Saul Panzer was over by the big globe. As I circled around Leach and Dell, Wolfe was speaking.

“You know quite well I have something, Mr. Cramer, or you wouldn’t have come. As I told you on the phone, I had a stroke of luck, but I had invited it; and I knew where to send the invitation. True, I sent it to three addresses — an East Side tenement, a shop on First Avenue, and a building on Bowie Street which housed the theater — but my expectation was centered on the last. When my expectation was realized I was faced with the question whether to notify you or to notify Mr. Leach; and preferring not to choose, I asked you both to come and to bring Miss Kirk, Mr. Dell, Mr. Ferris, and Mr. Hannah. Miss Annis, my client, was here. I thought the first three had a right to be present; as for Mr. Hannah, since he is both a counterfeiter and a murderer, you and Mr. Leach will have to decide—”

“That’s a lie,” Hannah said, and was rising, but Leach, behind him, grabbed his arm. Hannah jerked, but Leach held on. “Who the hell are you?” Hannah demanded, and with his free hand Leach got his leather fold from his pocket and flipped it open, and by then Stebbins was there.

“Are you arresting him?” Stebbins said.

“No, are you?” Leach asked.

“Nobody’s arresting me,” Hannah said. “Turn loose of me.”

“Sit down, Hannah,” Cramer growled. He looked at Wolfe. He had seen Wolfe perform before, and Leach hadn’t. Not only had he heard Wolfe say that Hannah was a counterfeiter and a murderer, but also he saw the expression on Wolfe’s face, and he certainly knew that face. He left his chair, put his hand on Hannah’s shoulder, and said, “You’re under arrest as a material witness in the murder of Tamiris Baxter. All right, Sergeant,” and returned to his chair. Stebbins stood at Hannah’s left and Leach stood at his right.

“That’s prudent, Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe said, “since I have no conclusive evidence. Up to three hours ago I had merely a surmise. Talking with these people last evening, I got nothing but faint intimations. Miss Kirk? Unlikely. She attended a ballet school regularly, she exercised an hour every morning, and she received a monthly remittance from her father, all of which could be checked. Mr. Dell? Also unlikely. He had paid no room rent for three years. Mr. Ferris? Possibly, but with a reservation. His statement that two oí the agencies he called at yesterday would corroborate him made it improbable that he had followed Miss Annis here yesterday morning.”

“So what?” Cramer rasped.

“So my attention centered on Mr. Hannah. He had lived there only four months. He had paid for his room every week. He had almost certainly lied when he said Miss Baxter had told him that a man had twice followed her to the door. Miss Baxter was an agent of the Secret Service of the Treasury Department, and she—”

“Who said so?” Leach demanded.

“No one. Mr. Goodwin inferred it. You have carried discretion to an extreme, Mr. Leach, in concealing the interest of your organization in the occupants of that house, but you will soon agree that it is no longer needed. So I did not believe that Miss Baxter had told Mr. Hannah that. Finally, Mr. Hannah’s account of his movements yesterday left him completely free up to noon. He could have followed Miss Annis here and, when she left without entering, back to her house. He could have stolen a parked car and, when she left her house a second time, tried to run it over her; but, since he failed, that is of little consequence.”

“There’s damn little consequence in anything you’ve said,” Cramer growled.

Wolfe nodded. “I’m only explaining why my attention centered on Mr. Hannah. I could indulge in speculation — for instance, why did he kill Miss Baxter there and then? Had she seen him try to kill Miss Annis with the car, and confronted him when he returned to the house? But you can speculate as well as I, and it will be your job, not mine, to screw a confession out of him.”

“I’ve got nothing to confess,” Hannah said. “You’re going to regret this. You’re going to regret it good.”

“I think not, Mr. Hannah.” Wolfe’s eyes went to Leach, standing, and then to Cramer, sitting. “So when I sent three men to those addresses, with the invitations to luck, I sent Saul Panzer to the Mushroom. Mr. Panzer leaves less to luck than any man I know. He phoned four times to report progress. The third time, around three o’clock, he asked for reinforcements and I sent them. The fourth time, less than two hours ago, I told him to come and I phoned you gentlemen. Saul, will you describe the situation?”

Since Saul was over by the big globe, all but Wolfe and Stebbins and me had to twist their necks. “Just the situation?” Saul asked.

“Lead up to it briefly.”

“Yes, sir. The first two hours I covered the neighborhood, but got no lead, so I went inside the building. I didn’t tell the superintendent what I was after, just that I wanted to look around for something, and the way he reacted and the way he accepted forty dollars for his trouble, I decided he was honest. He showed me around the theater and the basement and the second floor. The third floor is occupied by a job-printing shop with two presses and the other equipment you would expect. He told the two men there what I had suggested, that I was an insurance underwriters’ inspector looking for violations. From the way the men looked I decided I was hot, and I told the superintendent I would have to give the shop a good look and it would take a while, and he left. When I started looking behind things on shelves they jumped me and I had to get rough and pull my gun. I didn’t shoot, but I had to knock one of them out. There was a phone on a table, and I rang you and asked you to send Fred and Orrie to help me search the place. You said they would be calling in soon, and you would—”

“That’s far enough,” Wolfe said. “And now?”

“They’re still there. In behind stacks of paper on one of the shelves there are eight stacks of new twenty-dollar bills. In a compartment in the back of a cupboard are four engraver’s plates that were probably used to make the bills. The two men are on the floor with their hands and feet tied. I don’t know their names. There’s only one chair in the room and Fred Durkin is sitting on it, or he was when I left, and Orrie Cather was sitting on a pile of paper. One of the men has a lump on the side of his head where I hit him with my gun, but he’s not hurt much. I gave the superintendent another twenty dollars. That’s the situation.”

Paul Hannah had started to rise, but hands on his shoulders had stopped him — Stebbins on the left and Leach on the right.

“You might add one detail,” Wolfe told Saul. “The name one of them mentioned.”

“Yes, sir. That was after Fred and Orrie came and we had them tied and we found the plates. One of them said to the other one, ‘I told you Paul would squeal. The goddamn murderous bastard. I told you we ought to clear out.’ Do you want to hear the rest of it?”

“That will do for now. You will of course report in full to Mr. Cramer and Mr. Leach.” Wolfe’s head moved. “As you see, gentlemen, I was faced with a dilemma, since he was both a counterfeiter and a murderer. Preferring not to choose, I asked you both to come, and I leave the question of priority to you. Since Mr. Cramer has him under arrest—”

The movement that interrupted him was by Paul Hannah, but it wasn’t much of a movement. Apparently his idea was to lunge at Wolfe, but Stebbins and Leach had him pinned. They glared at each other and Hannah glared at Wolfe, and Hattie Annis’s voice came from the couch.

“You see, Falstaff? Didn’t I tell you?”

She had told him absolutely nothing.

Chapter 9

One day three weeks later Wolfe and I were in the office disagreeing about something when the doorbell rang. It was Hattie. I escorted her in, and she sat in the red leather chair, opened her handbag, and took out a little package wrapped in brown paper. Wolfe made a face. I thought, Good Lord, she’s found another one. But she reached into the bag again and came out with an envelope that I recognized.

“This check you sent me,” she said. “You say in your letter it’s for my share of the reward, a hundred dollars. So you kept your share?”

“Yes,” Wolfe lied.

“Did you get yours, Buster?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Then that’s all right. But what about this bill? Five thousand dollars fee for services and $621.65 for expenses. What did I tell you that day, Buster? Didn’t I say I could pay forty-two thousand dollars?”

“You did.”

“Then here it is.” She tossed the package onto Wolfe’s desk. “A man at the bank helped me pick those bonds and he says there’s none better. These are transferred to you. This is the first time I ever let any of them go, and I hope it’s the last, but it was worth it. That was a day, the best day I’ve had since my father died. I didn’t like it when I saw in the paper that he had confessed, but that wasn’t your fault. I’ve got no use for anybody that confesses anything to the cops. That Paul Hannah was no good. He even told them how he stole the car and tried to kill me with it because he thought I had the package and knew who put it in my parlor, and he saw Tammy across the street and knew she saw him, and when he went back to the house she was at the phone dialing a number and he got the knife from the kitchen, and when he got near her and she stood up he stabbed her, and then he carried her in the parlor and left her there with her skirt up to her waist. He was no good. I’ll have to be more careful about people that want a room.”

Wolfe was frowning. “I can’t accept those bonds, mad — Miss Annis. Not all of them. I prefer to evaluate my services myself. I did so and sent you a bill.”

She nodded. “I tore it up. The day I told Buster that, that settled it. I hired you and I said what I could pay. Now you say you won’t accept it. That’s no way to do.”

Wolfe looked at me. I grinned. He pushed his chair back and arose. “I have a matter to attend to,” he said. “I’ll leave you with Mr. Goodwin. You understand each other.” He marched out.

It took me half an hour to talk her around, and she told me twice not to call her Hattie.

Content

Rex Stout
Counterfeit for Murder

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9