What do you think?
Rate this book


216 pages, Hardcover
First published February 23, 1951
In short, that there was an eyewitness to the murder. I propose to make him talk. Or her.
Our bank says that Rackell rates seven figures west of the decimal point, and we would like to earn a fee by tagging a murderer...
At his right was a specimen who was a female anatomically but otherwise a what-is-it....
She was a resident buyer of novelties for out-of-town stores. There are ten thousand of her in midtown New York any weekday, and they're all being imposed on. You see it in their faces. The problem is to find out who it is that's imposing on them, and some day I may tackle it.
Some nerve. Sending you here with that bull about wanting to clear! Why didn't he ask me to send him up the files? Come again when I'm not here."
Wengert cleared his throat. "Look, Wolfe," he said, not belligerently, "we're here to talk sense."
"Good. Why not start?"
The past is hopeless. There's too much of it.
If their past is too much for us, their future isn't, or shouldn't be.
"So actually what's the difference? If they're sent back where they came from they're doomed there, that's all they have to pick from. One interesting angle is that you are harboring fugitives from justice, and I am not.
Even if I had a move to make I couldn't make it. If I so much as stir a finger Mr. Cramer will start yelping, and I have no muzzle for him.
That's the advantage of having a reputation for gags, you can say practically anything if you handle your face right. I told him they were here in our front room, and he sailed right over it. So I'm clean, but you're not.
I was doing two things at once. With my hands I was getting my armpit holster and the Marley .32 from a drawer of my desk, and with my tongue I was giving Nero Wolfe a lecture on economics.
His will power sticks and has to be primed with alcohol. I roamed around. We just came in here where his desk is, and I opened the drawer for a look. Someone has taken my gun and substituted his -- his that was stolen, you know? It's back where it belongs, but mine is gone.
At that hour Wolfe would be up in the plant rooms for his afternoon shift with the orchids, where he was not to be disturbed except in emergency, but this was one.
His biggest handicap is that when he gets irritated to a certain point he can't help stuttering, and I'm onto him enough to tell when he's just about there, and then I start stuttering before he does. Even with a close watch and careful timing it takes luck to do it right, and that evening I was lucky.
Lon turned his other hand over. "Husband and wife are one, aren't they?"
"Yes. Man and wife make one fool."
Lon's chin jerked up. "I want to print that. Why not?"
"It was printed more than three hundred years ago. Ben Jonson wrote it." Wolfe sighed.