I shook my head. 'No comment. I'd have to flip a coin. He cleared up one point, anyway, about her. You said that no one wants to kill a man merely because she despises him. Sure. So what was eating her? Weed. He says she doesn't know how he feels about her and the feeling is not returned. Nuts. Either he lies or he's simple. Of the ten thousand women I have fallen in love with, every single one of them knew it before I did. As for Weed shooting him, I am split. It would be tough to send her a bill for nailing him, but if he didn't you've got a job. Where do you start? Apparently Hazen was the kind of specimen-'
The doorbell rang. Could Cramer possibly have held off so long? No. It would be Weed, to help some more. No. It was a more familiar figure, a tall thin middle- aged man in a dark gray overcoat that had been cut to give him more shoulder, but not overdoing it. Nathaniel Parker had his clothes made by Stover. When I opened the door and greeted and admitted him he headed for the office, keeping his coat on and his homburg in his hand, and I followed.
He was one of the eight men, not counting me, that Wolfe shook hands with. He declined Wolfe's invitation to be seated, saying that he was an hour and a half late for a dinner appointment. 'I stopped in instead of phon- ing,' he said, 'because I had to deliver this.' He took a key from his pocket and handed it to me. 'That's the key to Mrs. Hazen's house. Also this.' From his inside pocket he took a folded paper. 'That's authority from her to enter and get something. What you're to get, if you want to, is an iron box-she said iron but I suppose it's tin or steel-that is under the bottom drawer of the chest in Hazen's bedroom. You remove the drawer and pry up the board that it slides in on, and the box is underneath. She doesn't know what's in it. One day about a year ago Hazen lifted the board and showed her the box, and told her that if he died she was to get the box, have it opened by a locksmith, and bum the con- tents without looking at them. I thought you might want to have a look, and she is willing. You'll be acting for her, through her attorney.'
Wolfe grunted. 'I'll use my discretion.'
'I know you will. If you don't want to tell me what was in it you'll say it was empty. I'd like to be present when it's opened, but I have an appointment. As for her, what did she tell you this morning?'
'Ask her.'
'I did. She wouldn't tell me. She said she would disclose it only if you told her to. If she is charged with homicide I'll want to know that or I'll step out. She has been there more than five hours, and they'll probably keep her another five. If she is held as a material witness I can do nothing about bail until morning. I have an appointment with Hazen's lawyer at nine- thirty. He has the will. Anything else now?'
Wolfe said no, and he went. I escorted him out, re- turned to the office, and asked, 'Any special instruc- tions?'
'No. Will the police be there?'
'I shouldn't think so. It's only where he lived, he wasn't shot there. Do I wear gloves?'
'No. You have her authority.'
Ever since a difficulty I got into some years ago I
100 Rex Stout
have made it a practice to have a gun along when I am on an errand that may interfere with a murderer's program. I took off my jacket, got a shoulder holster and a Mariey, which I loaded, from the drawer, put them where they belonged, put the jacket back on, checked that Lucy's key was in a pocket and her author- ity in another one, and went to the hall for my coat and hat.
Chapter 5
I stood across the street from the Hazen house, on 37th Street between Park and Lexington, for a look. It was brick, painted gray with green trim, four stories, narrower than Wolfe's brownstone, with the entrance three steps down from the sidewalk. I noted those details just for the record, but they weren't important. What was important was that there was a tiny sliver of light at the lower part of the right edge of one of the three windows on the third floor-a sliver that you might leave if you weren't quite thorough enough when you arranged a drape.
I didn't know where Hazen's room was; that could be it. It could be a Homicide man looking things over, but it wasn't probable; they had had ten hours. It could be the maid who slept in, but why, at 9:30 at night? Her room certainly wasn't third floor front. Whoever it was and whatever he was doing, I decided not to interrupt him by ringing. I crossed over, descended the three steps, used the key, opened the door with care, entered, closed it with more care, and stood and listened while my eyes adjusted to the dark. For half a minute there was no sound from any direction; then there was something like a bump from up above, followed by a voice, male, very faint. Unless he was talking to himself
The Homicide Trinity 101
there was more than one. Thinking there might be occasion for activity, I took off my overcoat and put it on the floor, and my hat, and then tiptoed along the hall, feeling my way, found the stairs, and started up.
Halfway up I stopped. Had there been another voice, a soprano? There had. There was. Then the baritone again. I went on up, with more care now and slower, keeping to the end of the steps next the wall. In the hall on the second floor there was a little light coming from above, enough to catch outlines. Up the second flight I went even slower, since each step might bring me within range. The voices had stopped, but there were tapping sounds. On the fourth step I could get my eyes to the level of the floor by stretching. The hall was the same as the floor below, and the light was coming from a half-open door at its front end. All I could see inside was a chair and part of a bed and drapes over a window, and the back of a woman's head over the back of the chair, silvery hair under a black pancake hat.
I might have stayed put until the voices came again, and now I could get words, but a staircase is not a good tactical position, the light was on them, not me, and at the top I would be nearly out of range through the opening. I moved. As I put my weight on the next to last step the tapping stopped and the baritone came. 'There's no sense in this.' I made the landing and across to the wall. The soprano came. 'There certainly isn't, Mr.
