Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 19 (28 page)

“Luckily I don’t have to phone him. He’s here.” O’Malley turned his head. “Louis?”

Kustin, meeting his former associate’s eye, didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said flatly. “I’m out, Con. I can’t do it.”

It put O’Malley off balance, but it didn’t floor him. He didn’t try to press, Kustin’s tone having settled it. He turned back to Cramer, but his view was obstructed. John R. Wellman had left his chair and was standing there facing him, and spoke.

“I’m Joan Wellman’s father, Mr. O’Malley. I don’t know, because it’s pretty complicated, but I’d like to see something. I’d like to see if you feel like shaking hands with me.” He extended his hand. “There it is. Do you feel like it or don’t you?”

Into the heavy silence came a smothered gasp from one of the females. O’Malley nearly made it. He tried. Looking up at Wellman, he started to lift a hand, then his neck muscles gave, his head dropped, and he used both hands to cover his face.

“I guess you don’t,” Wellman said, and turned and headed for the door.

O
ne day last week I made a station-to-station call to a number in Glendale, California. When I got it I began, “Peggy? This is Archie. Calling from New York.”

“Hello, Archie. I was thinking you might call.”

I made a face. I had been familiar deliberately, with a specific purpose, to find a flaw. There was just a chance she might fake indignation, or she might be coy, or she might even pretend not to know who it was. Nothing doing. She was still her—too short, too plump, and too old, but the one and only Mrs. Potter.

“It’s all over,” I told her. “I knew you’d want to know. The jury was out nine hours, but they finally came through with it, first degree murder. As you know, he was tried for Rachel Abrams, not your brother, but that doesn’t make any difference. Convicting him for one was convicting him for all four.”

“Yes, of course. I’m glad it’s over. Thank you for calling. You sound so close, as if you were right here.”

“Yeah, so do you. What’s it doing out there, raining?”

“Oh, no, bright sunshine, warm and bright. Why, is it raining in New York?”

“It sure is. I guess I bring it on. Do you remember how I looked that day through the peephole?”

“I certainly do! I’ll never forget it!”

“Neither will I. Good-by, Peggy.”

“Good-by, Archie.”

I hung up and made another face. What the hell, I thought, in another twenty years Bubblehead may be dead, and age and contours won’t matter much, and I’ll grab her.

Now, for the first time ever, enjoy a peek into the life of Nero Wolfe’s creator, Rex Stout, courtesy of the Stout estate. Pulled from Rex Stout’s own archives, here is rarely seen, never-before-published memorabilia. Each title in the Rex Stout Library will offer an exclusive look into the life of the man who gave Nero Wolfe life.

Murder by the Book

The original dust jacket from the 1951 Viking hardcover. The words at the bottom read: “Nero, abetted by Archie and assorted girls, discovers what a certain novel had to do with multiple murder”. The book cost $2.50 when it was first published.