In the Best Families

He had not got home for dinner Tuesday evening after all, in spite of the satisfaction he had got by putting in a call to Fritz on Zeck's phone. We were now cleaned up with Westchester, but it had not been simple. The death of Arnold

Zeck had of course started a chain reaction that went both deep and wide, and naturally there had been an earnest desire to make goats out of Wolfe and me, but they didn't have a damn' thing on us, and when word came from somewhere that

Wolfe, during his association with Zeck, might have collected some facts that could be embarrassing to people who shouldn't be embarrassed, the attitude towards us changed for the better right away.

As for the scene that ended with the death of Zeck and Rackham, we were clean as a whistle. The papers in Roeder's brief-case, which of course the cops took, proved nothing on anybody. By the time the cops arrived, there had been no one on the premises but Wolfe and me and the two corpses. A hot search was on, especially for Schwartz and Harry, but so far no take. No elaborate lying was required; our basic story was that Wolfe, in his disguise as Roeder, had got in with Zeck in order to solve the murder of Mrs Rackham, and the climax had come that afternoon when Zeck had put the screws on Rackham by saying that he had evidence that would convict him for killing his wife, and Rackham had pulled a gun, smuggled somehow past the sentinels, and had shot Zeck, and Schwartz and

Harry had rushed in and drilled Rackham. It was surprising and gratifying to note how much of it was strictly true.

So by Friday afternoon we were cleaned up with Westchester, as I thought, and therefore it was a minor shock when Wolfe said, “No, confound it, I still have to earn that fee.

I was opening my mouth to ask him how come, when the phone rang. I got it. It was Annabel Frey. She wanted to speak to Wolfe. I told him so. He frowned and reached for his phone, and I stayed on.

“Yes, Mrs Frey? This is Nero Wolfe.

“I want to ask you a favour, Mr Wolfe. That is, I expect to pay for it of course, but still it's a favour. Could you and Mr Goodwin come up here this evening? To my home, Birchvale?

“I'm sorry, Mrs Frey, but it's out of the question. I transact business only in my office. I never leave it.

That was a little thick, I thought, from a guy who had just spent five months the way he had. And if she read newspapers she knew all about it-or anyhow some.

“I'm sorry, she said, “because we must see you. Mr Archer is here, the District