Rex Stout - Curtains for Three (Three Nero Wolfe Novellas)

CURTAINS FOR THREE
A Bantam Crime Line Book / published by arrangement
with Viking Penguin, Inc.

PUBLISHING HISTORY
Viking edition published December 1950
Bantam edition / June 1955
Bantam reissue edition / December 1994

Acknowledgment is made to THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE in which these three short novels originally appeared: Bullet for One, July 1948; The Gun with Wings, December 1949; and Disguise for Murder, under the title The Twisted Scarf, September 1950.

CRIME LINE and the portrayal of a boxed cl are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

All rights reserved.
Copyright 1948, 1949, 1950 by Rex Stout.
Introduction copyright 1994 by Judith Kelman.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Viking Press, Penguin USA, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

eISBN: 978-0-307-75582-7

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words Bantam Books and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, New York, New York.

v3.1_r3

M ysteries are a mind game. Lovers of the form are drawn to the puzzle. Who done it and why? Will good triumph over evil and how? In the pulse-pounding race to the solution, will the writer or the reader cross the finish line first?

In this particular sport, the most important muscles are the theoretical ones between the participants ears. Intellect is everything. A canny detective armed with gobs of gray matter will beat out the Uzi-wielding bad guy every time.

Which partly explains the enduring appeal of Nero Wolfe.

Wolfe is the large lump of calm at the center of the storms eye in Rex Stouts eponymous mystery series. Evil doesnt move Nero Wolfe. Nothing, short of a good meal or a serious beer shortage, could. This supersleuth is a supersloth, so unfit and lazy he lacks the steam to lean over and retrieve a weighty retainer check from his desk.

For that and other onerous physical chores, he has Archie Goodwin, his fleet-footed, lighthearted, adventurous assistant. While Archie does all necessary leg-work and Fritz, Wolfes household retainer, attends to the masters ravenous appetites, Wolfes sole responsibility is to sit back and revel in the whirring of his keen, insightful mind.

At the critical moment, the cylinders are guaranteed to click into perfect alignment, allowing Wolfe to finger the suspect from the comfort of his favorite chair in his office in his elegant brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street.

Of course, the moment must conform to the detectives unyielding schedule. During set mealtimes and the four hours each day Wolfe spends tending his ten thousand orchids, murder and mayhem simply have to wait.

And they do.

In this respect Nero Wolfe is sort of a porky two-legged Club Med: an antidote for the strident intrusiveness and chaos of civilization.

Reality for most of us is ringing phones, boisterous kids, mountains of bills, and demanding bosses. Most of our existences are liberally sprinkled with dark dreams and rude awakenings. Our paths are marred by potholes and sudden detours. Even when things feel settled, we face constant reminders that cataclysmic change can occur at any moment. Much of todays news is a litany of tragic accidents, natural disasters, and unthinkable violence. Life, I tell my sons, is what happens when youre busy making other plans.

That uncertainty invades most contemporary novels of mystery and suspense, often driving the narrative (sometimes off the road). Evil explodes on the fictional scene with all the subtlety of Howard Stern or Madonna. The hapless protagonist is derailed like a sabotaged train. Amateur sleuths spring into frantic action. Law-enforcement professionals haul out their full bags of high- and low-tech forensic tricks and pursue the bad guys like a stampede of crazed buffalo.

Pyrotechnics can dazzle. Car chases and literal cliffhangers do raise the blood pressure and squeeze out the gasps. But the reader manipulated by such shameless Hollywood devices is being distracted from the heart and soul of the mystery form: the puzzle.

Wolfes world, on the other hand, is refined, prescribed, predictable. Even when crime presses its noisome finger at his doorbell, Nero Wolfe remains in perfect, unflinching control.

Rex Stout recognized that the smallest detail can speak volumes. He relied solely on intricate plot twists and dazzlingly quiet feats of detection. He had no need or desire to distract his readers from the storys central strand.

Nowhere is this more evident than in Curtains for Three, a trio of novelettes first published in 1950. Unsolved crimes are delivered handily to the detectives door. Witnesses and likely perpetrators present themselves and compliantly await Wolfes audience. In one case the murder conveniently occurs in his office.

If you think that sounds dull, think again. The seventy-three Nero Wolfe mysteries have intrigued and entertained millions of readers and inspired countless writers to tackle the form. Rex Stout has become a virtual synonym for the term classic mystery. Mention West Thirty-fifth Street to a mystery fan and the response is sure to be a look of instant recognition and a smile.

If Rex Stout and his stout detective have become a reading addiction, you have plenty of company. If this is your first experience in puzzle solving with the great Nero Wolfe, prepare to settle in and savor. You have plenty of tasty treats yet to enjoy.

Judith Kelman

The young woman took a pink piece of paper from her handbag, got up from the red leather chair, put the paper on Nero Wolfes desk, and sat down again. Feeling it my duty to keep myself informed and also to save Wolfe the exertion of leaning forward and reaching so far, I arose and crossed to hand the paper to him after a glance at it. It was a check for five thousand dollars, dated that day, August fourteenth, made out to him, and signed Margaret Mion. He gave a look and dropped it back on the desk.

I thought, she said, perhaps that would be the best way to start the conversation.

In my chair at my desk, taking her in, I was readjusting my attitude. When early that Sunday afternoon, she had phoned for an appointment, I had dug up a vague recollection of a picture of her in the paper some months back, and had decided it would be no treat to meet her, but now I was hedging. Her appeal wasnt what she had, which was only so-so, but what she did with it. I dont mean tricks. Her mouth wasnt attractive even when she smiled, but the smile was. Her eyes were just a pair of brown eyes, nothing at all sensational, but it was a pleasure to watch them move around, from Wolfe to me to the man who had come with her, seated off to her left. I guessed she had maybe three years to go to reach thirty.

Dont you think, the man asked her, we should get some questions answered first?