Book : The Second Confession (nero Wolfe) - Stout, Rex

-Titulo Original : The Second Confession (nero Wolfe)

-Fabricante :

Bantam

-Descripcion Original:

When a millionaire businessman hires Nero Wolfe to probe the background of his daughter’s boyfriend, it seems like just another case of an overprotective father. But when a powerful gangland boss “counsels” the detective to drop the matter, Wolfe receives a warning: a burst of machine-gun fire through the windows of his orchid room. Then the lawyer boyfriend turns up dead, leaving Archie the number one suspect. Throw in drugged drinks, two man-killing debutantes, and officials of a highly un-American party and Wolfe finds himself involved in a case where he must quickly solve one murder to prevent another: his own. Introduction by William G. Tapply “It is always a treat to read a Nero Wolfe mystery. The man has entered our folklore.”-The New York Times Book Review A grand master of the form, Rex Stout is one of America’s greatest mystery writers, and his literary creation Nero Wolfe is one of the greatest fictional detectives of all time. Together, Stout and Wolfe have entertained-and puzzled-millions of mystery fans around the world. Now, with his perambulatory man-about-town, Archie Goodwin, the arrogant, gourmandizing, sedentary sleuth is back in the original seventy-three cases of crime and detection written by the inimitable master himself, Rex Stout. Review “It is always a treat to read a Nero Wolfe mystery. The man has entered our folklore.” -The New York Times Book Review About the Author Rex Stout (1886-1975) wrote dozens of short stories, novellas, and full-length mystery novels, most featuring his two indelible characters, the peerless detective Nero Wolfe and his handy sidekick, Archie Goodwin. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter 1 I didn’t mind it at all,” our visitor said gruffly but affably. “It’s a pleasure.” He glanced around. “I like rooms that men work in. This is a good one.” I was still swallowing my surprise that he actually looked like a miner, at least my idea of one, with his big bones and rough weathered skin and hands that would have been right at home around a pick handle. Certainly swinging a pick was not what he got paid for as chairman of the board of the Continental Mines Corporation, which had its own building down on Nassau Street not far from Wall. I was also surprised at the tone he was using. When, the day before, a masculine voice had given a name on the phone and asked when Nero Wolfe could call at his office, and I had explained why I had to say never, and it had ended by arranging an appointment at Wolfe’s office for eleven the next morning, I had followed up with a routine check on a prospective client by calling Lon Cohen at the Gazette. Lon had told me that the only reason James U. Sperling didn’t bite ears off was because he took whole heads and ate them bones and all. But there he was, slouching in the red leather chair near the end of Wolfe’s desk like a big friendly roughneck, and I’ve just told you what he said when Wolfe started the conversation by explaining that he never left the office on business and expressing a regret that Sperling had had to come all the way to our place on West Thirty-fifth Street nearly to Eleventh Avenue. He said it was a pleasure! “It will do,” Wolfe murmured in a gratified tone. He was behind his desk, leaning back in his custom-made chair, which was warranted safe for a quarter of a ton and which might some day really be put to the test if its owner didn’t level off. He added, “If you’ll tell me what your problem is perhaps I can make your trip a good investment.” Seated at my own desk, at a right angle to Wolfe’s and not far away, I allowed myself a mild private grin. Since the condition of his bank balance did not require the use of sales pressure to snare a client, I knew why he was spreading the sugar. He was merely being sociable because Sperling had said he liked the office. Wolfe didn’t like the office, which was on the