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how deeply honored I am to be this year's recipient of the Nero Wolfe Award."
    "I assure you the honor is ours."
    Janus puffed smoke and watched it drift away. "The way I've heard it, not every member of the committee felt that way."
    "That's water under the bridge."
    "Indeed so." He carefully laid the long cigar in a crystal ashtray. "But it was your nomination of me for the Wolfe award, and your persistence on my behalf, that has brought you and me to this moment. I know you have to be wondering why I've dragged you all the way up here on a Sunday morning. You have surely deduced that it was not simply to express my gratitude." "That's true."
    "I did so because you are the only person whom I can trust, and this house is the only place I feel truly safe."
    Wiggins gasped. "Good lord, Theo, whatever do you mean?"
    Retrieving the cigar, Janus smiled. "I have every reason to believe there will soon be an attempt to kill me."
    "An attempt to kill you? By whom?"
    "I have no idea. I only know someone has already tried."
    Wiggins struggled to his feet. "When? Where? How?"
    "Last week. I was exercising my favorite horse. The shot was fired from a passing car. I actually heard the bullet zing past my right ear." He dug into a pocket, drew out a wad of gray metal, and held it between thumb and forefinger. "This is it. I found it in a tree trunk."
    Wiggins returned to his chair. "Because I did not learn of this case of attempted murder in the press, you obviously did not report this to the police. Why not?"
    "I'm working on the case in my own way."
    "Excuse me, my friend, but to paraphrase a well-known legal maxim, a lawyer who hires himself as a detective has a fool for a client. You must go to the police now."
    "With what? An uncorroborated story that would be trumpeted by the news media as a publicity stunt?"
    "You have the bullet."
    "I could have fired it into that tree myself. Besides, it is in no condition to be of value as evidence. You need the gun to make a ballistic match. To obtain the gun, you'd have to locate its owner. Meanwhile, I want you to keep the bullet and tell no one about this conversation. In the event I am murdered, you can take it to your police friends."
    "Theo, you can't risk your life by playing detective!"
    "If this individual is to be caught, he has to be given the chance to try again."
    "What if he tries and succeeds?"
    Janus chuckled. "I will die with the satisfaction of having disappointed cardiologists who persist in telling me I must have bypass surgery immediately and warning me that if I do not quit drinking and smoking cigars I'll die of a massive heart attack. Well, if I am murdered, I hope before I croak there'll be time for one more drink and a last oscuro cigar."
     

 

 

    "Either you're early," declared Chief of Detectives Harvey Goldstein, "or I'm late."
    He carried a weighty shopping bag in each fist.
    Laying aside the thick Mancuso file, Detective Sgt. John Bogdanovic rose from a butter-soft leather chair and reached for the bags.
    "My heart attack was over a year ago," Goldstein said as he stepped past his rangy, muscular aide. "I appreciate that I am well past fifty, as well as a tad thin of head hair, a little saggy in the midriff, and nearsighted, and I realize we're in the middle of a cold wave, but I really am perfectjy capable of toting my bags. The owner of Usual Suspects sends regards."
    Bogdanovic retreated to the chair. "Has it occurred to you that you probably constitute Wiggins's entire margin of profit? How many books do you buy from him each week?"
    The bags went on top of a desk. "Any amount expended in any mystery bookshop is damn well spent. There can never be too many places for a person to go to engage in the normal recreation of noble minds. In this instance, the detective is Nero Wolfe. By the way, you've been invited to the Black Orchid Banquet."
    A puzzled frown creased Bogdanovic's lean face. "I had no idea you were into flowers."
    Goldstein sighed impatiently.