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Plot It Yourself Rex Stout Series: Nero Wolfe [32] Published: 1985 Tags: Cozy Mystery, Vintage Mystery, Early 20th Century

Cozy Mysteryttt Vintage Mysteryttt Early 20th Centuryttt

Product Description

Nero Wolfe and his sidekick, Archie Goodwin, are called in by a consortium of publishers and writers to investigate several cases of false plagiarism, but the probe soon becomes complicated by murder. Reissue.

From the Inside Flap

Nero Wolfe hat es wieder einmal mit einem komplizierten Fall zu tun. Vier beruehmte Schriftsteller werden beschuldigt, bei unbekannten Nachwuchsautoren abgeschrieben zu haben. Empoert weisen die vier den Vorwurf zurueck - offenbar will ihnen hier jemand vermittels hoher Schadenersatzklagen viel Geld aus der Tasche ziehen. An Verdaechtigen mangelt es zunaechst nicht, doch als einer nach dem anderen stirbt, wird die Sache immer raetselhafter. Und Nero Wolfe muss erkennen, dass er es bei dem Taeter mit einem echten Genie zu tun hat.

Nero Wolfe has another a complicated case. Four famous writers are accused of plagiarism. They are outraged. Things become increasingly suspicious and Nero realizes the intelligence of the criminals he is working against.

Rex Stout

Plot It Yourself

Chapter 1

I divide the books Nero Wolfe reads into four grades: A, B, C, and D. If, when he comes down to the office from the plant rooms at six o’clock, he picks up his current book and opens to his place before he rings for beer, and if his place was marked with a thin strip of gold, five inches long and an inch wide, which was presented to him some years ago by a grateful client, the book is an A. If he picks up the book before he rings, but his place was marked with a piece of paper, it is a B. If he rings and then picks up the book, and he had dog-eared a page to mark his place, it is a C. If he waits until Fritz has brought the beer and he has poured to pick up the book, and his place was dogeared, it’s a D. I haven’t kept score, but I would say that of the two hundred or so books he reads in a year not more than five or six get an A.

At six o’clock that Monday afternoon in May I was at my desk, checking the itemisation of expenses that was to accompany the bill going to the Spooner Corporation for a job we had just finished, when the sound came of his elevator jolting to a stop and his footsteps in the hall. He entered, crossed to the oversized made-to-order chair behind his desk, sat, picked up Why the Gods Laugh, by Philip Harvey, opened to the page marked with the strip of gold, read a paragraph, and reached to the button at the edge of his desk without taking his eyes from the page. As he did so, the phone rang.

I got it. “Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.” Up to six o’clock I say “Nero Wolfe’s office.” After six I say “residence.”

A tired baritone said, “I’d like to speak to Mr Wolfe. This is Philip Harvey.”

“He’ll want to know what about. If you please?”

“I’ll tell him. I’m a writer. I’m acting on behalf of the National Association of Authors and Dramatists.”