Posts Tagged With: Nero Wolfe

The Doorbell Rang – October 1971 – Third Printing

The Doorbell Rang - October 1971 - Third Printing - Front Cover The Doorbell Rang - October 1971 - Third Printing - Back Cover

A Bantam Book
Copyright 1965 By Rex Stout
New Bantam Printing…October 1971
Third Printing

The Doorbell Rang

Rear Cover Intro:

No one intimidates Nero Wolfe –
Not even J. Edgar Hoover…
Retained with the unbelievable fee of
$100,000, the portly paragon of detection myst
get the FBI off his client’s back. Along comes
Murder adn the hottest water
the wizard of 35th street has ever been in.
Superb Suspense with masterly Nero Wolfe
and dapper Archie Goodwin

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Death of a Doxy – October 1967 – Second Printing

Death Of A Doxy - October 1967 - Second Printing - Front Cover Death Of A Doxy - October 1967 - Second Printing - Back Cover

A Bantam Book
Copyright 1966 By Rex Stout
2nd Printing…October 1967

Death of a Doxy

Rear Cover Intro:

Who killed the kept woman?
Archie discovered the honey-haired corpse on the floor of her plush pink bedroom.
How could a young, out-of-work showgirl afford that $300-a-month suite? That was no mystery.
Who murdered her? Now that was a problem worthy of Nero Wolfe…



Poor Orrie Cather. He was being held for a murder he swore he hadn’t committed. Poor Avery Ballou. He’d been paying the rent on the victim’s apartment and if anyone found out, Orrie’d be free and Ballou would be suspect #1. But most of all, poor Isabel Kerr. She was so young, so beautiful, so stone-cold dead.


Then, of course, there was poor Nero Wolfe. Orrie was a friend, Ballou was his client, and the real murderer was playing hard-to-get …

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A Family Affair – January 1980 – Second Printing

A Family Afair - 1980 Second Printing - Front Cover A Family Afair - 1980 Second Printing - Back Cover

A Bantam Book
Copyright 1975 By Rex Stout
2nd Bantam Printing…January 1980

A Family Affair

Rear Cover Intro:

For Nero Wolfe – the huge, orchid-growing gourmet whose admirable genius at untwisting the tangled knots of crime has no peer – this was one case that came too close to home. The murderer had the sheer nerve to blow up his victim in Wolfe’s Manhattan townhouse. Wolfe was going to solve this one on his own – without a fee – and keep it all in the family.

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Ancient lost Longfellow manuscript found deals with Wolfe By Walter E. Doherty


By the shores of Hudson River,
By the shining Big-wet-Water,
Stood the Brownstone of Neronis,
Father of the Orchids, Neronis.
Dark behind it rose the city,
Rose the black and gloomy buildings,
Rose the towers bright lights upon them;
Bright before them lay the brownstone
Beat the clear and littered streets,
Beat the shining Big-wet-Water.
There the portly old Neronis
Pontificated to his Archie,
Preaching of the records germane,
Germination record keeping.
Who is this, that lights the brownstone?
With his great eyes lights the brownstone?
Many things Neronis taught him
Of the solving mysteries not of heaven;

At the door on summer evenings,
Sat the Archie watching, listening;
To the whispering of the taxis,
To the rushing of the waters,
Waiting for the sounds of clients
Wishing for the sounds of clients
Wanting for the rush of clients
Coming cash-rich to replenish
Replenish funds so now diminished
Since the Tax Man last he Cometh.

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Middle English Wolfian Text By Walter E. Doherty

[Middle English fragment of Early Wolfe
Case Recently Discovered in Stout’s Files;
probably an ancestor of the present Wolfe,
but then we know he doesn’t age.]

Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
Wolfes droghte with bier hath quenched to the rote,
And bathed every orchid in swich liquor
so as to shew in every lovely flour;
Whan Fritz Brenner eek with his swete spice
Inspired hath in every pot ‘n’ potice
The tendre croppes boiling in a stewwe
and smale fowles waiting two by two.
Than longen folk to goon on pilgramages
To that fierce Wolfe, wisest of the sages,
that holy happy master for to seke
To helpen them who at heart are seke.

Bifel that, in that season on a day
In Booklyn at the tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden to seke his witful aide
To Wolfe I wenten mine case to pleaid.
At night was come in-to the brownston place
of muther foule I broghte myine case.
The goodman Goodwin tolle me not to come
lest all the funds of Fraunce I coulde brung,
But naytheless, whyl I had time and space
I grabbed mine chance to make my case.
Me thinketh it acordaunt to resoun,
to telle yow all, in good season,
as to why I broghte myselfe to thisse state
what murther was it sorely test’d my fate.

A maid there was, and that a worthy quean
that fro the tyme that she first bigeen
to grow, she was the veri mage of chivalrye
And now one was who loveth here more thanne me.
But coldly struck doun and kilt before hir prime
I dearly wont to have aveng’d this crime.

Goodman Goodwin beforth bebroughte me
To Wolfe the master for to very see
And tense in th’ office ’twas that night:
The Tax man had cometh, and muckle bright
gold was gone to support the goberment
And Wolfes wit was wondrous awful spent!

[the fragment runs out here, but it appears
that Wolfe was in a foul mood, and probably
wouldn’t take the case.]

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Dinner at Wolfe’s, or JabberWolfey By Walter Doherty

‘Twas Brillat, and the Savarin
did toil and trouble at the stove
Escoffier was baking raths
as well as a borogrove.

“Prepare that Caesarean bull,
those horns that pierce, those hooves that toss;
Prepare the Turkey, stuffed and full
and topped with bearnaise sauce!”

He took his Knife and fork in hand:
long time bullish beef he sought–
so rested he by the big pantry,
of seasonings he thought.

And as in stuffed-ish thought he stewed,
the bull’s brought in; ’twas all a-flame,
flambe’d–it was a hot, fine food;
it bubbled as it came.

One, two! One, two! And through and through;
the knife and fork went snicker-snack!
Then he was fed, but then, ’tis said,
for seconds, went galumphing back.

“And have I slain the Caesar’s Bull?
with clams and figs and hams of pigs
O foods galore, and meals I adore!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas Brillat and did Savarin
still toil and trouble at the stove,
And Fritz from ear to ear with grin
was basking in the glow!

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“Pulp Fiction”(“Too Many Capos”) By Patrick C. Baker

It was a clear, cool, dry day, rare for the last week in August in New York. But I was in no frame of mind to enjoy it as I walked up the 8 steps of the old brownstone on West 35th street. I had taken an assortment down to Malden’s apartment on Arbor street, but after half an hour couldn’t get in. He had a Yale lock. Worse, as I was kicking and banging on the door a woman down the hall opened the door a crack, and from the expression on on her face clearly made me as Archie Goodwin.

Continue reading

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A Visit From The Fuzz By Brian “Have Clemency–No More!” With Addendum By Walter E. Doherty

Twas five minutes to orchids, and all through the ‘Stone
Nero Wolfe was a bellowing, “Leave me alone!”
Propositions proposed by yours truly who’d dared
Were rejected by Nero who hadn’t much cared
For the notion of working when brackets went up;
As long as the balance allowed him to sup;
And Fritz in the kitchen and Theo above
Had just settled down to their labors of love–
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
Away to the front door I ran like an ass,
And peered through the door’s one-way panel of glass.
The sun, and the afternoon shadows that droop,
Allowed me to take in the cop on the stoop;
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a red-faced detective who rose from the rear
With a look in his eyes as if thrown from a flamer,
I knew in an moment that it must be Cramer.
More rapid than subways his curses they came,
And he screamed and he shouted and called us by name:
“Now, Wolfe! hey now, Goodwin! now, Horstmann and Brenner!
I’ve got this here warrant and I wanna enner!
You can do it the easy way or you can clown,
But if it’s the latter, I’ll haul you downtown!”
Unlike leaves that when met with a hurricane fly,
I prefer not to hurry, I wait for the eye;
So up to the greenhouse his curses they flew,
And I stood there grinning, and his anger grew.
And then in a twinkling, I heard from behind,
The creaky old Otis was starting to grind,
As I twisted my bod and was turning around,
I beheld the large form of my boss–it was round.
He was dressed in a yellow shirt, brown was his suit,
Folks, I have to admit, he was really a beaut!
And he moved rather quickly for someone so large,
It was more like a glide as opposed to a charge.
His eyes–how they blazed; his creases, how wary!
When Nero had wanted to, he could look scary!
His thin little lips were drawn up in a line,
And I counted the rolls on his chin–there were nine!
He had a broad face, and his voice, could he bellow!
He wasn’t so tall as much wide as a cello.
He was chubby and plump, a right grouchy old cuss,
And I knew he had come down because of the fuss:
He gave me an eighth of an inch type of nod,
Which for him is a violent movement of bod;
He spoke not a word, but went straight for the door,
And it opened two inches and not an inch more;
And he said, “For a straight jacket, you should be fitted.
Whenever you come here, you won’t be admitted!”
He started to close it, the warrant came to,
But it caught the front edge and it didn’t get through,
And it hangs on the door and it has the whole night,
And Wolfe said, “He’s a bungler–picking a fight!”


Cramer put his thumb to his nose and he wiggled a finger
And disappeared up the street where he did not wish to linger.
And he said under his breath as he strode out of sight
“God *bless* you, Wolfe, and *don’t* have a good night.”

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The (Near) Village Blackguard By Brian “Whad’s it worth?” Too long, fellow!

Into a custom leather chair
The fat detective sits;
The Wolfe, that hefty man is there,
about to use his wits;
And the muscle he calls Archie
Is about to give him fits!

His hair is short, and brown, and gray,
He’s nobody’s buffoon;
He doesn’t pray or go away,
He always calls the tune,
And his face looks like the whole world,
At the very least, the moon!

Week in, week out, at nine and four,
You can hear the ‘vator’s squeaks;
You can hear the groan of metal moan
And cable as it shrieks,
It’s Theodore and orchid time
I’m not sure which he seeks!

And Cramer’s coming up the stoop,
He meets a chain-locked door;
He comes to practice baskets,
And to hear the bellows roar,
And it’s all the same old tired routine,
He’s done it lots before!

Wolfe goes on Sunday to The Times
And reads the whole damn thing;
The crossword is a goner,
So he gives the globe a fling,
Then hardbacks in the Brownstone,
In the office, Wolfe is king.

It sounds to him like Archie’s voice,
Nagging up a storm;
He needs must think of working,
The bank balance true to form,
Enough! Confound it! Pfui!
The harassment is the norm.

Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees the food begun,
And you should see his clothes!
Something avoided, something read,
And smelling like a rose!

Thanks, thanks a lot, you portly louse,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
I’ve worked my ass off all my life,
Your comfort I have not;
And I only read about your life,
To get what you have got!

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Wolfe Carol – To the Tune of “Caroling, Caroling” By Brian Mitchell

Moving his finger in circles so
Nero Wolfe is thinking
Out with his lips and then back in slow
Nero Wolfe is thinking
Murderers should leave the room
Nero Wolfe has sealed their doom
Ding Dong Ding Dong
Front doorbells are ringing

Pushing the buzzer to ring for Fritz
Nero Wolfe is drinking
Waiting for just the right bead, he sits
Nero Wolfe is drinking
Marking well the caps he saves
Remmers tops the list of faves
Bizz Buzz Bizz Buzz
Nero Wolfe is drinking

Speaking of anything but the case
Nero Wolfe is dining
Cramming a buffet inside his face
Nero Wolfe is dining
Weighing fractions of a ton
Chewing’s his idea of fun
Chomp Chomp Chomp Chomp
Nero Wolfe is dining

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