Some Buried Caesar/The Golden Spiders by Rex Stout (English) Paperback Book

Description: Some Buried Caesar/The Golden Spiders by Rex Stout Two classic Nero Wolfe novels are available in one all-new paperback edition.608 pp. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Through a hundred million copies and seventy-three brilliant cases of crime and detection, the adventures of Americas largest private detective continue to captivate and enthrall readers around the world. Discover Nero Wolfe--the greatest, grumpiest, gourmandizing detective of them all--in two classic novels, now available in a single dual trade paperback edition."Nero Wolfe towers over his rivals...he is an exceptional character creation." -New YorkerA grand master of the form, Rex Stout is one of Americas greatest mystery writers, and his literary creation Nero Wolfe is one of fictions greatest detectives. Here, in this special double edition, the arrogant, gourmandizing, sedentary sleuth and his trusty man-about-town, Archie Goodwin, solve two of their most bizarre cases.Some Buried CaesarA prize bull destined for the barbecue is found pawing the corpse of a late restaurateur. Wolfe is certain that Hickory Caesar Grindon, the soon-to-be-beefsteak bull, isnt the murderer. But who among a veritable stampede of suspects-including a young woman whos caught Archies eye-turned the tables on Hickorys would-be butcher? Its a crime that wins a blue ribbon for sheer audacity-and Nero Wolfe is the one detective audacious enough to solve it.The Golden SpidersA twelve-year-old boy shows up at Wolfes brownstone with an incredible story. Soon the great detective finds himself hired for the grand sum of $4.30 and faced with the question of why the last two people to hire him were murdered. To keep it from becoming three, Wolfe must discover the unlikely connection between a gray Cadillac, a mysterious woman, and a pair of earrings shaped like spiders dipped in gold. Author Biography Rex Stout, born 1886 in Indiana/USA, worked at thirty different professions until he earned enough money to travel. In 1932, he began to write thrillers focusing on the famous detective Nero Wolfe. Nero is a gourmet weighing more than a hundred kilos, and moving as little as possible. Rex Stout finished more than fifty novels and received the "Grand Masters Award". He died 1975. Excerpt from Book Chapter One THAT SUNNY September day was full of surprises. The first one came when, after my swift realization that the sedan was still right side up and the windshield and windows intact, I switched off the ignition and turned to look at the back seat. I didnt suppose the shock of the collision would have hurled him to the floor, knowing as I did that when the car was in motion he always had his feet braced and kept a firm grasp on the strap; what I expected was the ordeal of facing a glare of fury that would top all records; what I saw was him sitting there calmly on the seat with his massive round face wearing a look of reliefif I knew his face, and I certainly knew Nero Wolfes face. I stared at him in astonishment. He murmured, "Thank God," as if it came from his heart. I demanded, "What?" "I said thank God." He let go of the strap and wiggled a finger at me. "It has happened, and here we are. I presume you know, since Ive told you, that my distrust and hatred of vehicles in motion is partly based on my plerophory that their apparent submission to control is illusory and that they may at their pleasure, and sooner or later will, act on whim. Very well, this one has, and we are intact. Thank God the whim was not a deadlier one." "Whim hell. Do you know what happened?" "Certainly. I said, whim. Go ahead." "What do you mean, go ahead?" "I mean go on. Start the confounded thing going again." I opened the door and got out and walked around to the front to take a look. It was a mess. After a careful examination I went back to the other side of the car and opened the rear door and looked in at him and made my report. "It was quite a whim. Id like to get it on record what happened, since Ive been driving your cars nine years and this is the first time Ive ever stopped before I was ready to. That was a good tire, so they must have run it over glass at the garage where I left it last night, or maybe I did myself, though I dont think so. Anyway, I was going 55 when the tire blew out. She left the road, but I didnt lose the wheel, and I was braking and had her headed up and would have made it if it hadnt been for that damn tree. Now the fender is smashed into the rubber and a knuckle is busted and the radiators ripped open." "How long will it take you to fix it?" "I cant fix it. If I had a nail I wouldnt even bother to bite it, Id swallow it whole." "Who can fix it?" "Men with tools in a garage." "It isnt in a garage." "Right." He closed his eyes and sat. Pretty soon he opened them again and sighed. "Where are we?" "Two hundred and thirty-seven miles northeast of Times Square. Eighteen miles southwest of Crowfield, where the North Atlantic Exposition is held every year, beginning on the second Monday in September and lasting" "Archie." His eyes were narrowed at me. "Please save the jocularity. What are we going to do?" I admit I was touched. Nero Wolfe asking me what to do! "I dont know about you," I said, "but Im going to kill myself. I was reading in the paper the other day how a Jap always commits suicide when he fails his emperor, and no Jap has anything on me. They call it seppuku. Maybe you think they call it hara-kiri, but they dont or at least rarely. They call it seppuku." He merely repeated, "What are we doing to do?" "Were going to flag a car and get a lift. Preferably to Crowfield, where we have reservations at a hotel." "Would you drive it?" "Drive what?" "The car we flag." "I dont imagine he would let me after he sees what Ive done to this one." Wolfe compressed his lips. "I wont ride with a strange driver." "Ill go to Crowfield alone and rent a car and come back for you." "That would take two hours. No." I shrugged. "We passed a house about a mile back. Ill bum a ride there or walk, and phone to Crowfield for a car." "While I sit here, waiting, helplessly, in this disabled demon." "Right." He shook his head. "No." "You wont do that?" "No." I stepped back around the rear of the car to survey the surroundings, near and far. It was a nice September day, and the hills and dales of upstate New York looked sleepy and satisfied in the sun. The road we were on was a secondary highway, not a main drag, and nothing had passed by since I had bumped the tree. A hundred yards ahead it curved to the right, dipping down behind some trees. I couldnt see the house we had passed a mile or so back, on account of another curve. Across the road was a gentle slope of meadow which got steeper further up where the meadow turned into woods. I turned. In that direction was a board fence painted white, a smooth green pasture, and a lot of trees; and beyond the trees were some bigger ones, and the top of a house. There was no drive leading that way, so I figured that there would be one further along the road, around the curve. Wolfe yelled to ask what the devil I was doing, and I stepped back to the car door. "Well," I said, "I dont see a garage anywhere. Theres a house across there among those big trees. Going around by the road it would probably be a mile or more, but cutting across that pasture would be only maybe 400 yards. If you dont want to sit here helpless, I will, Im armed, and you go hunt a phone. That house over there is closest." Away off somewhere, a dog barked. Wolfe looked at me. "That was a dog barking." "Yes, sir." "Probably attached to that house. Im in no humor to contend with a loose dog. Well go together. But I wont climb that fence." "You wont need to. Theres a gate back a little way." He sighed, and bent over to take a look at the crates, one on the floor and one on the seat beside him, which held the potted orchid plants. In view of the whim we had had, it was a good thing they had been secured so they couldnt slide around. Then he started to clamber out, and I stepped back to make room for him outdoors, room being a thing he required more than his share of. He took a good stretch, his applewood walking stick pointing like a sword at the sky as he did so, and turned all the way around, scowling at the hills and dales, while I got the doors of the car locked, and then followed me along the edge of the ditch to the place where we could cross to the gate. It was after we had passed through, just as I got the gate closed behind us, that I heard the guy yelling. I looked across the pasture in the direction of the house, and there he was, sitting on top of the fence on the other side. He must have just climbed up. He was yelling at us to go back where we came from. At that distance I couldnt tell for sure whether it was a rifle or a shotgun he had with the butt against his shoulder. He wasnt exactly aiming it at us, but intentions seemed to be along that line. Wolfe had gone on ahead while I was shutting the gate, and I trotted up to him and grabbed his arm. "Hold on a minute. If thats a bughouse and thats one of the inmates, he may take us for woodchucks or wild turkeys" Wolfe snorted. "The mans a fool. Its only a cow pasture." Being a good detective, he produced his evidence by pointing to a brown circular heap near our feet. Then he glared toward the menace on the fence, bellowed "Shut up!" and went on. I followed. The guy kept yelling and waving the gun, and we kept to our course, but I admit I wasnt liking it, because I could see now it was a shotgun and he might easily be the kind of a nut that would pepper us. There was an enormous boulder, sloping up to maybe 3 feet above the ground, about exactly in the middle of the pasture, and we were a little to the right of that when the second surprise arrived in the series I spoke of. My attention was pretty thoroughly concentrated on the nut with the shotgun, still perched on the fence and yelling louder than ever, when I felt Wolfes fingers gripping my elbow and heard his sudden sharp command: "Stop! Dont move!" I stopped dead, with him beside me. I thought he had discovered something psychological about the bird on the fence, but he said without looking at me, "Stand perfectly still. Move your head slowly, very slowly, to the right." For an instant I thought the nut with the gun had something contagious and Wolfe had caught it, but I did as I was told, and there was the second surprise. Off maybe 200 feet to the right, walking slowly toward us with his head up, was a bull bigger than I had supposed bulls came. He was dark red with white patches, with a big white triangle on his face, and he was walking easy and slow, wiggling his Details ISBN0553385674 Author Rex Stout Short Title SOME BURIED CAESAR/GOLDEN SPID Language English ISBN-10 0553385674 ISBN-13 9780553385670 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Illustrations Yes Year 2008 Publication Date 2008-09-30 Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States Birth 1886 Death 1975 Residence US DOI 10.1604/9780553385670 UK Release Date 2008-09-30 AU Release Date 2008-09-30 NZ Release Date 2008-09-30 US Release Date 2008-09-30 Pages 512 Publisher Random House USA Inc Series Nero Wolfe Imprint Bantam Books Inc Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:14998774;

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