conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is a plot for a book about Corrigan, Wolfe, Dykes entitled Murder by the Book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Murder by the Book: Inspector Cramer takes the unprecedented step of approaching Nero Wolfe for his help on a stalled murder investigation.\nLeonard Dykes, a clerk for a small law partnership, has been found dead in the East River with no leads other than a list of names in his pocket.\nWhile initially unable to help, a month later Wolfe is approached by the father of Joan Wellman, a reader for a small fiction publisher who was killed in a hit-and-run incident.\nAfter reading a recent letter that Joan had written to her parents, Wolfe realises that the name \'Baird Archer\', an author whose novel Joan was reading for her employer, had also appeared on the list found in Leonard Dykes\' pocket.\nWolfe orders Archie Goodwin to explore the link between Archer\'s novel and the two murder victims.\nTo that end, Archie arrives at the office of Rachel Abrams, a stenographer, mere minutes after she has been thrown out of a window to her death.\nIn the moments before the police arrive Archie confirms that Baird Archer was one of her clients.\nWolfe decides to begin the investigation with Dykes, and Archie arranges a meeting with the female employees of Corrigan, Phelps, Kustin and Briggs, the law partnership Dykes worked for.\nDuring the meeting, tempers flare and in a resulting argument the former senior partner of the firm, Conroy O\'Malley, is mentioned.\nO\'Malley was disbarred for bribing a jury foreman to fix a case, and while Dykes was blamed for exposing him to the Bar Association it becomes clear that all four of the partners have motives to betray him.\nSoon after, the five lawyers—James Corrigan, Emmet Phelps, Louis Kustin and Frederick Briggs—approach Wolfe, keen to avoid further scandal.\nThe men agree to send Wolfe all correspondence relating to Dykes, including a resignation letter he submitted.\nWhen they receive the letter, Wolfe and Archie discover an odd notation, apparently in Corrigan\'s handwriting, which corresponds a verse in the Book of Psalms.\nThe same verse - "Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help" - was used for the title of Baird Archer\'s novel, which confirms to Wolfe that Archer was a nom de plume of Dykes and his novel a Roman à clef based on O\'Malley\'s downfall.\nArchie is dispatched to Los Angeles to persuade Dykes\'s sister Peggy to help them trap her brother\'s murderer.\nArchie writes a letter to the law firm purportedly from Peggy asking for advice over the legal rights of her brother\'s novel, and hires a local private detective to pose as a literary agent.\nSoon after, James Corrigan unsuccessfully tries to acquire the manuscript, resorting to violence and attempted theft in order to do so.\nArchie begins to tail Corrigan, but soon after his return to New York Wolfe receives a rambling phone call, apparently from James Corrigan, which is abruptly ended with the sound of a gunshot.\nThe police discover that Corrigan has apparently committed suicide, and the next day Wolfe receives a suicide note written by Corrigan confessing to having exposed O\'Malley and committed all three murders to keep his secret.\nAlthough the authorities are willing to rule Corrigan the murderer and his death a suicide, Wolfe has a breakthrough and summons the major witnesses to his office.\nThere, he reveals that the supposed suicide note was flawed in one crucial respect; it claimed that Corrigan was aware of the contents of Dykes\' novel, when in fact Corrigan\'s actions in Los Angeles clearly demonstrated that he had never seen the manuscript before.\nIn fact, Corrigan was murdered by Conroy O\'Malley, who had staged his death as a suicide.\nO\'Malley had discovered that Corrigan had betrayed him via Dykes\'s manuscript and had committed the other murders both to frame Corrigan and cover up his actions.\nAfter holes in his alibi are discovered, O\'Malley is charged and convicted of murder.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Murder by the Book: Inspector Cramer takes the unprecedented step of approaching Nero Wolfe for his help on a stalled murder investigation.\nLeonard Dykes, a clerk for a small law partnership, has been found dead in the East River with no leads other than a list of names in his pocket.\nWhile initially unable to help, a month later Wolfe is approached by the father of Joan Wellman, a reader for a small fiction publisher who was killed in a hit-and-run incident.\nAfter reading a recent letter that Joan had written to her parents, Wolfe realises that the name \'Baird Archer\', an author whose novel Joan was reading for her employer, had also appeared on the list found in Leonard Dykes\' pocket.\nWolfe orders Archie Goodwin to explore the link between Archer\'s novel and the two murder victims.\nTo that end, Archie arrives at the office of Rachel Abrams, a stenographer, mere minutes after she has been thrown out of a window to her death.\nIn the moments before the police arrive Archie confirms that Baird Archer was one of her clients.\nWolfe decides to begin the investigation with Dykes, and Archie arranges a meeting with the female employees of Corrigan, Phelps, Kustin and Briggs, the law partnership Dykes worked for.\nDuring the meeting, tempers flare and in a resulting argument the former senior partner of the firm, Conroy O\'Malley, is mentioned.\nO\'Malley was disbarred for bribing a jury foreman to fix a case, and while Dykes was blamed for exposing him to the Bar Association it becomes clear that all four of the partners have motives to betray him.\nSoon after, the five lawyers—James Corrigan, Emmet Phelps, Louis Kustin and Frederick Briggs—approach Wolfe, keen to avoid further scandal.\nThe men agree to send Wolfe all correspondence relating to Dykes, including a resignation letter he submitted.\nWhen they receive the letter, Wolfe and Archie discover an odd notation, apparently in Corrigan\'s handwriting, which corresponds a verse in the Book of Psalms.\nThe same verse - "Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help" - was used for the title of Baird Archer\'s novel, which confirms to Wolfe that Archer was a nom de plume of Dykes and his novel a Roman à clef based on O\'Malley\'s downfall.\nArchie is dispatched to Los Angeles to persuade Dykes\'s sister Peggy to help them trap her brother\'s murderer.\nArchie writes a letter to the law firm purportedly from Peggy asking for advice over the legal rights of her brother\'s novel, and hires a local private detective to pose as a literary agent.\nSoon after, James Corrigan unsuccessfully tries to acquire the manuscript, resorting to violence and attempted theft in order to do so.\nArchie begins to tail Corrigan, but soon after his return to New York Wolfe receives a rambling phone call, apparently from James Corrigan, which is abruptly ended with the sound of a gunshot.\nThe police discover that Corrigan has apparently committed suicide, and the next day Wolfe receives a suicide note written by Corrigan confessing to having exposed O\'Malley and committed all three murders to keep his secret.\nAlthough the authorities are willing to rule Corrigan the murderer and his death a suicide, Wolfe has a breakthrough and summons the major witnesses to his office.\nThere, he reveals that the supposed suicide note was flawed in one crucial respect; it claimed that Corrigan was aware of the contents of Dykes\' novel, when in fact Corrigan\'s actions in Los Angeles clearly demonstrated that he had never seen the manuscript before.\nIn fact, Corrigan was murdered by Conroy O\'Malley, who had staged his death as a suicide.\nO\'Malley had discovered that Corrigan had betrayed him via Dykes\'s manuscript and had committed the other murders both to frame Corrigan and cover up his actions.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first two paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Murder by the Book
  Over the weekend I had a couple of talks with Purley Stebbins. If we were getting nowhere fast, so were the cops. They had uncovered a Baird Archer somewhere down in Virginia, but he was over eighty and couldn't read or write. Their big idea was to find some link between Leonard Dykes and Joan Wellman, and three of Cramer's best men were clawing away at it. When I reported that to Wolfe Sunday evening he snorted.
  So the next day, Monday, after finishing the morning office chores I took a geographical section of the list Saul and I had compiled, and went at it. The other three had covered downtown Manhattan up to Fourteenth Street, the Grand Central section, and the West Side from Fourteenth to Forty-second. That day Fred was in Brooklyn, Orrie in the Bronx, and Saul on the East Side. I took the West Side from Forty-second Street up.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is four more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: During the thirty-minute drive to Glendale it rained approximately three-quarters of an inch. Whitecrest Avenue was so new it hadn't been paved yet, and Number 2819 was out almost at the end, with some giant sagebrush just beyond, hanging on the edge of a gully, only I suppose it wasn't sagebrush. There were two saggy palms and another sort of a tree in the front yard. The driver stopped at the edge of the road in front, with the right wheels in four inches of rushing water in the gutter, and announced, "Here we are."
  He muttered something, backed up for an approach, swung into the ruts of what was intended for a driveway, and came to a stop some twenty paces from the front door of the big pink box with maroon piping. Having already told him he wasn't expected to wait, I paid him, got out, and made a dive for the door, which was protected from the elements by an overhang about the size of a card table. As I pushed the button a three-by-six panel a little below the level of my eyes slid aside, leaving an opening through which a voice came.
  Outside the raincoat the pouring rain was slanting in at me, amused at the card-table cover. Inside the raincoat there was almost as much dampness as outside, from sweat. I wouldn't have called the situation desperate, but it did need attention. I inquired, "Can you see me through that hole?"
  Actually I was pleased. I had come three thousand miles to pull a fast one on this Mrs. Potter, and if she had received me with open arms I would have had to swallow scruples. Now, being kept standing out in that cloudburst on a husband's orders, I felt no qualms.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last four paragraphs? Start with the sentence 'One day last week I made a station-to-station call to a number in Glendale, California'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: One day last week I made a station-to-station call to a number in Glendale, California. When I got it I began, "Peggy? This is Archie. Calling from New York."
  I made a face. I had been familiar deliberately, with a specific purpose, to find a flaw. There was just a chance she might fake indignation, or she might be coy, or she might even pretend not to know who it was. Nothing doing. She was still her—too short, too plump, and too old, but the one and only Mrs. Potter.
  I hung up and made another face. What the hell, I thought, in another twenty years Bubblehead may be dead, and age and contours won't matter much, and I'll grab her.
  Now, for the first time ever, enjoy a peek into the life of Nero Wolfe's creator, Rex Stout, courtesy of the Stout estate. Pulled from Rex Stout's own archives, here is rarely seen, never-before-published memorabilia. Each title in the Rex Stout Library will offer an exclusive look into the life of the man who gave Nero Wolfe life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Murder by the Book
  The various productions around the city competed keenly, each trying to provide something distinctive so that punters would go from one theatre to another, making commercially fruitful comparisons: Moncrieff's version at the Victoria not only had songs but an 'ASTONISHING AND ELECTRICAL Representation of the GREAT HURRICANE on the River Thames'; another had a ghost scene, yet another a swordfight, and the pantomime version at Drury Lane had Jack and Wild turning into the well-known characters Harlequin and Clown, with a final tableau held in front of a backdrop of Buckingham Palace, neatly referencing the Queen's forthcoming nuptials.
  But the most famous adaptation, which had the best actors, catchiest songs and grandest spectacle, was that which opened at the Adelphi in October 1839, written by John Buckstone and starring Mary Anne Keeley as Jack and the popular comedian Paul Bedford as Blueskin. The script was lively and ingenious, paring down Ainsworth's complex plot to its essentials, and adding some unexpected humour. In the breakneck opening scene, the two orphaned babies were juggled about, and the fugitive aristocrat was chased across wooden rooftops to great dramatic effect; the storm on the Thames and Jack's escape from Newgate were other great theatrical set-pieces. Despite the fisticuffs, bludgeoning and, of course, throat-slittings that the story required, Buckstone managed to produce a feel-good entertainment, with something for everyone: action, special effects, gothic scenes (Jack in Bedlam), weepy scenes (Jack at his mother's grave), men in drag (Jack escaping in a dress) and plentiful comedy banter. 'I thought [Jack] was in Newgate,' says a servant, with the reply, 'He's let out for a few hours, but he's going back again after supper.'
  It was physically a very demanding role, and apart from the soreness in her hands every night, there was a lot of climbing, jumping and dropping to be done (once from a ladder, which, when it went wrong, laid her up for two months). One young fan who used to hang around the theatre was backstage when the actress staggered off, completely exhausted by the escape scene. He was delighted to have to catch his heroine in his arms.
  It was hard not to be beguiled by the Adelphi production, especially when Jack appeared at the Cross Shovels, splendidly dressed, with a beautiful girl on each arm and ready for the big production number that closed the second act, or when he gave his defiant speech before the Newgate gallows. 'The fate of the Thief-taker and the Thief appears to absorb the entire attention of the crowded audience, as much as if a saint was being burned at the stake,' one reviewer noted. In fact, such was the power of the play to 'ensnare' viewers that he left feeling slightly vexed that Jack hadn't been rescued at the end.
  Could anything sound sillier to audiences today than the words of this song (roundly parodied by John Poole and others)? But translated from cant, the meaning that emerges is far from silly or trivial:
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The governor steered him back to the subject of the murder. Had he tampered with anyone's drink? Courvoisier said no, though he admitted to consuming plenty himself that night; the beer, the wine 'and some more I took after the cook went to bed affected me'. He had nothing to do with the gloves. He didn't even own any white gloves any more, he said, having given them all to the coachman James Leech when he left Mr Fector's.
  Details from Courvoisier's confession were widely circulated in the newspapers and found their way quickly into ballads being sung all around town, like this one, called 'Verses on F. B. Courvoisier Now Lying under Sentence of Death for the Murder of His Master, Lord William Russell', which could be sung 'to the tune of "Waggon Train" ':
  Neither of these answers is really credible, but perhaps that is because both could be partly true. Courvoisier might well have only turned up a shirt sleeve to take part in the murder, and a naked man might well have been seen covertly from across the road. Courvoisier might not have been the only murderer there.
  On 23 June, Courvoisier's uncle visited him in Newgate and had a long interview, after which the prisoner called in Sheriff Evans and said he wished to make another confession. His conversation with his pious uncle had persuaded him that he must stop trying to disown his guilt and save his soul instead. Suddenly and surprisingly, Courvoisier retracted the whole 'surprised burglary' story, and the scene of Lord William outraged in slippers on his way to the toilet. 'Nothing at all of the kind had occurred,' he said quite baldly. His signed new account of the murder was much shorter: his Lordship had been annoyed with him, but there was no real provocation, or threat of dismissal, and it wasn't a spur of the moment decision at all, but premeditated by the valet for about a week. He decided to stage the burglary, took a carving knife from the sideboard and went to Lord William's bedroom, where he found him asleep. The description of the killing is the only part that is particularly close to the first account, and just as uninformative: 'I went to the side of the bed, and drew the knife across his throat. He appeared to die instantly.'
  Evans pressed him further about the murder itself. How had the victim's finger been cut? Courvoisier's reply seems more speculative than factual, almost as if he wasn't there: 'When he drew the knife across the throat, his Lordship's hand started up as if by a convulsion, and must at the moment have come into contact with the knife, and immediately fell back again, for death was instantaneous. His Lordship never waked.' And the absence of bloodstains, how did he manage that? asked Evans. Courvoisier said simply that he wiped his hand on the towel, which he immediately put over Lord William's face. 'He then, he said, went up to bed, but he did not sleep.' No mention of washing. No mention of any struggle, any mess, or the 'considerable effort', as John Nussey had described it, that would have been necessary to make that huge gash in the victim's throat, nearly through to the bone. Courvoisier made it sound almost elegantly done – '[I] drew the knife across the throat' – but such a wound could never have been inflicted casually; the knife must have been forced down hard, as on to a recalcitrant Sunday roast.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What is the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Hobler, Francis, 'An Account of the Murder of the Lord William Russell on the Night of the 5th & 6th May 1840', Harvard Law School Library, MS 4487
  My agent Zoe Waldie has been extremely supportive and encouraging, as ever, and I'm grateful to her and all the other friends who have listened patiently to the details of this long-ago mystery, including those at La Maison Verte in Roujan in the summer of 2017, who heard a great deal about it in rudimentary form, and my dear friends Annie Bartlett and Sandra Evans, whose expert witness, 177 years after the event, was extremely pertinent to my understanding of how throats behave when cut. Thanks also to Juliet Brown and Kate Bailey for helping us to reconstruct the crime on an Umbrian terrace.
  Thanks are also due to my sister Suzanne Challacombe, who very kindly helped me with François Courvoisier's idiosyncratic French, to Lorraine Sencicle and Liza Picard for answers to specific questions, and to Paul Strohm, who has, as ever, been the ideal listener, supporter and advice-giver throughout an intense year of reading and writing.
  Viking is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.