My wife and I just returned from a week of fun, frolic and foot pain in New York City. After walking the High Line north to West 30th Street, I dragged her along on my pilgrimage to West 35th. Because Rex Stout failed to give us the house number, I was worried I might not be able to pick the Nero Wolfe residence out of the many brownstones between 9th and 10th Avenue. But my worries were for naught, because there's only one left, and this is it, number 455. It wins by default.
