Stout borrows many of the old standbys of the spy thriller, even as he continues to pay tribute to his precursors in detective fiction. No one will ever mistake Nero Wolfe for James Bond (although Ian Fleming once proposed a joint venture), but he functions quite passably in the thick fog of international intrigue, even though he despises it. There are double agents, icy torturers, cyanide capsules, night crossings — all familiar enough cliches of the Cold War spy novel, although infrequent in Stout's work.