But let us take the second problem first.
I see no reason for abandoning the attack on the Marquis of Clivers because Mr. Scovil has met a violent death.
In fact, that should persuade us to prosecute it.
My advice would be this—Archie, your notebook.
Take a letter to the Marquis of Clivers, to be signed by me.
Salute him democratically,
‘Dear sir:
“‘I have been engaged by Mr. Victor Lindquist and his daughter. Miss Hilda Lindquist, as their agent to collect an amount which you have owed them since 1895. In that year, inSilver City,Nevada, with your knowledge and consent, Mr. Lindquist purchased a horse from a man known as Turtleback, and furnished thehorse to you for your use in an urgent private emergency.
You signed a paper before your departure acknowledging theobligation, but of course your debt would remain a legal obligation without that.
M ‘At that time and place good horses were scarce and valuable; fur thermore, for reasons peculiar to your situation, that horse was of extraordinary value to you at that moment.
Miss Lindquist, representing her fa ther, states that that extraordinary value can be specified as $100,000.
That amount is therefore due from you, with accrued interest at six per cent to date.
” ‘I trust that you will pay theamount due without delay and without forcing us to thenecessity of legal action.
I am not an attorney.
If you prefer to make thepayment through attorneys representing both sides, we shall be glad to make that arrangement.’”
Wolfe leaned back.
“All right. Miss Lindquist?”
She was frowning at him.
“He can’t pay with money for murdering Harlan Scovil.”
“Certainly not.
But one thing at a time.
I should explain that this claim has no legal standing, since it has expired by time, but the marquis might not care to proceed to that defense in open legal proceedings.
We are on the fringe of blackmail, but our hearts are pure.
I should also explain that at sixper-cent compound interest money doubles itself in something like twelve years, and that the present value of that claim as I have stated it in the letter is something over a million dollars.
A high price for a horse, but we are only using it to carry us to a point of vantage.
This has your approval. Miss Fox?”
Clara Fox was looking bad.
Sitting there with the fingers of one hand curled tight around the fingers of the other, she wasn’t nearly as cool and sweet as she had been that afternoon when Muir had declared right in front of her that she was a sneak thief.
“No,” she said. “I don’t think we want … no, Mr. Wolfe.
I’m just realizing … it’s my fault Mr. Scovil was killed.
I started all this.
Just for that money … no!
Don’t send that letter.
Don’t do anything.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe drank some beer, and put the glass down with his usual deliberation. “It would seem that murder is sometimes profitable, after all.”
Her fingers tightened.
“Profitable?”
“Obviously.
If, as seems likely, Harlan Scovil was killed by someone involved in this Rubber Band business, the murderer probably had two ends in view; to remove Scovil and to frighten the rest of you.
To scare you off.
He appears to have accomplished both purposes.
Good for him.”
“We’re not scared off.”
“You’re ready to quit.”
Hilda Lindquist put in, with her chin up,
“Not me.
Send that letter.”
“Miss Fox?”
She pulled her shoulders in, and out again.
“All right.