“Well, there’s Harry Nichols, for instance. He’s an ass with a champagne thirst and a shoestring salary. I threw him out of the house the other day. He was calling on Loris. Think of that! He’s probably sworn to get me.”
“How old is he?”
“About twenty-three—or four! Smokes, drinks and plays golf!”
“Name some others,” suggested Drew artfully.
“Morphy!”
“I got him.”
“Morphy’s brother who escaped when we had Morphy indicted. I don’t know where he is. Then there’s Vogel and Vogel’s friends. Oh, there’s a pirate crew of them. Some were mixed up in the first Flying Boat failure. They would all like to see me in Ridgewood Cemetery. I’ll fool them!”
“You’ve given me Harry Nichols, Morphy, Morphy’s brother, Vogel and Vogel’s friends. That’s four and a few outsiders. Can you think of any more?”
“Not at present! One of them is responsible for this letter. I want you to get busy. If you won’t take the case, I’ll get an agency that will. There’s plenty!”
“I’ll handle it,” said Drew, “when it gets to be a case. As it is now, Mr. Stockbridge––”