“Will he do it?”
“I don’t know. As long as he thinks the boy is living, I don’t believe he will. You see what a drawback that is.”
“I see. What can I do to improve the situation?”
“I want you to sign a paper confessing that you abducted the boy——”
“At your instigation?”
“That must not be mentioned. You will go on to say that a year or two later—the time is not material—he died of typhoid fever. You can say that you did not dare to reveal this before, but do so now, impelled by remorse.”
“Have you got it written out? I can’t remember all them words.”
“Yes; here it is.”
“All right,” said Bolton, taking the paper and tucking it into an inside pocket. “I’ll copy it out in my own handwriting. How much are you going to give me for doing this?”
“A thousand dollars.”