“But it’s yours. That will do nicely. An asset of the estate is the expectation of damages to be paid by Mr. James for his assault on Mr. Mion. You may properly claim that asset. The six people I want to see were all concerned in that affair, one way or another. I’ll write them immediately, mailing the letter tonight special delivery, telling them that I represent you in the matter and would like them to call at my office tomorrow evening.”
“That’s impossible!” Peggy cried, shocked. “I couldn’t! I wouldn’t dream of asking Gif to pay damages—”
Wolfe banged a fist on his desk. “Confound it!” he roared. “Get out of here! Go! Do you think murders are solved by cutting out paper dolls? First you lie to me, and now you refuse to annoy people, including the murderer! Archie, put them out!”
“Good for you,” I muttered at him. I was getting fed up too. I glared at the would-be clients. “Try the Salvation Army,” I suggested. “They’re old hands at helping people in trouble. You can have the notebooks to take along — at cost, six bits. No charge for the contents.”
They were looking at each other.
“I guess he has to see them somehow,” Fred conceded. “He has to have a reason, and I must admit that’s a good one. You don’t owe them anything — not one of them.”
Peggy gave in.
After a few details had been attended to, the most important of which was getting addresses, they left. The manner of their going, and of our speeding them, was so far from cordial that it might have been thought that instead of being the clients they were the prey. But the check was on my desk. When, after letting them out, I returned to the office, Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes shut, frowning in distaste.
I stretched and yawned. “This ought to be fun,” I said encouragingly. “Making it just a grab for damages. If the murderer is among the guests, see how long you can keep it from him. I bet he catches on before the jury comes in with the verdict.”
“Shut up,” he growled. “Blockheads.”