heard the door closing and the footsteps passing the closet door, and Finch inviting the visitor to take the armchair. Then Corrigan's voice.
'You understand why I'm here, Mr. Finch. My firm received a letter from Mrs. Potter requesting professional advice.'
Finch: 'Yes, I understand that.'
Corrigan: 'According to her, you state that you have in your possession a manuscript of a novel entitled 'Put Not Your Trust,' by Baird Archer, and that the author of it was her deceased brother, Leonard Dykes, who used 'Baird Archer' as a pen name.'
I held my breath. Here, right off the bat, was one of the tricky little points I had briefed him on.
Finch: 'That's not quite right. I didn't say that I know Dykes was the author. I said I have reason to think he was.'
I breathed, not noisily.
Corrigan: 'May I ask what reason?'
Finch: 'A pretty good one. But frankly, Mr. Corrigan, I don't see why I should let you cross-examine me. You're not representing Mrs. Potter. You heard what she told me on
the phone. Naturally I'll tell her anything she wants to know, but why you?'
Corrigan: 'Well.' A pause. 'Other interests than Mrs. Potter's may be involved. I suppose you know that Dykes was an employee of my law firm?'
Finch: 'Yes, I know that.'
That was a fumble. He did not know that. I bit my lip.
Corrigan: 'Just as you have reason to think that Dykes was the author, I have reason to think that other interests are involved. Perhaps we can take a short cut and save time. Let me see the manuscript. Let me go over it now, in your presence. That will settle it.'
Finch: 'I'm afraid I can't do that. I don't own it, you know.'
Corrigan: 'But you have it. How did you get it?'
Finch: 'Properly and legitimately, in the course of my business as a literary agent.'
Corrigan: 'You're not listed in the New York phone book. Two agents who were asked have never heard of you.'
Finch: 'Then you shouldn't be wasting time on me. Really, Mr. Corrigan, this isn't Russia and you're not the MVD. Are you?'
Corrigan: 'No'. What harm could it possibly do anyone for you to let me look over that manuscript?'
Finch: 'It's not a question of harm. It's ordinary business ethics. An agent doesn't show his clients' manuscripts-to just anybody who would like to see them. Of course I'd gladly show it to you, in fact I'd be obliged to, if you were'represent-ing Mrs. Potter, whom I believe to be the owner of it. But as it is, nothing doing. That's final.'
Corrigan: 'In effect I am representing Mrs. Potter. She wrote my firm for advice. She has complete confidence in me. She refuses to engage me as her attorney only because she fears that a New York law firm would charge her a big fee. We wouldn't. We would charge her nothing.'
Finch: 'You should tell her that.'
Corrigan: 'I tried to. People here on the Coast, especially women of her class, have an ingrained suspicion of New York-e/s, you know that. It's a stupid prejudice, and Mrs. Potter is a stupid woman.'
I thought to myself, brother, you couldn't be wronger. He was going on. 'You may wonder why I'm making so much of this little matter, flying out here, and I'll tell you. I said other
interests may be involved, and I have good reason to think they are-important interests. I warn you now, for the record, that you may dangerously compromise both yourself and Mrs. Potter. On reliable information I believe that that manuscript is libelous. I believe that even in submitting it for sale you are risking severe penalties. I strongly advise you to get competent legal advice on it, and I assure you that I am qualified to give it. I offer it without charge, not through an impulse of benevolence, but to protect the interests I mentioned. Let me see that manuscript!'
Finch: 'If I decide I need legal advice I know where to get it. I never* saw you before. I've never heard of you. How do I know what or who you are?'
Corrigan: 'You don't. Naturally.' Sounds indicated that he was leaving his chair. 'Here. This may satisfy you. Here are- What's the matter?'
More sounds. Finch; 'I'm polite, that's all. When a visitor stands, I stand. Keep your credentials, Mr. Corrigan. I don't care how good they are. As far as I'm concerned you're a stranger trying to stick his nose into my business, and I'm not having any. Flying out here because you think a manuscript may be libelous-that sounds pretty damn fishy. You'll see no manuscript that's in my care. You'll have to-uuhie!'
That's the best I can do at spelling the sound he made. Other immediate sounds were not spellable at all, though fairly in-terpretable. One was surely a chair toppling. Another was feet moving heavily and swiftly. Others were grunts. Then came three in a row that were unmistakable: a fist or fists landing, and, right after, something that was heavier than a chair hitting the floor.
Finch: 'Get up and try again.'
A pause with sound effects.
Corrigan: 'I lost my head.'
