“It will be. Miss Wynn, wouldn’t you be willing to pay ten thousand dollars to have Alice Porter stopped? Stopped for good?”
Amy Wynn looked at Imhof. He patted her on the shoulder. “Stopped how?” he asked Oshin. “What’s your idea?”
“Very simple. Brilliant but simple. We offer him, or her, twenty thousand dollars to spill it. Who wrote the story he based his claim on, how the manuscript was planted-everything. With evidence to back it up; that should be easy. We also offer to guarantee that he won’t be prosecuted and he won’t be asked to return his share of the loot. You’ve seen all four of them, Mr Goodwin. Which one would you pick?”
“Simon Jacobs,” I said.
“Why him?”
“Very simple. Not even brilliant. Rennert is going to collect a lot more than twenty grand from you, or thinks he is. The same goes for Alice Porter; she has just made her claim on Amy Wynn. As for Jane Ogilvy, God only knows. She testified in court that she wrote that story, ‘On Earth but Not in Heaven,’ because she was suffocating under the blanket of her father’s bounty and her mother’s devotion and sought another market for her soul, end of quotation. I suppose meaning that she wanted to get hold of some cash, and presumably this operator knew that and obliged her. When she got it she kicked loose and went to Europe, but in a month she came back to the blanket. She might grab at the twenty grand, or she might spurn it. Just talking about her I use words like‘spurn.’ ”
“Then that leaves Jacobs.”
“Right. He probably used up his share of the take long ago. He’s having a hard time placing his stories. He’s living in a dump with his wife and children. I don’t know if he’s in debt, but he probably is, and he’s not the kind of guy who would enjoy being in debt. He might open the bag for twenty grand if he had a tight guarantee that he wouldn’t be prosecuted and he wouldn’t be expected to repay what he got from Richard Echols more than two years ago. He hasn’t got it any more. Of course the guarantee would have to come from Echols.”
Oshin went to Thomas Dexter. “How about it, Mr Dexter? You know Echols; you published his book. Of course I’ve met him, but I don’t know him. Will he go along?”
The publisher passed his hand over his gray hair. “That’s hard to say. I will say this, if Mr Echols agrees to such an arrangement we at Title House will have no objection. We will concur, provided that Jacobs’s affidavit-I presume it would be in the form of an affidavit-makes it clear that his charge of plagiarism was false. Provided it removes from Title House the stigma of having published a book that was-uh-a fraud. We would engage to make no demand for the return of our contribution to the payment made to Jacobs, or any part of it.”
“That’s fine. But what about Echols?”
“I couldn’t say. He is a reasonable and sensible man in many respects. I think it quite possible that he would-uh-acquiesce, if properly approached.”
“What do you think, Cora?” Philip Harvey asked. “You know him better than anyone here.”
Cora Ballard pursed her lips. “Sure,” she said, “I know Dick. I helped him with his first book contract twenty years ago, before he had an agent. The publisher wanted thirty per cent of the movie rights and twenty per cent of the first serial, and that was ridiculous. Dick’s a little peculiar in some ways, but he likes to do the right thing and he’s very generous. I’ll ask him about this if you want me to, and see what he says. Actually, what he’ll do, he’ll go straight to Paul Norris, his agent, and ask him what he thinks. Of course I know Paul, and it might be better to take it up with him first. I could see him this afternoon.”
“That’s the kind of an executive secretary to have,” Gerald Knapp said. “No wonder you authors always get the best of it.”
Chairman Harvey snorted. “Comic relief. Always welcome. Speaking for myself, if I were Dick Echols I wouldn’t hesitate. Unfortunately I’m not in his class and never will be. I’ve had six books published, and my last one.
“I do,” Oshin said. “Ten thousand dollars’ worth, and I think Miss Wynn should match it.”
Amy Wynn looked at Reuben Imhof. “We’ll discuss it,” he told her, and turned to the chairman. “It certainly won’t do any harm for Miss Ballard to sound out Mr Echols and his agent. If they agree to co-operate, then we can decide whether to go ahead.”
“In my opinion,” Gerald Knapp said, “we should decide that now. I fully approve of Mr Oshin’s suggestion and move that we adopt it. If Mr Echols consents it shouldn’t be necessary to have another meeting. Mr Wolfe could proceed at once to have the necessary papers drawn and make the offer to Simon Jacobs.”
“Second the motion,” Oshin said.
“Further discussion?” Harvey asked. “If not, all in favour raise your hands. It seems to be unanimous. Miss Wynn, when can you let me know whether you will match Mr Oshin’s ten thousand? Today?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “Certainly by five o’clock.”
“Good. If I’m not at home call Miss Ballard at the NAAD. Now, Mr Wolfe, I hope this has changed your mind. I hope you’ll agree that we’re making some progress, and of course you and Mr Goodwin made it possible. Have you any comment?”
“Yes,” Wolfe said. “I am a detective, not a conveyor of bait. However, since Mr Goodwin named Mr Jacobs as the prospective receiver, he and I have a responsibility. If the preparations are satisfactory, we will act.”
Chapter 7
