She interrupted him, cool but positive. 'It isn't blackmail to try to collect something from a man that he promised to pay.'

Wolfe nodded. 'It's a nice point. Morally he owes it. But where's the paper he signed? Anyway, let me finish. I myself am in a quandary. When you first told me the nature of the commission you were offering me, I was prepared to decline it without much discussion. Then another element entered in, of which you are stall ignorant, which lent the affair fresh interest. Of course, interest is not enough; before that comes the question, who is going to pay me? I shall expect-'

Mike Walsh squawked, 'Ten per cent!'

Clara Fox said, 'I told you, Mr. Wolfe-'

'Permit me. I shall expect nothing exorbitant. It happens that my bank account is at present in excellent condition, and therefore my cupidity is comparatively dormant. Still, I have a deep aversion to working without getting paid for it. I have accepted you. Miss Fox, as my client. I may depend on you?'

She nodded impatiently. 'Of course you may. What is the other element that entered in of which I am still ignorant?'

'Oh. That.' Wolfe's half-closed eyes took in all three faces. 'At twenty-five minutes to six this evening, less than five hours ago, on Thirty-first Street near Tenth Avenue, Harlan Scovil was shot and killed.'

Mike Walsh jerked up straight in his chair. They all gaped at Wolfe.

Wolfe said, 'He was walking along the sidewalk, and someone going by in an automobile shot him five times. He was dead when a passerby reached him. The automobile has been found, empty of course, on Ninth Avenue.'

Clara Fox gasped incredulously, 'Harlan Scovil!' Hilda Lindquist sat with her fists suddenly clenched and her lower lip pushing her upper lip toward her nose. Mike Walsh was glaring at Wolfe. He exploded suddenly,

'Ye're a howling idiot!'

Wolfe's being called an idiot twice in one evening was certainly a record. I made a note to grin when I got time. Clara Fox was saying, 'But Mr. Wolfe… it can't… how can…'

Walsh went on exploding, 'So you hear of some shooting, and you want to smell my gun? Ye're an idiot! Of all the dirty-' He stopped himself sud- denly and leaned on his hands on his knees, and his eyes narrowed. He looked pretty alert and competent for a guy seventy years old. 'To hell with that. Where's Harlan? I want to see him.'

Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. 'Compose yourself, Mr. Walsh. All in time. As you see, Miss Fox, this is quite a complication.'

'It's terrible. Why… it's awful. He's really killed?'

Hilda Lindquist spoke suddenly. 'I didn't want to come here. I told you that. I thought it was a wild goose chase. My father made me. I mean, he's old and sick and he wanted me to come because he thought maybe we could get enough to save the farm.'

Wolfe nodded. 'And now, of course…'

Her square chin stuck out. 'Now I'm glad I came, I've often heard my father talk about Harlan Scovil. He would have been killed anyway, whether I came or not, and now I'm glad I'm here to help. You folks will have to tell me what to do, because I don't know. But if that marquis thinks he can refuse to talk to us and then shoot us down on the street… we'll see.'

'I haven't said the marquis shot him. Miss Lindquist.'

'Who else did?'

I thought from her tone she was going to tell him not to be an idiot, but she let it go at that and looked at him.

Wolfe said, 'I can't tell you. But I have other details for you. This afternoon Harlan Scovil came to this office. He told Mr. Goodwin that he came in advance of the time for the interview to see what kind of a man I was. At twenty-six minutes after five, while he was waiting to see me, he received a telephone call from a man. He left at once. You remember that shortly after you arrived this evening a caller came and you were asked to go to the front room. The caller was a city detective. He informed us of the murder, described the corpse, and said that in his pocket had been found a paper bearing my name and address, and also the names of Clara Fox, Hilda Lindquist, Michael Walsh, and the Marquis of Clivers. Scovil had been shot just nine minutes after he received that phone call here and left the house.'

Clara Fox said, 'I saw him write those names on the paper. He did it while he was eating lunch with me.'

'Just so. Mr. Walsh. Did you telephone Scovil here at five-twenty-six?'

'Of course not. How could I? That's a damn fool question. I didn't know he was here.'

'I suppose not. But I thought possibly Scovil had arranged to meet you here. When Scovil arrived it happened that there was another man in the office, one of my clients, and Scovil approached him and told him he wasn't Mike Walsh.'

'Well, was he? I'm Mike Walsh, look at me. The only arrangement I had to meet him was at six o'clock, through Miss Fox. Shut up about it. I asked you where Harlan is. I want to see him.'

'In time, sir. Miss Fox. Did you telephone Scovil here?'

She shook her head. 'No. Oh, no. I thought you said it was a man.'

'So it seemed. Fritz might possibly have been mistaken. Was it you who phoned. Miss Lindquist?'

'No. I haven't telephoned anyone in New York except Clara.'

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