‘Yes, sir. General Rowley?’ He shook his head and laughed and told the driver to go on, and the car jumped forward, and he turned to wave his hand at me
.
“So he’s alive, or he was last week, and not in the poorhouse, or whatever they call it in England. I’ve made various efforts to find out who he was, but without success. Maybe I will soon. In the meantime, I’m writing this down and disposing of it, because although it may sound far-fetched and even a little batty, the fact is that this is the only thing resembling a legacy that I can leave to you and Clara. After all, I did risk my life that night in Silver City, on the strength of a bargain understood and recorded, and if that Englishman is rolling in it there’s no reason why he shouldn’t pay up. It is my hope and wish that you will make every effort to see that he does, not only for your sake but for our daughter’s sake. That may sound melodramatic, but the things that are going on over here get you that way. As soon as I find out who he is I’ll get this back and add that to it
.
“Another thing. If you do find him and get a grubstake out of it, you must not use it to pay that
$26,000
I owe those people out in California. You must promise me this. You must, dearest Lola. I’m bestowing this legacy on you and Clara, not them! I say this because I know that you know how much that debt has worried me for ten years. Though I wasn’t really responsible for that tangle, it’s true that it would give me more pleasure to straighten that out than anything in the world except to see you and Clara, but if I die that business can die with me. Of course, if you should get such a big pile of dough that you’re embarrassed—but miracles like that don’t happen
.
“If something should come out of it, it must be split with the rest of the gang if you can find them. I don’t know a thing about any of them except Harlan Scovil, and I haven’t heard from him for several years. The last address I had for him is in the little red book in the drawer of my desk. One of the difficulties is that you haven’t got the paper that George Rowley signed. Rubber Coleman, by agreement, kept both that and the PLEDGE OF THE RUBBER BAND. Maybe you can find Coleman. Or maybe Rowley is a decent guy and will pay without any paper. Either sounds highly improbable. Hell, it’s all a daydream. Anyhow, I have every intention of getting
back to you safe and sound, and if I do you’ll never see this unless I bring it along as a souvenir
.
“Here are the names of everybody that was in on it: George Rowley. Rubber Coleman (don’t know his first name). Victor Lindquist. Harlan Scovil (you’ve met him, go after him first). Mike Walsh (he was a little older, maybe
32
at the time, not one of the Rubber Band). Turtle-back was a good deal older, probably dead now, and that’s all the name I knew for him. And last but by no means least, yours truly, and how truly it would take a year to tell, Gilbert Fox, the writer of these presents.”
Clara Fox stopped. She ran her eyes over the last sentence again, then placed that sheet at the back, folded them up, and returned them to her handbag. She put her hand up and brushed back her hair, and sat and looked at Wolfe. No one said anything.
Finally Wolfe sighed. He opened his eyes at her. “Well, Miss Fox. It appears to be the moon that you want after all.”
She shook her head. “I know who George Rowley is. He is now in New York.”
“And this, I presume—” Wolfe nodded—“is Mr. Victor Lindquist’s daughter.” He nodded again. “And this gentleman is the Mr. Walsh who emptied two guns at Mr. Rowley without hitting him.”
Mike Walsh blurted, “I could have hit him!”
“Granted, sir. And you, Miss Fox, would very much like to have $26,000, no doubt with accrued interest, to discharge debts of your dead father. In other words, you need something a little less than $30,000.”
She stared at him. She glanced at me, then
.
“So he’s alive, or he was last week, and not in the poorhouse, or whatever they call it in England. I’ve made various efforts to find out who he was, but without success. Maybe I will soon. In the meantime, I’m writing this down and disposing of it, because although it may sound far-fetched and even a little batty, the fact is that this is the only thing resembling a legacy that I can leave to you and Clara. After all, I did risk my life that night in Silver City, on the strength of a bargain understood and recorded, and if that Englishman is rolling in it there’s no reason why he shouldn’t pay up. It is my hope and wish that you will make every effort to see that he does, not only for your sake but for our daughter’s sake. That may sound melodramatic, but the things that are going on over here get you that way. As soon as I find out who he is I’ll get this back and add that to it
.
“Another thing. If you do find him and get a grubstake out of it, you must not use it to pay that
$26,000
I owe those people out in California. You must promise me this. You must, dearest Lola. I’m bestowing this legacy on you and Clara, not them! I say this because I know that you know how much that debt has worried me for ten years. Though I wasn’t really responsible for that tangle, it’s true that it would give me more pleasure to straighten that out than anything in the world except to see you and Clara, but if I die that business can die with me. Of course, if you should get such a big pile of dough that you’re embarrassed—but miracles like that don’t happen
.
“If something should come out of it, it must be split with the rest of the gang if you can find them. I don’t know a thing about any of them except Harlan Scovil, and I haven’t heard from him for several years. The last address I had for him is in the little red book in the drawer of my desk. One of the difficulties is that you haven’t got the paper that George Rowley signed. Rubber Coleman, by agreement, kept both that and the PLEDGE OF THE RUBBER BAND. Maybe you can find Coleman. Or maybe Rowley is a decent guy and will pay without any paper. Either sounds highly improbable. Hell, it’s all a daydream. Anyhow, I have every intention of getting
back to you safe and sound, and if I do you’ll never see this unless I bring it along as a souvenir
.
“Here are the names of everybody that was in on it: George Rowley. Rubber Coleman (don’t know his first name). Victor Lindquist. Harlan Scovil (you’ve met him, go after him first). Mike Walsh (he was a little older, maybe
32
at the time, not one of the Rubber Band). Turtle-back was a good deal older, probably dead now, and that’s all the name I knew for him. And last but by no means least, yours truly, and how truly it would take a year to tell, Gilbert Fox, the writer of these presents.”
Clara Fox stopped. She ran her eyes over the last sentence again, then placed that sheet at the back, folded them up, and returned them to her handbag. She put her hand up and brushed back her hair, and sat and looked at Wolfe. No one said anything.
Finally Wolfe sighed. He opened his eyes at her. “Well, Miss Fox. It appears to be the moon that you want after all.”
She shook her head. “I know who George Rowley is. He is now in New York.”
“And this, I presume—” Wolfe nodded—“is Mr. Victor Lindquist’s daughter.” He nodded again. “And this gentleman is the Mr. Walsh who emptied two guns at Mr. Rowley without hitting him.”
Mike Walsh blurted, “I could have hit him!”
“Granted, sir. And you, Miss Fox, would very much like to have $26,000, no doubt with accrued interest, to discharge debts of your dead father. In other words, you need something a little less than $30,000.”
She stared at him. She glanced at me, then
Similar Books
