The Rubber Band

"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). Turtleback 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 gendeman 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 twenty-six thousand dollars, no doubt with accrued interest, to discharge debts of your dead father. In other words, you need something a little less than thirty thousand."

She stared at him. She glanced at me, then back at him, and asked coolly, "Am I here as your client, Mr. Wolfe, or as a suspected thief?"

He wiggled a finger at her. "Neither as yet. Please do not be so foolish as to be offended. If I show you my mind, it is only to save dme and avoid irrelevancies. Haven't I sat and listened patiently for ten minutes although I dislike being read aloud to?"

"That's irrelevant."

"Indeed. I believe it is. Let us proceed. Tell me about Mr. George Rowley."

But that had to be postponed. I had heard the doorbell, and Fritz going down the hall, and a murmur from outside. Now I shook my head at Clara Fox and showed her my palm to stop her, as the office door opened and Fritz came in and closed it behind him.

"A man to see you, sir. I told him you were engaged."

I bounced up. There were only two kinds of men Fritz didn't announce as gentlemen; one he suspected of wanting to sell something, and a policeman, uniform or not. He could smell one a mile off. So I bounced up and demanded, "A cop?"

"Yes, sir."