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Authors: Dashiell Hammett
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could be found.
Fourth,
and most important,
has my divorced wife been in communication with Rosewater? How did she learn I was carrying out the experiments with which he once assisted me?
Fifth, the police must be convinced at once that I can tell them nothing about the murder so that they will take no steps to find me—steps that might lead to a discovery of and a premature exposure of my experiments, which I would consider
very dangerous
at this time. This can best be avoided by clearing up the mystery of her murder immediately, and that is what I wish to have done.
I will communicate with you from time to time and if in the meanwhile anything should arise to make communication with me
imperative
insert the following advertisement in the Times:
Abner. Yes. Bunny.
I will thereupon arrange to get in touch with you.
I hope you sufficiently understand the necessity of persuading Charles to act for me, since he is already acquainted with the Rosewater trouble and knows most of the people concerned. Yours truly,
Clyde Miller Wynant
I put the letter down on Macaulay’s desk and said: “It makes a lot of sense. Do you remember what his row with Rosewater was about?”
“Something about changes in the structures of crystals. I can look it up.” Macaulay picked up the first sheet of the letter and frowned at it. “He says he got a thousand dollars from her that night. I gave her five thousand for him; she told me that’s what he wanted.”
“Four thousand from Uncle John’s estate?” I suggested.
“Looks like it. That’s funny: I never thought she’d gyp him. I’ll have to find out about the other money I turned over to her.”
“Did you know she’d done a jail sentence in Cleveland on a badger-game charge?”
“No. Had she really?”
“According to the police—under the name of Rhoda Stewart. Where’d Wynant find her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
“Know anything about where she came from originally, relatives, things like that?” He shook his head again. “Who was she engaged to?” I asked.
“I didn’t know she was engaged.”
“She was wearing a diamond ring on her finger.”
“That’s news to me,” he said. He shut his eyes and thought. “No, I can’t remember ever noticing an engagement ring.” He put his forearms on his desk and grinned over them at me. “Well, what are the chances of getting you to do what he wants?”
“Slim.”
“I thought so.” He moved a hand to touch the letter. “You know as much about how he feels as I do. What would make you change your mind?”
“I don’t—”
“Would it help any if I could persuade him to meet you? Maybe if I told him that was the only way you’d take it—”
“I’m willing to talk to him,” I said, “but he’d have to talk a lot straighter than he’s writing.”
Macaulay asked slowly: “You mean you think he may have killed her?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I don’t know as much as the police do, and it’s a cinch they haven’t got enough on him to make the pinch even if they could find him.”
Macaulay sighed. “Being a goof’s lawyer is not much fun. I’ll try to make him listen to reason, but I know he won’t.”
“I meant to ask, how are his finances these days? Is he as well fixed as he used to be?”
“Almost. The depression’s hurt him some, along with the rest of us, and the royalties from his smelting process have gone pretty much to hell now that the metals are dead, but he can still count on fifty or sixty thousand a year from his glassine and soundproofing patents, with a little more coming in from odds and ends like—” He broke off to ask: “You’re not worrying abut his ability to pay whatever you’d ask?”
“No, I was just wondering.” I thought of something else: “Has he any relatives outside of his ex-wife and children?”
“A sister, Alice Wynant, that hasn’t been on speaking terms with him for—it must be four or five
Fourth,
and most important,
has my divorced wife been in communication with Rosewater? How did she learn I was carrying out the experiments with which he once assisted me?
Fifth, the police must be convinced at once that I can tell them nothing about the murder so that they will take no steps to find me—steps that might lead to a discovery of and a premature exposure of my experiments, which I would consider
very dangerous
at this time. This can best be avoided by clearing up the mystery of her murder immediately, and that is what I wish to have done.
I will communicate with you from time to time and if in the meanwhile anything should arise to make communication with me
imperative
insert the following advertisement in the Times:
Abner. Yes. Bunny.
I will thereupon arrange to get in touch with you.
I hope you sufficiently understand the necessity of persuading Charles to act for me, since he is already acquainted with the Rosewater trouble and knows most of the people concerned. Yours truly,
Clyde Miller Wynant
I put the letter down on Macaulay’s desk and said: “It makes a lot of sense. Do you remember what his row with Rosewater was about?”
“Something about changes in the structures of crystals. I can look it up.” Macaulay picked up the first sheet of the letter and frowned at it. “He says he got a thousand dollars from her that night. I gave her five thousand for him; she told me that’s what he wanted.”
“Four thousand from Uncle John’s estate?” I suggested.
“Looks like it. That’s funny: I never thought she’d gyp him. I’ll have to find out about the other money I turned over to her.”
“Did you know she’d done a jail sentence in Cleveland on a badger-game charge?”
“No. Had she really?”
“According to the police—under the name of Rhoda Stewart. Where’d Wynant find her?”
He shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
“Know anything about where she came from originally, relatives, things like that?” He shook his head again. “Who was she engaged to?” I asked.
“I didn’t know she was engaged.”
“She was wearing a diamond ring on her finger.”
“That’s news to me,” he said. He shut his eyes and thought. “No, I can’t remember ever noticing an engagement ring.” He put his forearms on his desk and grinned over them at me. “Well, what are the chances of getting you to do what he wants?”
“Slim.”
“I thought so.” He moved a hand to touch the letter. “You know as much about how he feels as I do. What would make you change your mind?”
“I don’t—”
“Would it help any if I could persuade him to meet you? Maybe if I told him that was the only way you’d take it—”
“I’m willing to talk to him,” I said, “but he’d have to talk a lot straighter than he’s writing.”
Macaulay asked slowly: “You mean you think he may have killed her?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I don’t know as much as the police do, and it’s a cinch they haven’t got enough on him to make the pinch even if they could find him.”
Macaulay sighed. “Being a goof’s lawyer is not much fun. I’ll try to make him listen to reason, but I know he won’t.”
“I meant to ask, how are his finances these days? Is he as well fixed as he used to be?”
“Almost. The depression’s hurt him some, along with the rest of us, and the royalties from his smelting process have gone pretty much to hell now that the metals are dead, but he can still count on fifty or sixty thousand a year from his glassine and soundproofing patents, with a little more coming in from odds and ends like—” He broke off to ask: “You’re not worrying abut his ability to pay whatever you’d ask?”
“No, I was just wondering.” I thought of something else: “Has he any relatives outside of his ex-wife and children?”
“A sister, Alice Wynant, that hasn’t been on speaking terms with him for—it must be four or five
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