Red Box, The nwo-4
Page 23
It was Monday noon. The frosts had telephoned that morning to ask for an interview. Lew was in the dunce's chair; his father was on one at his left, with a taboret at his elbow and on it a couple of glasses and the bottle of Old
Corcoran. Wolfe had just finished a second bottle of beer and was leaning back comfortably. I had my notebook out
Llewellyn flushed a little. “She's out at Glennanne. She says she phoned you
Saturday evening to ask if she could go out there. She…she doesn't want to see any Frosts. She wouldn't talk to me. I know she's had an awful time of it, but my God, she can't go on forever without any human intercourse… we want you to go out there and talk to her. You can make it in less than two hours.”
“Mr. Frost.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “You will please stop that. That I should ride for two hours-for you to entertain the notion at all is unpardonable, and to suggest it seriously to me is brazen impudence. Your success with that idiotic letter you brought me a week ago today has gone to your head. I don't wonder at Miss McNair's wanting a temporary vacation from the
Frost family. Give her another day or two to accustom herself to the notion that you do not all deserve extermination. After all, when you do get to talk with her again you will possess two newly acquired advantages: you will not be an ortho-cousin, and you will be worth more than a million dollars. At least, I suppose you will. Your father can tell you about that.”
Dudley Frost put down the whiskey glass, took a delicate sip of water with a carefulness which indicated that an overdose of ten drops of that fluid might be dangerous, and cleared his throat. “I've already told him,” he declared bluntly.
“That woman, my sister-in-law, God rest her soul, has been aggravating me about that for nearly twenty years-well, she won't any more. In a way she was no better than a fool. She should have known that if I handled my brother's estate there would sooner or later be nothing left of it. I knew it; that's why I didn't handle it. I turned it over in 1918 to a lawyer named Cabot-gave him a power of attorney-I can't stand him, never could, he's bald-headed and skinny and he plays gold all day Sunday. Do you know him? He's got a wart on the side of his neck. He gave me a quarterly report last week from a certified public accountant, showing that the estate has increased to date 22% above its original value, so I guess my son will get his million. And I will, too. We'll see how long I can hang onto it-I've got my own ideas about that. But one thing I wanted to speak to you about-in fact, that's why I came here with Lew this morning-it seems to me that's the natural place for your fee to come from, the million I'm getting. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have it. Of course I can't give you a check now, because it will take time-”
“Mr. Frost! Please! Miss McNair is my client-”
But Dudley Frost was under way. “Nonsense! That's tommyrot. I've thought all along my son ought to pay you; I didn't know I'd be able to. Helen…that is…damn it, I say Helen! She won't have anything, unless she'll take part of ours-”
“Mr. Frost, I insist! Mr. McNair left private instructions with his sister regarding his estate. Doubtless-”
“McNair, that booby? Why should she take money from him? Because you say he was her father? Maybe. I have my doubts on these would-be discoveries about parentage. Maybe. Anyhow, that won't be anything like a million. She may have a million, in case she marries my son, and I hope she will because I'm damned fond of her. But they might as well keep all of theirs, because they'll need it, whereas I won't need mine, since there isn't much chance that I'll be able to hang onto it very long whether I pay you or not. Not that ten thousand dollars is a very big slice out of a million-unless it's more than ten thousand on account of the new developments since I had my last talk with you about it.
Anyway, I don't want to hear any more talk about Helen being your client-it's nonsense and I won't listen to it. You can send me your bill and if it isn't preposterous I'll see that it's paid. – No, I tell you there's no use talking!
The fact is, you ought to regard it as I do, a damned lucky thing that I got the notion of turning the management of the estate over to Cabot-”
I shut the notebook and tossed it on my desk, and leaned my head on my hand and shut my eyes and tried to relax. As I said before, that case was just one damned client after another.
THE END
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