after all a patently illegal act nor do I know anybody else
except you that I dare confide in. What I wish you to do is
this, tomorrow go to Julia Wolf’s apartment at 411 East 54th St.
to which the enclosed key will admit you and between the pages
of a book called The Grand Manner you will find a certain paper
or statement which you are to read and destroy immediately.
You are to be sure you destroy it completely leaving not so much
as an ash and when you have read it you will know why this must
be done and will understand why I have entrusted this task to
you. In the event that something should develop to make a
change in our plans advisable I will call you on the telephone
late tonight. If you do not hear from me I will telephone you
tomorrow evening to learn if you have carried out my instructions
and to make arrangements for a meeting. I have every confidence
that you will realize the tremendous responsibility I am placing
on your shoulders and that my confidence is not misplaced.
Affectionately,
Your Father
Wynant’s sprawling signature was written in ink beneath “Your Father.”
Guild waited for me to say something. I waited for him. After a little of that he asked Gilbert: “And did he phone?”
“No, sir.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Didn’t you tell the operator not to put any calls through?”
“I–yes, I did. I was afraid you’d find out who it was if he called up while you were there, but he’d’ve left some kind of message with the operator, I think, and he didn’t.”
“Then you haven’t been seeing him?”
“No.”
“And he didn’t tell you who killed Julia Wolf?”
“No.”
“You were lying to Dorothy?”
He lowered his head and nodded at the floor. “I was–it was–I suppose it was jealousy really.” He looked up at me now and his face was pink. “You see, Dorry used to look up to me and think I knew more than anybody else about almost everything and–you know–she’d come to me if there was anything she wanted to know and she always did what I told her, and then, when she got to seeing you, it was different. She looked up to you and respected you more– She naturally would, I mean, she’d’ve been silly if she hadn’t, because there’s no comparison, of course, but I–I suppose I was jealous and resented–well, not exactly resented it, because I looked up to you too–but I wanted to do something to impress her again–show off, I guess you’d call it–and when I got that letter I pretended I’d been seeing my father and he’d told me who committed those murders, so she’d think I knew things even you didn’t.” He stopped, out of breath, and wiped his face with a handkerchief.
I outwaited Guild again until presently he said: “Well, I guess there ain’t been a great deal of harm done, sonny, if you’re sure you ain’t doing harm by holding back some other things we ought to know.”
The boy shook his head. “No, sir, I’m not holding back anything.”
“You don’t know anything about that knife and chain your mother give us?”
“No, sir, and I didn’t know a thing about it till after she had given it to you.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“Oh, she’s all right, I think, though she said she was going to stay in bed today.”
Guild narrowed his eyes. “What’s the matter with her?”
“Hysteria,” I told him. “She and the daughter had a row last night and she blew up.”
“A row about what?”
“God knows–one of those feminine brain-storms.”
Guild said, “Hm-m-m,” and scratched his chin.
“Was Flint right in saying you didn’t get a chance to hunt for your paper?” I asked the boy.
“Yes. I hadn’t even had time to shut the door when he ran at me.”
“They’re grand detectives I got working for me,” Guild growled. “Didn’t he yell, ‘Boo!’ when he jumped out at you? Never mind. Well, son, I can do one of two things, and the which depends on you. I can hold you for a while or I can let you go in exchange for a promise that you’ll let me know as soon as your father gets in touch with you and let me know what he tells you and where he wants you to meet him, if any.”