The Father Hunt

Wolfe had drafted it, but not without an argument. He wanted to make it six inches high, not three, with the bottom half a reproduction of the three-quarters-face photograph. My objection was that that would bring us stacks of answers from people who would grab at any chance to collect five hundred dollars and I would have to spend a week or so following some of them up on a-million-to-one odds, and a good percentage of them would develop into pests. I won. Another objection, from Saul, not me, was that we would be hooked by people who had seen her in circumstances that wouldn't help, for instance, servants who had been at Jarrett's then, but Wolfe overruled that one. It might cost five or ten grand, but there was plenty in the twelve savings banks. Of course another objection was that Raymond Thome wouldn't like it, with its public implication that there was something about the past of

Elinor Denovo that needed to be investigated, but that was just mentioned, not argued.

At the agency, Green and Best, they said four inches high would be better than three, but I won that argument too.

It was 6:08 when Bertram McCray arrived. He looked as if he needed a weekend; his whole face was pinched, not just the corner of an eye, and his feet dragged as he walked down the hall. It's enough to wear a man out, helping to decide what to do with a couple of billion dollars' worth of other people's money. After presenting him to Wolfe and motioning him to the red leather chair, I asked if he would like to have a drink and he said no, he was going to drive eighty miles. He sat and blinked at Wolfe and said he hoped it wouldn't take long. "I don't want to be blunt," he said, "but I've had a hard week and I want some air. I didn't ask you on the phone, but I assume it's about Jarrett."

Wolfe nodded. "We've been balked. It's highly probable that he is not the father of Elinor Denovo's daughter."

"What?" McCray's mouth stayed open. "But… why? He sent those checks."

"Yes, that's established, thanks to Mr. Ballou and you. But the daughter was born on the twelfth of April, nineteen forty-five, so she was conceived the preceding summer, and Mr. Jarrett says he spent it abroad on a mission for the Production Allotments Board. He spent the month of July in an army hospital in Naples. He says."

"My God." McCray looked at me. "Didn't I tell you that?"