The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“Both.” Kuffner leaned forward. “My professional function, Mr. Wolfe, is to give advice to my clients, and to some extent handle their affairs, so that they and their activities will be regarded in a favorable light. Mrs. Fromm was one of my clients. Another was, and is, the Association for the Aid of Displaced Persons. I have a strong feeling of obligation to Mrs. Fromm which was not diminished by her death-on the contrary, I will do anything in my power to see that her memory and reputation are not damaged. Also I am concerned about the Association. As far as I know, there was no connection between her death and the Association’s affairs, but it is possible that there was one. Do you know of any?”

“Go on, Mr. Kuffner.”

“I am. I think it is more than possible, it is very probable, that there was a connection between Mrs. Fromm’s death and her talk with you on Friday. What she consulted you about must have been secret, because to my knowledge she told no one of coming to see you. It would have been the natural thing for her to tell me, that’s obvious, but she didn’t. It must have been important, because she certainly wouldn’t have called on a private detective, especially you, about anything trivial. And if it was connected with whatever and whoever killed her, it must have been more than important, it must have been vital. I want to know about it-I need

to know about it. I have tried to get the police to tell me-and they won’t. You have just said that the record of that talk is legally and rightfully in your possession and it wouldn’t be improper for you to sell it. I’ll pay you five thousand dollars for it. Cash in advance. If you want it in currency I can have it this afternoon.”

Wolfe was frowning at him. “Which is it, Mr. Kuffner, black or white? You can’t have it both ways. You were going to report an iniquitous proposal to the police, and now you are ready to be a party to it. An extraordinary ethical somersault.”

“No more extraordinary than yours,” Kuffner contended. “You were condemning Goodwin for it-you even ordered him away from his desk-and then you justified it.”

“Certainly. Mr. Goodwin would have been offering to sell something that doesn’t belong to him; it belongs to me.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “But your dexterity as a casuistic acrobat, though impressive, is collateral. The question is, do I accept your offer? The answer is no. I must decline it.”

Kuffner’s fist hit the chair arm. “You can’t decline! You can’t!”

“No?”