His tone sharpened. “First the threat. A double threat. There is good ground, I think, for Ellen Sturdevant to bring an action against you for libel and for recovery of the money she paid you. Legal points on the rules of evidence would be involved, and I am not a lawyer. But I am certain that Amy Wynn can successfully sue you for libel and can also have you charged with attempted extortion, a criminal offense.”
“Let her try. She wouldn’t dare.”
“I think she would. Also I have read your letter to the Victory Press, in which you demanded payment from them as well as Amy Wynn. When I explain the situation to Mr Imhof as I have explained it to you, I shall suggest that he take steps to have you charged with attempted extortion, either jointly with Miss Wynn or independently. I’m sure he won’t hesitate. He resents the planting of the manuscript in his office.”
She was impressed at last. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She swallowed. She bit her lip. Finally she spoke. “The manuscript wasn’t planted.”
“Really, Miss Porter.” Wolfe shook his head. “If you have any wits at all you must know that won’t do. Do you wish to examine those stories further?”
“No.”
“Then take them, Archie.”
I went and got them, put them in the safe, and closed the door. As I returned to my desk Wolfe was resuming. “So much for the threats. Now for the offer. One: I will not advise Ellen Sturdevant to bring an action against you. It’s possible she will do so of her own accord, but I won’t instigate it. Two: I will prevail upon Miss Wynn and Mr Imhof to bring no action against you, either civil or criminal. I’m sure I can. Those are the two items of my part of the bargain. Your part also has two items. One: you will renounce your claim against Amy Wynn and the Victory Press, in writing. Not a confession of wrong-doing; merely a renunciation of the claim because it was made in error. It will be drawn by a lawyer. Two: you will tell me X’s name. That’s all I ask; you need not-”
“I don’t know any X.”
“Pfui. You need not furnish any evidence or particulars; I’ll get them myself. Nothing in writing; merely tell me his name and where to find him. I am not supposing that you know anything of his conspiracies with Simon Jacobs and Jane Ogilvy and Kenneth Rennert, or of his killing them; I am willing to assume your total ignorance of those events. Just tell me the name of the man or woman who wrote ‘There Is Only Love.’ ”
“I wrote it.”
“Nonsense. That won’t do. Miss Porter.”