The Second Confesion

But after I returned to the office it struck me as queer that there was no shipper's name on it, so I went back to the hall for another look. There was no mark of any kind on the heavy wrapping paper but Wolfe's name and address. It was tied securely with thick cord. I lifted it and guessed six pounds. I pressed it against my ear and held my breath for thirty seconds, and heard nothing.

Nuts, I thought, and cut the cord with my knife and slashed the paper. Inside was a fibre carton with the flaps taped down. I got cautious again and severed the flaps from the sides by cutting all the way around, and lifted one corner for a peek. All I saw was newspaper. I inserted the knife point and tore a piece of it off, and what I saw then made me raise my brows. Removing the flaps and the newspaper, and seeing more of the same, I got the carton up under my arm, marched into the office with it, and asked Wolfe, “Do you mind if I unpack this on your desk? I don't want to make a mess in the hall.” Ignoring his protest, I put the package down on his desk and starting taking out stacks of twenty-dollar bills. They were used bills, not a new one among them as well as I could tell from the edges, and they were banded in bundles of fifty, which meant a thousand bucks to a bundle.

“What the devil is this?” Wolfe demanded.

“Money,” I told him. “Don't touch it, it may be a trap. It may be covered with germs.” I was arranging the bundles ten to a pile, and there were five piles.