The Second Confesion

“That's a coincidence,” I remarked. “Of course we'll have to check the bundles, but if they're labelled right it's exactly fifty grand. That's interesting.” “Archie.” Wolfe was glowering. “What fatuous flummery is this? I told you to deposit that cheque, not cash it.” He pointed. “Wrap that up and take it to the bank.” “Yes, sir. But before I do so-” I went to the safe and got the bank book, opened it to the current page, and displayed it to him. “As you see, the cheque was deposited. This isn't flummery, it's merely a coincidence. You heard the doorbell and saw me go to answer it. A boy handed me this package and gave me a receipt to sign-General Messenger Service, Twenty-eight West Forty-seventh Street. I thought it might be a clock bomb and opened it in the hall, away from you. There is nothing on the package or in it to show who sent it. The only clue is the newspaper the carton was lined with-from the second section of the New York Times. Who do we know that reads the Times and has fifty thousand bucks for a practical joke?” I gestured. “Answer that and we've got him.” Wolfe was still glowering, but at the pile of dough, not at me. He reached for one of the bundles, flipped through it, and put it back. “Put it in the safe.

The package too.” “Shouldn't we count it first? What if one of the bundles is short a twenty?” There was no reply. He was leaning back in his chair, pushing his lips out and in, and out and in again. I followed instructions, first returning the stuff to the carton to save space, and then went to the hall for the wrapping paper and cord and put them in the safe also.

I sat at my desk, waited until Wolfe's lips were quiet again, and asked coldly, “How about a rise? I could use twenty bucks a week more. So far this case has brought us one hundred and five thousand, three hundred and twelve dollars.