The Second Confesion

“For that,” he said, “you'd want more than three letterheads, even with envelopes. What if I throw in postage stamps?” Wolfe nodded. “That would be generous. But I have something else to offer. How would you like to have, for your paper only, a series of articles, authenticated for you, describing secret meetings of the group that controls the American Communist Party, giving the details of discussions and decisions?” Lon cocked his head to one side. “All you need,” he declared, “is long white whiskers and a red suit' “No, I'm too fat. Would that interest you?” “It ought to. Who would do the authenticating?” “I would.” “You mean with your by-line?” “Good heavens, no. The articles would be anonymous. But I would give my warranty, in writing if desired, that the source of information is competent and reliable.” “Who would have to be paid and how much?” “No one. Nothing.” “Hell, you don't even need whiskers. What would the details be like?” Wolfe turned. “Let him read it, Archie.” I took Lon the original copy of what I had typed, and he put his glass down on the table at his elbow, to have two hands. There were seven pages. He started reading fast, then went slower, and when he reached the end returned to the first page and reread it. Meanwhile I refilled his glass and, knowing that Fritz was busy, went to the kitchen for beer for Wolfe.

Also I thought I could stand a highball myself, and supplied one.

Lon put the sheets on the table, saw that his glass had been attended to, and helped himself.

“It's hot,” he admitted.

“Fit to print, I think,” Wolfe said modestly.

“Sure it is. How about libel?” “There is none. There will be none. No names or addresses are used.” “Yeah, I know, but an action might be brought anyhow. Your source would have to be available for testimony.” “No, sir.” Wolfe was emphatic. “My source is covered and will stay covered. You may have my warranty, and a bond for libel damages if you want it, but that's all.” “Well- ' Lon drank. “I love it. But I've got bosses, and on a thing like this they would have to decide. Tomorrow is Friday, and they-good God, what's this?