The Second Confesion

“As you put it,” Wolfe explained, “I removed a tumour from your staff. What I would want in return is the removal of a tumour from my radid. Six-thirty is a convenient time for me to listen to the radio, and even if I don't turn it to that station I know that Paul Emerson is there, only a few notches away, and it annoys me. Remove him. He might get another sponsor, but I doubt it. Stop paying him for that malicious gibberish.” “He has a high rating,” Sperling objected.

“So had Goebbels,” Wolfe snapped. “And Mussolini.” A short silence.

“I admit,” Sperling conceded, “that he irritates me. I think it's chiefly his ulcers.” “Then find someone without them. You'll be saving money, too. If I sent you a bill in dollars it wouldn't be modest, in view of the difficulties you made.” “His contract expires next week.” “Good. Let it.” “Well-I'll see. We'll talk it over here.” That was how it happened.

The tail's second section, private, was ako in the form of a phone call, some weeks later. Just yesterday, the day after Webster Kane, alias William Reynolds, was sentenced on his conviction for the first degree murder of Louis Rony, I put the receiver to my ear and once more heard a hard cold precise voice that used only the best grammar. I told Wolfe who it was and he got on the line.

“How are you, Mr Wolfe?” “Well, thank you.” “I'm glad to hear it. I'm calling to congratulate you. I have ways of learning things, so I know how superbly you handled it. I am highly gratified that the killer of that fine young man will be properly punished, thanks to you.” “My purpose was not to gratify you.” “Of course not. All the same, I warmly appreciate it, and my admiration of your talents has increased. I wanted to tell you that, and also that you will receive another package tomorrow morning. In view of the turn events took the damage your property suffered is all the more regrettable.” The connection went. I turned to Wolfe.