"Thank you." He was sitting forward in the big chair. "I appreciate your seeing me, but I am not surprised, because I know of your great services in the cause of justice, and that's what I want, justice for a client. His name is Eric Hagh. I was asked to represent him by an attorney in Venezuela, in Caracas, with whom I had previously had dealings-his name is Juan Blanco. That was-"
"Spell it, please?" I requested, notebook in hand.
He complied and went on to Wolfe, "That was nine days ago, on the sixteenth of this month. Hagh had already sent a communication here to Mr. Perry Helmar, on advice of Blanco, but they had decided that he needed representation here in New York, and Blanco sent me all the particulars of the case, with copies of documents." He tapped the briefcase. "I have them here. If you will just-"
"Later," Wolfe said hastily. "First, what is wanted?" He looks at documents only when he has to.
"Certainly, certainly." Irby sure was anxious to please. The dewdrops on his freckled cupola might have been glued on. "One of them is a photostat of a letter, a holograph, dated at Cajamarca, Peru, August twelfth, nineteen forty-six, written and signed by Priscilla Eads Hagh and witnessed by Margaret Caselli. That was the maiden name of Margaret Fomos, who was killed Monday night. In the letter Priscilla Hagh gave her husband, Eric Hagh, a half-interest, without reservation, in all property then hers or to become hers at any time in the future."
"Any consideration?" Wolfe demanded.
"Uh-none specified."
"Then it's highly vulnerable."
"That may be. That will have to be adjudicated, but it is unquestionably a powerful weapon, and it was given to my client in good faith and accepted in good faith."
"I'm not a lawyer, Mr. Irby."
"I know you're not, Mr. Wolfe. I came to see you not on a matter of law, but a matter of fact. According to an article in the
