Agency,” Helga said.
Freeman frowned.
“In confidence, that agency should be avoided.”
“Thank you.”
A girl came in with then one-thousand dollar bills and the receipt which Helga signed, making sure the numbers of the bills were on the receipt. She put the bills in her bag.
Looking at Freeman with her cold, hard eyes, she said, “Please keep this receipt safely, Mr. Freeman. It could figure in a criminal charge.”
“I understand, Mrs. Rolfe.”
Freeman’s bewildered expression clearly showed he wished he did understand, but this was Herman Rolfe’s wife and you didn’t ask questions when dealing with the wife of one of the richest men in the world.
Satisfied with her morning’s activities, Helga returned to the hotel. She had a lonely vodka martini on the terrace, then a light lunch in the grillroom. She had an hour before she called on the British Agency. She went to her suite and lying on the bed, rehearsed what she would say to Mr. Gritten.
The telephone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.
“This is Dr. Bellamy, Mrs. Rolfe. I have consulted with Dr. Levi. He agrees that Mr. Rolfe can be moved. Dr. Levi has spoken to Mr. Winborn. There will be a chartered plane ready to leave tomorrow at 14.00.”
“This is splendid news, doctor, and thank you for all you have done.”
She called the hall porter and asked him to find Hinkle. Ten minutes later Hinkle appeared. She told him what Dr. Bellamy had said.
“Please arrange for someone to pack my things tomorrow morning, Hinkle. Will you also interview this boy, Dick Jones and see he is ready to travel with us?”
Hinkle inclined his head.
“Yes, madame.”
When he had gone, she left the hotel and drove to Ocean Avenue where the British Agency had their offices.
Checking the directory board she saw that the Discreet Inquiry Agency: Mr. Harry Jackson was on the fourth floor. The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten was on the fifth floor.
She took the elevator to the fifth floor.
An elderly, brisk woman welcomed her.
“Mr. Gritten is waiting for you, Mrs. Rolfe,” she said and led Helga into a large, sunny inner office.
The V.I.P. treatment, Helga thought. How long will it last?
Frank Gritten looked what he was: an ex-police officer, big, bulky, thick white hair, steady blue eyes and a calm expression that gave confidence.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe. I was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe.”
Helga sat down. She looked directly at Gritten.
“I have been talking to Mr. Freeman of the Nassau Bank. He tells me I can have every confidence in you, Mr. Gritten.”
Gritten smiled.
“Freeman and I have been good friends for years.” He sat down at his desk. “Yes, Mrs. Rolfe, you can have confidence in me. What can I do for you?”
“My husband, Mr. Gritten, has been ill for some time. This illness has affected his mind. He has got it into his head that I am being unfaithful to him,” Helga said and looked directly at the thoughtful, but probing policeman’s eyes. “Three days ago, he hired an inquiry agent to have me watched: a man called Harry Jackson.”
Gritten nodded, his face expressionless.
“A day after Mr. Rolfe hired this agent, he suffered this stroke. The agent is worried about his fees. According to him, no terms were discussed when my husband hired him. The agent has approached me, asking me to pay him. According to him he has worked for two days, hiring two people to watch me. I would like to ask you what would be a reasonable fee to pay him?”
Gritten reached for a battered pipe.
“May I have your permission to smoke, Mrs. Rolfe?”
She made an impatient movement.
“Of course.”
As he filled his pipe, he said, “He is entitled to a retainer. The minimum would be three hundred dollars. For a client of Mr. Rolfe’s standing, he could reasonably ask one thousand dollars. Then he would also be entitled to one hundred dollars a day expenses. For two days’ work, you can pay him one thousand two hundred dollars,
Freeman frowned.
“In confidence, that agency should be avoided.”
“Thank you.”
A girl came in with then one-thousand dollar bills and the receipt which Helga signed, making sure the numbers of the bills were on the receipt. She put the bills in her bag.
Looking at Freeman with her cold, hard eyes, she said, “Please keep this receipt safely, Mr. Freeman. It could figure in a criminal charge.”
“I understand, Mrs. Rolfe.”
Freeman’s bewildered expression clearly showed he wished he did understand, but this was Herman Rolfe’s wife and you didn’t ask questions when dealing with the wife of one of the richest men in the world.
Satisfied with her morning’s activities, Helga returned to the hotel. She had a lonely vodka martini on the terrace, then a light lunch in the grillroom. She had an hour before she called on the British Agency. She went to her suite and lying on the bed, rehearsed what she would say to Mr. Gritten.
The telephone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.
“This is Dr. Bellamy, Mrs. Rolfe. I have consulted with Dr. Levi. He agrees that Mr. Rolfe can be moved. Dr. Levi has spoken to Mr. Winborn. There will be a chartered plane ready to leave tomorrow at 14.00.”
“This is splendid news, doctor, and thank you for all you have done.”
She called the hall porter and asked him to find Hinkle. Ten minutes later Hinkle appeared. She told him what Dr. Bellamy had said.
“Please arrange for someone to pack my things tomorrow morning, Hinkle. Will you also interview this boy, Dick Jones and see he is ready to travel with us?”
Hinkle inclined his head.
“Yes, madame.”
When he had gone, she left the hotel and drove to Ocean Avenue where the British Agency had their offices.
Checking the directory board she saw that the Discreet Inquiry Agency: Mr. Harry Jackson was on the fourth floor. The British Agency: Mr. Frank Gritten was on the fifth floor.
She took the elevator to the fifth floor.
An elderly, brisk woman welcomed her.
“Mr. Gritten is waiting for you, Mrs. Rolfe,” she said and led Helga into a large, sunny inner office.
The V.I.P. treatment, Helga thought. How long will it last?
Frank Gritten looked what he was: an ex-police officer, big, bulky, thick white hair, steady blue eyes and a calm expression that gave confidence.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Rolfe. I was sorry to read about Mr. Rolfe.”
Helga sat down. She looked directly at Gritten.
“I have been talking to Mr. Freeman of the Nassau Bank. He tells me I can have every confidence in you, Mr. Gritten.”
Gritten smiled.
“Freeman and I have been good friends for years.” He sat down at his desk. “Yes, Mrs. Rolfe, you can have confidence in me. What can I do for you?”
“My husband, Mr. Gritten, has been ill for some time. This illness has affected his mind. He has got it into his head that I am being unfaithful to him,” Helga said and looked directly at the thoughtful, but probing policeman’s eyes. “Three days ago, he hired an inquiry agent to have me watched: a man called Harry Jackson.”
Gritten nodded, his face expressionless.
“A day after Mr. Rolfe hired this agent, he suffered this stroke. The agent is worried about his fees. According to him, no terms were discussed when my husband hired him. The agent has approached me, asking me to pay him. According to him he has worked for two days, hiring two people to watch me. I would like to ask you what would be a reasonable fee to pay him?”
Gritten reached for a battered pipe.
“May I have your permission to smoke, Mrs. Rolfe?”
She made an impatient movement.
“Of course.”
As he filled his pipe, he said, “He is entitled to a retainer. The minimum would be three hundred dollars. For a client of Mr. Rolfe’s standing, he could reasonably ask one thousand dollars. Then he would also be entitled to one hundred dollars a day expenses. For two days’ work, you can pay him one thousand two hundred dollars,
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