Reply Paid by H. F. Heard Page B

a thank you!” It was just on the tip of my tongue to add, “The rest of the passage is obscure but I believe …” when caution suddenly said “Wait.”
    He took my attitude, which was, I flatter myself, quite magisterial, very well. That was clearly the right way to deal with this sort of excitable creature. Anyhow I should pocket that long-overdue fee. I was right here, too.
    â€œI have come to pay what I fear has been unpaid very long.”
    It was perhaps not the real reason for such a return, but a good enough one as a start, for me. And it would also give me a nice little opportunity to test his sincerity.
    â€œAs I gave you to understand,” I went on, not asking him to sit down as yet, “I don’t charge for a mere interview. Unless I obtain clear results I expect nothing. But when they are obviously obtained and a second opinion has made the finding undeniable,” (I was acknowledging Miss Brown’s assistance, which in my mind, whatever Mr. Mycroft might imagine, I had never minimized) “then an adequate remuneration is certainly due. The professional fee”—that always sounds better than “my charges”—“is fifty dollars.”
    I had named a fairly big price mainly to see his reaction. Again I was pleasantly surprised.
    â€œVery moderate,” he remarked, “Very. And may I add a similar sum as due to your assistant?”
    Again I allowed him. I wanted to be sure that Mr. Mycroft was wrong, and here, in a most pleasing and substantial way, my belief in human kind—as being if not good at least not dangerous—was being established against the detractor.
    â€œVery well,” I agreed, with a judicious attitude toward the whole thing. “I think that may settle quite satisfactorily all outstanding claims.”
    He paid the notes straight onto my desk. I own I was thawed, and thaw may always lead to a little gush. I couldn’t now bow him straight out.
    â€œWell, is there anything further I can do?” I asked. It was little more than putting “your obedient servant,” as lawyers used, when signing their letters. Though it still seemed odd that he should have called, I really never quite thought he would reopen the old question. After all, whether he was a Kluxer or a New Penitente or just an eccentric on his own—though I had decided that Mr. Mycroft was wrong—yet this man was hunting something; he’d never have bought that equipment and somehow furnished himself with a couple of burros if he hadn’t been out after something other than a hike. These thoughts had run through my mind. Nevertheless I was more than a little surprised when, after he had turned back and shut the door, which was still standing open between the office and my sanctum, he picked up the “interviewee’s” chair, put it on the right side of my desk, sat down, and spread a scrap of paper in front of me. A glance, and my surprise took on a keener edge. There was no doubt about it. Here was the full clue—as I had seen it when Mr. Mycroft put it together. This one was, however, copied out straightforwardly on a sheet of paper the length of a bank check. It was, I felt sure, a copy of some original, an original—I could not rule out this one supposition, though there could, fortunately, be ones less disconcerting—which had been possibly on the body of a man when he had been killed. And for which he had been murdered? That question was too unpleasant, in my actual immediate situation. Anyhow, I must and would gain time. And certainly, when I sidelongly looked at the little fellow beside me, he didn’t look dangerous—not in a comfortable office with a competent secretary within call.
    And he was speaking quite reasonably, “Your remarkable success with the first part of the test I made with you, leads me to hope you might be equally fortunate with the rest.”
    That was all aboveboard,