“Well, well, I did Whisper an injustice. I’ll have to hunt him up and square myself. So you landed the boy? That certainly is fine. Congratulations and thanks.” He shook my hand again. “You’ll not be leaving our city now, will you?”
“Not just yet.”
“That’s fine,” he assured me.
I went out for breakfast-and-lunch. Then I treated myself to a shave and haircut, sent a telegram to the Agency asking to have Dick Foley and Mickey Linehan shipped to Personville, stopped in my room for a change of clothes, and set out for my client’s house.
Old Elihu was wrapped in blankets in an armchair at a sunny window. He gave me a stubby hand and thanked me for catching his son’s murderer.
I made some more or less appropriate reply. I didn’t ask him how he had got the news.
“The check I gave you last night,” he said, “is only fair pay for the work you have done.”
“Your son’s check more than covered that.”
“Then call mine a bonus.”
“The Continental’s got rules against taking bonuses or rewards,” I said.
His face began to redden.
“Well, damn it—”
“You haven’t forgotten that your check was to cover the cost of investigating crime and corruption in Personville, have you?” I asked.