"Milo Talon" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

not accounted for."
From another drawer he took a large manila envelope. "This contains copies of letters,
old photographs, some memoranda. It is all I have."
"You have been trying to find her?"
"Everything failed. Even the Pinkertons."
For a few minutes I considered it. There was something here I did not like, yet I
could not put a finger on it for he seemed straightforward enough, yet every instinct
told me the man was not to be trusted. Nonetheless, the problem fascinated me and
I was foot-loose . . . and broke. Or nearly so.
"All right. If she is alive I will find her. If she is dead, I will know where she
was buried."
"You will find her? Where others failed?"
"Why not? You would not have come to me if you did not believe I could find her."
He gave me that straight, hard look again. "I believe nothing of the kind. You are,
however, my last chance." He indicated
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the envelope. "My address is there, or you may find me through any Wells Fargo office.
If you need more money you may go to any Wells Fargo office and draw up to one thousand
dollars. If you need more than that, you must contact me personally."
"Up to how much?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. I am prepared to spend that much and no more."
It was a lot of money, an awful lot of money. I said as much.
He waved a hand. "It is. But she is the heir to all I have. If she is not my only
living relative, as I believe, she is at least the only one whom I care to acknowledge."
"If I accept, what will I be paid?"
Jefferson Henry indicated the sack of gold. "Your expenses will be paid. I shall
pay you one hundred and fifty dollars a month during the term of your employment
and a bonus of one thousand dollars if you find her."
"Two hundred a month," I said.
His eyes showed impatience. "You ask for two hundred? You've worked as a cowpuncher
for thirty dollars a month!"
"This is not cowpunching." I got to my feet. "It is two hundred or no deal. The money
to be paid to my account at the Wells Fargo office in El Paso."
He hesitated, not liking it or me, but finally he said, "All right, two hundred it
is."
"In advance."
He took gold coins from another drawer and paid them over the desk. "See that you
earn it."
Leaving the car, envelope in hand, I was puzzled. Stepping down from the car, I crossed
to my horse. What was bothering me? It seemed a fairly straightforward proposition,
although searching for missing persons had never been something for which I was noted.
Glancing back toward the car, I was startled to see another man in the salon where
I had just been. He was standing close to Jefferson Henry and they were talking,
gesturing. He was a tall, wide-shouldered man, larger than Henry, who was not a small
man.
It was not the porter.
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Now then, who was he? And where had he been during my talk with Henry?