"Frederik Pohl - Wapshot's Demon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pohl Frederick)

Please send all further communications to my Attorney,
Roger Barclay, Esq., of 404 Fifth Avenue, New York,
and oblige,
Yours sincerely,
Clean Wapshot
Naturally, that was a puzzler to me. But I finally con-
vinced the Postal Inspector that I'd never heard of this
Wapshot. You could see he thought there was something
funny about the whole thing and wasn't quite sure
whether I had anything to do with it or not. But, after all,
the Post Office Department is used to cranks and he
finally let me go, and even apologized for taking my time,
after I had assured him for the tenth time that I had
nothing to do with Wapshot.
That shows how wrong you can be. I hurried back to
my office and went in through the private door down the
hall. When I rang for Phoebe I had already put the affair
out of my mind, as the sort of ridiculous time-waster that
makes it so difficult to run a law office on schedule. Phoebe
was bursting with messages; Frankel had called on the
Harry's Hideaway lease, call him back; Mr. Zimmer had
called three times, wouldn't leave a message; the process
server had been unable to find the defendants in the Her-
lihy suit; one of the operatives from the Splendid Detec-
tive Agency was bringing in a confidential report at 3:30.
"And there's a man to see you," she finished up. "He's
been here over an hour; his name's, uh, WapShot, Cleon
Wapshot."
He was a plump little man with a crew cut. Not very
much like any Down-East lobsterman I ever had imagined,
but his voice was authentic of the area. I said, "Sir, you
have caused me a great deal of embarrassment. What in
heaven's name possessed you to give the Post Office my
name?"
He biinked at me mildly. "You're my lawyer."
"Nonsense! My good man, there are some formalities
to go through before"
"Pshaw," he said, "here's your retainer, Mr. Barclay."
He pushed a manila envelope toward me across the desk.
I said, "But I haven't taken your case"
"You will."
"But the retainer1 scarcely know what the figure
should be. I don't even know what law you brwhat
allegations were made."
"Oh, postal fraud, swindling, fortune-telling, that kind
of thing," he said. "Nothing to it. How much you figure
you ought to have just to get started?"
I sat back and looked him over. Fortune-telling! Postal
fraud! But he had a round-faced honesty, you know, the
kind of expression jurymen respect and trust. He didn't