Sunday, day before yesterday. The flap had been cut clean with a knife or opener, no jagged edges. I handed it to Wolfe, and after a glance at the address and postmark he removed the contents, a folded sheet of cheap bond paper, also off-white, five by eight unfolded, the kind you get in scratch pads. He held it to his left, so I could read it too. We no longer have it, but from some shots I took of it the next day I can have it reproduced for you to look at. It may tell you what it told Wolfe about the person who typed it. Here it is:

We have got your Jimmy safe and sound. We haven't hurt him any and you can have him back all in one piece for $500,000 if you play it right and keep it strictly between you and us. We mean strictly. If you try any tricks you'll never see him again. You'll get a phone call from Mr Knapp and don't miss it.

Wolfe dropped it on the desk pad and turned to Althea Vail. "I can't forgo," he said, "an obvious comment. Surely this is humbug. Kidnaping is a desperate and dangerous operation. It's hard to believe that a man committed to it, a man who has incurred its mortal risks, could be in a mood to make a pun-that in choosing an alias to use on the phone, for himself in his role as kidnaper, he would select `Knapp.' It must be flummery. If not, if this thing is straight-forward"-he tapped the paper with a finger-"the man who wrote it is most extraordinary. Is your husband a practical joker?"

"No." Her chin had jerked up. "Are you saying it's a joke?"

"I suggested the possibility, but I also suggested an alternative, that you have a remarkable man to deal with. Have you heard from Mr Knapp?"

"Yes. He phoned yesterday afternoon, my listed number. I had told my secretary that I expected the call, and she listened on an extension. I thought she might as well because she opens my mail and she had read that thing."