"I've been to the Cantard once. I didn't get a choice that time. This time I do. Find yourself another patsy, Mr. Tate."

"Mr. Garrett, you're one of the executors. And I'm too old to make that trip."

"Won't hold a shot of legal water, Pop. An executor don't have to do squat if he didn't say he would and sign to do it up front. Good-bye."

"Mr. Garrett, the law allows the executors to draw up to ten percent of the value of an estate to recompense themselves and to cover their expenses. Denny's estate will go on the up side of a hundred thousand marks."

That was a stopper. Something to make me think. For about two winks. "Five thousand ain't to die for, Pop. And I don't have anybody to leave it to."

"Ten thousand, Mr. Garrett. I'll leave you my side. I don't want it."

I admit I hesitated first. "No."

"I'll pay your expenses out of my own purse. That makes it ten thousand clear."

I stayed clammed. Was the old coot in training for a devil's job?

"What will it take, Mr. Garrett?"

"How come you're so hot to find this frail?"

"I want to meet her, Mr. Garrett. I want to see the sort of woman capable of making a monkey of my son. Name your price."

"Even rich don't do you any good if the wild dogs of the Cantard are cracking your bones to get at the marrow."

"Name your price, Mr. Garrett. I am an old man who has lost the son he expected to follow him. I am a wealthy man with no more need to cling to wealth. I am a determined man. I will see this woman. So again I say, name your price."

I should have known better. Hell, I did know better. I'd been saying so for ten minutes. "Give me a thousand on account. I'll look over the stuff Denny left and do some poking around at this end, just to see if it's feasible. I'll let you know what I decide."

I went back down the stairs and pulled up a chair behind the desk where Denny's letters and notes were piled.