“Why nonsense?” “It's monstrous. That's over a million and a half a year.” “No, around a million and a quarter, on account of the summer vacation.” “Even so. I suppose Miss Fraser gets a material segment of it?” “Quite material. Every one knows that too. Her take is around five thousand a week, but the way she splits it with her manager, Miss Koppel, is one thing everyone doesn't know-at least I don't.” Richards's voice had warmed up again.

“You know, Mr Wolfe, if you felt like doing me a little favour right back you could tell me confidentially what you want with this.” But all he got from Wolfe was thanks, and he was gentleman enough to take them without insisting on the return favour. After Wolfe had pushed the phone away he remarked to me: “Good heavens. Twelve hundred thousand dollars!” I, feeling better because it was obvious what he was up to, grinned at him.

“Yes, sir. You would go over big on the air. You could read poetry. By the way, if you want to hear her earn her segment, she's on every Tuesday and Friday morning from eleven to twelve. You'd get pointers. Was that your idea?” “No.” He was gruff. “My idea is to land a job I know how to do. Take your notebook. These instructions will be a little complicated on account of the contingencies to be provided for.” I got my notebook from a drawer.

CHAPTER Two

After three tries that Saturday at the listed Manhattan number of Madeline Fraser, with don't answer as the only result, I finally resorted to Lon Cohen of the Gazette and he dug it out for me that both Miss Fraser and her manager, Miss Deborah Koppel, were weekending up in Connecticut.