Attorney and client -- Fiction; Law firms -- Fiction; Legal stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
Tutt's head swam and he sank weakly into his swivel chair. It was
incredible that he, a veteran of the criminal bar, should have been so
tricked. Instantly, as when a reagent is injected into a retort of
chemicals and a precipitate is formed leaving the previously cloudy
liquid like crystal, Tutt's addled brain cleared. He was caught! The
victim of his own asininity. He dared not look at this woman who had
wound him thus round her finger, innocent as he was of any wrongdoing;
he was ashamed to think of his wife.
"My Lord!" he murmured, realizing for the first time the depth of his
weakness.
"Oh, it isn't as bad as that!" she laughed. "Remember you were going to
charge Oaklander ten thousand. This costs you only five. Special rates
for physicians and lawyers!"
"And suppose I don't choose to give it to you?" he asked.
"Listen here, you funny little man!" she answered in caressing tones
that made him writhe. "You'd stand for twenty if I insisted on it. Oh,
don't jump! I'm not going to. You're getting off easy--too easy. But I
want to stay on good terms with you. I may need you sometime in my
business. Your certified check for five thousand dollars--and I leave
you."
She struck a match and started to light a tiny gold-tipped cigarette.
"Don't!" he gasped. "Not in the office."
"Do I get the five thousand?"
He ground his teeth, not yet willing to concede defeat.
"You silly old bird!" she said. "Do you know how many times you've had
me down here in your office in the last three weeks? Fifteen. How many
times you've taken me out to lunch? Ten. How often you've called me on
the telephone? Eighty-nine How many times you've sent me flowers?
Twelve. How many letters you've written me? Eleven! Oh, I realize
they're typewritten, but a photograph enlargement would show they were
typed in your office. Every typewriter has its own individuality, you
know. Your clerks and office boy have heard me call you Sammy. Why,
every time you've moved with me beside you someone has seen you. That's
enough, isn't it? But now, on top of all that, you go and hand me
exactly what I need on a gold plate."
He gazed at her stupidly.
"Why, if now you don't give me that check I shall simply go up to the
Biltmore and register as Mrs. Samuel Tutt. I shall take a room and stay
there until you offer me a proper inducement to move on." She giggled
delightedly. "It's marvelous--absolutely safe," she quoted. "They can't
touch me. You'll come across inside of two hours. If you don't a word to
the reporters will start things in the right direction."
"Don't!" he groaned. "I must have been crazy. That was simply
blackmail!"
"That's exactly what it was!" she agreed. "There aren't any letters
except these typewritten ones, or photographs, or any evidence at all,
but you're going to give me five thousand dollars just the same. Just so
that your wife won't know what a silly old fool you've been. Where's
your check book, Sam?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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