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Richard Rosenberg was a human dynamo with a reputation for wearing opposing counsel down. Insurance companies tended to settle with him rather than risk going to court. I couldn’t blame them. Talking to Richard always was a challenge. Even for a friend and employee.
    In this instance, I wasn’t sure of my best response to “Aha!” I decided to wait, and see if Richard intended to amplify it.
    He did.
    Richard raised one finger in the air, cocked his head, and squinted at me sideways. “You are asking me now for legal advice?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And you have no intention of paying me?”
    “I couldn’t possibly afford you.”
    “I’ll take that for a yes. So, you are here asking for free advice?”
    “If you want to look at it that way.”
    “What other way is there to look at it?”
    “I thought it might interest you.”
    “Interest me?”
    “Yes. How often do you get a letter like this in the mail?”
    “Someone sent you this?”
    “Actually, no.”
    “I didn’t think so. You’re not the type to hang out in singles bars. So, this is not your letter?”
    “No.”
    “Whose is it?”
    “A client.”
    “Aha!” Richard said, in a voice that left no doubt that he had scored another telling point. “So you have a client?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Is this one of my clients?”
    “No.”
    “This is your own client?”
    “Yes.”
    “This client is paying you money?”
    “What’s your point, Richard?”
    “You have a client who has hired you to do a job. Part of your job requires legal advice. Any other private detective would hire a lawyer and stick the client with the fee. But you, prince that you are, haven’t got the heart to do that. Instead, you decide to do the client a favor by presuming on our friendship to finagle free legal advice. Is that a fairly accurate assessment of the situation?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Oh, really? Where did I go wrong? Would you mind pointing it out to me?”
    “I’m not doing this for the client.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I’m not trying to protect the client. I’m trying to protect me. I think the client’s pulling a fast one on me and I’m not sure what to do.”
    “You’re telling me you need protection from your own client?”
    “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
    Richard sighed, shook his head. “What a moron. All right, tell me about it.”
    I gave him the whole spiel, just the way Cranston Pritchert had given it to me. I must say, repeating it only pointed up how little sense it made.
    “So,” Richard said when I was finished, “this letter was apparently cut from this morning’s paper?”
    “To the best I can determine.”
    “But your client says it came in the morning mail?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Your contention is that to be in the morning mail a letter would have to have been mailed yesterday?”
    “Well, wouldn’t it?”
    “I’m not sure,” Richard said. “What time does the post office open?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Neither do I, but it’s something that could be checked.”
    “You’re saying his story could be true?”
    “No, but if you’re going to brand it false, you ought to be sure of your terms. Say the post office opens at eight o’clock—I don’t know that it does, but make that assumption—would it be possible to get the morning paper at seven, rig the extortion letter, go to the post office at eight, and drop it in the mail slot in time for it to be postmarked and go out with the morning delivery?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Of course you don’t. You haven’t looked into it. But say you did, and say you found out it was possible—would that corroborate your client’s story?”
    “I don’t know, Richard. Would it?”
    “I’m asking you.”
    I smiled. “Yes, but you’re doing it in the way lawyers do in order to make a point. Which means you already know the answer.”
    “If you know that, you must know the answer too.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I