DEAR CON:
I’m on the trail of something big, too big for me. Could you wire Garth to lend a hand? He’s here but impossible to get to. Better yet grab a plane and join me. It’ll be a Pulitzer for you. I have all the dope. I’ll wait to hear from you.
There was a postscript:
The poor fish hasn’t caught on but he’s responsible for a lot.
The postscript she didn’t understand. Who was the poor fish? Not Garth. Pembrooke? Kew? Poor distressed Sergei? Or Mannie himself?
She read the letter again with relief. Obviously Con did not have the documents that Pembrooke wanted. Mannie hadn’t heard from Con, and after four days he hadn’t waited longer to hear from him. He’d gone ahead on the trail, ahead to oblivion.
She replaced the letter where it had been. It couldn’t endanger Con to have someone
