“U’m, I see how you worked it out,” I replied, “but will Mr. Richards be satisfied? We’ve accounted for one of the children, because we found part of her skeleton in the fire, but can we swear the rest disappeared in the same manner? Richards will want a statistical table of facts before he parts with three thousand dollars, I imagine.”

“Parbleu, will he, indeed?” de Grandin answered, something like his usual elfish grin spreading across his face. “What think you would be the result were we to notify the authorities of the true facts leading up to Madame Martin’s suicide? Would not the newspapers make much of it? Cordieu, I shall say they would, and the home for orphans over which Monsieur Richards presides so pompously would receive what you call ‘the black eye.’ Morbleu, my friend, the very black eye, indeed! No, no; me, I think Monsieur Richards will gladly pay us the reward, nor haggle over terms.

“Meanwhile, we are at home once more. Come, let us drink the cognac.”

“Drink cognac?” I answered. “Why, in heaven’s name?”

“Parbleu, we shall imbibe a toast to the magnificent three thousand dollars Monsieur Richards pays us tomorrow morning!”

The Terrible Old Man

H.P. Lovecraft

It was the design of Angelo Ricci and Joe Czanek and Manuel Silva to call on the Terrible Old Man. This old man dwells all alone in a very ancient house on Water Street near the sea and is reputed to be both exceedingly rich and exceedingly feeble, which forms a situation very attractive to men of the profession of Messrs. Ricci, Czanek, and Silva, for that profession was nothing less dignified than robbery.