Jennifer killed thirty minutes in the corridor outside the office, and at exactly eleven o’clock, she entered the reception room. She did not want to seem too eager. She was kept waiting for two hours, and was finally ushered into the office of Mr. Peabody, Jr. He was a tall, thin man wearing a vested suit and shoes that had been made for him in London.
He did not invite her to sit down. “Miss Potter—” He had an unpleasant, high-pitched voice.
“Parker.”
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “This is a summons. I would like you to serve it.”
At that instant, Jennifer sensed that she was not going to become a member of the firm.
Mr. Peabody, Jr., handed Jennifer the summons and said, “Your fee will be five hundred dollars.”
Jennifer was sure she had misunderstood him. “Did you say five hundred dollars?”
“That is correct. If you are successful, of course.”
“There’s a problem,” Jennifer guessed.
“Well, yes,” Mr. Peabody, Jr., admitted. “We’ve been trying to serve this man for more than a year. His name is William Carlisle. He lives on an estate in Long Island and he never leaves his house. To be quite truthful, a dozen people have tried to serve him. He has a bodyguard-butler who keeps everyone away.”
Jennifer said, “I don’t see how I—”
Mr. Peabody, Jr. leaned forward. “There’s a great deal of money at stake here. But I can’t get William Carlisle into court unless I can serve him, Miss Potter.” Jennifer did not bother to correct him. “Do you think you can handle it?”
Jennifer thought about what she could do with five hundred dollars. “I’ll find a way.”
At two o’clock that afternoon, Jennifer was standing outside the imposing estate of William Carlisle. The house itself was Georgian, set in the middle of ten acres of beautiful, carefully tended grounds. A curving driveway led to the front of the house, which was framed by graceful fir trees. Jennifer had given a lot of thought to her problem. Since it was impossible to get into the house, the only solution was to find a way to get Mr. William Carlisle to come out.
Half a block down the street was a gardener’s truck. Jennifer studied the truck a moment, then walked over to it, looking for the gardeners. There were three of them at work, and they were Japanese.
Jennifer walked up to the men. “Who’s in charge here?”
One of them straightened up. “I am.”
“I have a little job for you…” Jennifer began.
“Sorry, miss. Too busy.”
“This will only take five minutes.”
“No. Impossible to—”
“I’ll pay you one hundred dollars.”
The three men stopped to look at her. The chief gardener said, “You pay us one hundred dollars for five minutes’ work?”
“That’s right.”
“What we have to do…?”
Five minutes later, the gardener’s truck pulled into the driveway of William Carlisle’s estate and Jennifer and the three gardeners got out. Jennifer looked around, selected a beautiful tree next to the front door and said to the gardeners, “Dig it up.”
They took their spades from the truck and began to dig. Before a minute had gone by, the front door burst open and an enormous man in a butler’s uniform came storming out.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Long Island Nursery,” Jennifer said crisply. “We’re takin’ out all these trees.”
The butler stared at her. “You’re what?”
Jennifer held up a piece of paper. “I have an order here to dig up these trees.”
“That’s impossible! Mr. Carlisle would have a fit!” He turned to the gardeners. “You stop that!”
“Look, mister,” Jennifer said, “I’m just doin’ my job.” She looked at the gardeners. “Keep diggin’, fellas.”
“No!” the butler shouted. “I’m telling you there’s been a mistake! Mr. Carlisle didn’t order any trees dug up.”
Jennifer shrugged and said, “My boss says he did.”
“Where can I get in touch with your boss?”
Jennifer looked at her watch. “He’s out on a job in Brooklyn. He should be back in the office around six.”
The butler glared at her, furious. “Just a minute! Don’t do anything until I return.”
“Keep diggin’,” Jennifer told the gardeners.
The butler turned and hurried into the house, slamming the door behind him. A few moments later the door opened and the butler returned, accompanied by a tiny middle-aged man.
“Would you mind telling me what the devil is going on here?”
“What business is it of yours?” Jennifer demanded.
“I’ll tell you what business it is of mine,” he snapped. “I’m William Carlisle and this happens to be my property.”
“In that case, Mr. Carlisle,” Jennifer said, “I have something for you.” She reached in her pocket and put the summons in his hand. She turned to the gardeners. “You can stop digging now.”
Early the next morning Adam Warner telephoned. Jennifer recognized his voice instantly.
“I thought you would like to know,” Adam said, “that the disbarment proceedings have been officially dropped. You have nothing more to worry about.”
Jennifer closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. “I—I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”