“Then what?”
“Dr. Clarge came back about four o’clock in the afternoon. He gave him another hypodermic, and said he thought Mr. Milbers should either have a nurse, or go to the hospital that night in case he wasn’t better. He left more medicine with some instructions and said he’d drop in the next morning at about eight o’clock.”
“Then what?”
“About twenty minutes after Dr. Clarge had left, Mr. Milbers passed away.”
“Who was in the room at the time? Were you?”
“No. Mrs. Cranning was there. I’d gone downstairs for a glass of milk and a sandwich. I’d been so upset I hadn’t eaten anything. We really thought Mr. Milbers was going to get along all right.”
“What happened after he died? Did you notify Dr. Clarge?”
“Yes. Dr. Clarge came out, but said there was nothing he could do. He called the undertaker, and said we should notify Christopher Milbers. I sent him the telegram.”
“And then?”
“Well, what with the excitement and all of the things that had to be done, it was late when I left and then I had to go to the office to close the safe, and naturally I was pretty much upset. That’s why I walked into that automobile, I guess. I don’t eat breakfast, only a cup of black coffee, and that glass of milk and a sandwich was all I’d eaten all day. I hadn’t even finished the sandwich because Mrs. Cranning had called me just as I was halfway through eating it.”
“What did the doctor say caused his death?”
“Oh, you know how those doctors are. They roll a lot of medical terms out and look wise. Personally, I don’t think Dr. Clarge knew a thing about it. I can’t remember all of the words he used. I remember one of them. He said it was a gastroenteric disturbance, and that it resulted from something or other in the liver, and something or other that ended with an ‘itis.’ ”
“Nephritis?” Bertha asked.
“I don’t know. That sounds something like it. But he said the primary cause of death was a gastroenteric disturbance. I remember that much. The rest of it was a lot of mumbo jumbo about things that didn’t make sense to me, and I don’t think they made sense to him.”
“Where did Mr. Milbers eat breakfast?” Bertha asked.
Josephine Dell looked at her in surprise. “Why at his, house, of course — that is, I suppose that’s where he ate. That’s why he had Nettie Cranning and Eva — and if you ask me,” she blurted, “with all the service he was paying for, he should have been waited on hand and foot, in place of which he had to wait for his meals lots of times. However, it’s no skin off my nose, and it’s all over with now. But it makes me sick to think of his leaving almost everything to them.”
“And ten thousand to you,” Bertha Cool said.
“If he was going to leave most of his estate outside of the family,” Josephine Dell said firmly, “I’m entitled to ten thousand.”
“How long had you been with him?”
“Almost two years.”
“That’s five thousand a year.”
“That’s right,” Josephine Dell said with sudden cold, biting rage. “That’s five thousand a year. Very generous compensation, isn’t it, Mrs. Cool? Well, you don’t know everything, and don’t ever kid yourself that — oh, well, what’s the use? Will you please go on home now and let me finish packing?”
“That man who was a witness,” Bertha Cool asked, “wasn’t his name Bollman?”
“That’s right. Jerry Bollman. He saw the accident, and I guess he’s trying to cash in on it — seems like he does that sort of thing. Well, I’ve simply got to take some of the things out of this suitcase.”
“Jerry Bollman,” Bertha said, “is dead.”
She picked up the top layer from the suitcase, gently placed it on the bed, said, “Well one thing’s certain. I’ve got to get along with only one other pair of shoes.”
She took an extra pair of shoes from the suitcase, started over to the trunk, then stopped abruptly, turned to Bertha Cool, and said, “I beg your pardon. What did you say?”
“Jerry Bollman’s dead.”
Josephine Dell smiled. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I talked with him yesterday afternoon, and then he called again about two hours ago. Now let’s see. If I put—”
“He’s dead,” Bertha Cool said. “He was murdered about an hour and a half ago.”
“Murdered!”
“Yes.”
First one shoe fell from Josephine Dell’s arms; then the second one thudded to the floor. “Murdered! An hour and a half ago. How did it happen?”
“I don’t know,” Bertha said. “But he went out to call on your friend, the blind man. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes, I can understand that. I told Mr. Bollman I was afraid the light had changed just as I started across the street. He said he could get a witness to testify that he heard the noise of the accident and the sound of brakes being applied before the signal rang. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I can appreciate now that the witness must have been that blind man. He’s a dear — always so sweet and cheerful. I sent him a little present. You’re certain Mr. Bollman was murdered?”
“Yes. He was killed when he went to call on the blind man.”
“Mrs. Cool, are you absolutely certain?”
“Dead certain,” Bertha said. “I discovered the body.”
“Have they caught the man who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Do they know who did it?”
“No. They’re looking for the blind man.”
“Bosh!” Josephine Dell said. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly! That’s absolutely out of the question.”
“That’s what I think.”
“How did you happen to discover the body?”
“I went out to see this blind man.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. I think he’s marvellous. I must ask him about Myrna Jackson. I saw her talking with him last week. Really, it’s a crime how little I know about her. This Bollman, don’t t you think — I know I shouldn’t say anything about him if he’s dead, but — don’t you think—”
Bertha said, “You’re damn right I do. I don’t care how dead he is. He was a heel.”
“Well, heaven knows I’ve got to pack. I’m sorry, Mrs. Cool, but that’s just the way I feel about that accident case, and you could stay here until midnight and not change my opinion.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Bertha Cool got to her feet and headed wearily toward the door. “All right,” she said. “Good night — and good luck in your new job.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cool. Good night and good luck.”
“And if you don’t think I could use a cartload of that last, you’re nuts,” Bertha said with feeling, as she let herself out into the outer corridor.
Chapter XIX
A taxicab Took Bertha Cool to the residence of Dr. Howard P. Rindger. Bertha rang the bell and when the doctor himself came to the door, said, “I think you remember me, Doctor. I’m—”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Cool, the investigator. Do come in, Mrs. Cool.”
“I wanted to consult you professionally Doctor.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “Feeling all right? You look as sound as a nut.”
“Oh, I’m all right. I want to get a little professional advice.”
“All right, come in this way. I have a little office fixed up here at the house for emergency treatment. Some of my patients come in at night. Now, sit down and tell me what I can do for you.”