She pulled pins from a folded paper, thrust the heads into her mouth, and went around the skirt, taking up the hem. When she had gone completely around the base of the garment, she stood back to survey the results and said, “I think that’ll be all right. Now, let’s get down.”
She helped him to the floor, slipped the dress off over his head, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, did a hasty job of basting the hem into place.
“Don’t you think that it might be advisable for me to get in touch with the police?” Kosling asked. “I didn’t know what to do when I first heard that announcement over the radio, but the more I think of it, the more I feel—”
Bertha said with exasperation in her voice, “Now, listen, let’s get this straight. Let’s get it straight once and for all. You’ve got some information that’s worth exactly five thousand dollars. Out of that five thousand dollars, I’m going to get two thousand five hundred. Something you said to Boll-man gave him the tip. He went out to your house and walked into a trap someone had set for you. The police are interested in who set that trap and why. I’m interested in finding out what Bollman was after. Once the police get hold of you, they’ll sew you up in a sack. To me, twenty-five hundred smacks is twenty-five hundred smacks. Now, do you understand?”
“But I can’t imagine what that information was.”
“The hell of it is that I can’t either,” Bertha admitted, “but right now you’re a walking gold mine as far as I’m concerned, so I’m going to stick closer than a brother until we get everything all cleaned up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“All right, that’s all you need to know. Now, come on. We’re going to get out of here while the getting is good. You’re my mother. You’ve had a slight stroke. We’re going out for a walk. You aren’t going to say anything to anyone, and in case anyone does any talking, your contribution to the conversation will be a sweet smile. All right now, here we go.”
Bertha gave a few last touches to the ensemble, took Kosling’s arm, and said, “Now, I want you to lean on me. Don’t act as though I was giving you guidance. Let it look as though I was giving you support. A blind person gets guidance. A person who is weak on his legs gets support. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I think so. Like this?”
“No,” Bertha said, “you’re just bearing down. Lean over a little bit to one side. That’s it. All right now, here we go.”
Bertha guided Kosling through the door, locked it, and said, “Because my room’s on the third floor, we’ve got to make the stairs. Think you can do it all right?”
“Why, of course.”
“The thing you’ve got to watch,” Bertha said, “is that skirt. I’ve got the hem fixed so it’s just about dragging the ground. I don’t want people to see your shoes and the bottom of your pants.”
“I thought you rolled my pants up.”
“I did, but I left the skirt plenty long. Come on now, watch the stairs.”
They negotiated the stairs safely. Bertha walked down the corridor to the elevator, rang the bell, and when the hotel’s single elevator eventually came rattling up, said, “Now be careful, Mother. Watch your step getting in the elevator.”
They got in without mishap except that Kosling, forgetting the wide brim on the woman’s hat he was wearing, all but crushed it against the back of the elevator.
“Take it easy going down,” Bertha Cool said to the elevator operator.
He laughed. “Ma’am, this cage has got only one speed — and that’s easy.”
They reached the lobby. The clerk looked solicitously at Bertha’s “mother.” The elevator operator who doubled as bellboy held the outer door open for Bertha, and Bertha Cool, standing so that her own skirt shielded any glimpse of Kosling’s leg from the bellboy, helped Kosling into the automobile and closed the door. She gave the bellboy the benefit of a smile, walked around to the car, climbed in, and drove away.
“Where to?” Kosling asked.
“Riverside,” Bertha said. “We go to a hotel there, and get connecting rooms.”
It was beginning to get dark. Bertha switched on the headlights and drove slowly. Reaching Riverside, she went into one of the older hotels, registered as Mrs. L. M. Cushing and daughter, secured two rooms with a connecting bath, and made some ceremony of getting Kosling up to the rooms and safely ensconced.
“Now,” Bertha announced, “you’re going to stay right here, and we’re going to talk.”
At the end of an hour when Kosling felt he was completely talked out, Bertha ordered some dinner sent up from a nearby restaurant. An hour later she went to a public telephone, called the hotel in San Bernardino, and said, “This is Mrs. Cool. The thing that I was afraid was going to happen has happened. My mother’s had another stroke. I won’t be able to get back to pick up my things. Please store my suitcase. You’ll find that my bill is paid, and there are no telephone calls or other extras.”
The clerk assured her that he regretted the nature of the occasion which prevented Bertha Cool from returning, that he trusted her mother would make a complete and prompt recovery, and assured Bertha she had nothing whatever to worry about in connection with her belongings.
Bertha thanked him, returned to the hotel, and for two more hours pumped the blind man, trying to get some bit of information out of him, going over the events of the last week with monotonous repetition, a probing search for detail.
Kosling at length became tired and irritated. “I’ve given you everything I have to give; told you all that I know,” he said petulantly. “I’m going to sleep. I wish I’d never seen you and never interested myself in that girl at all. As a matter of fact she—” His voice faltered as he choked off what he was going to say.
“What’s that?” Bertha asked pouncing on his unfinished sentence.
“Nothing.”
“What were you going to say?”
“Oh, nothing, except that — I’ve been disappointed in that girl.”
“What girl?”
“Josephine Dell.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, she never stopped by to see me. If she was able to return to work, she could certainly have stopped by long enough to say hello.”
“She was working at a different place,” Bertha explained. “When Harlow Milbers was alive, she was working down at that loft building where they had an office, but after his death, she had no occasion to go there. What work she did do was at his residence.”
“But I still don’t understand why she didn’t come to see me.”
“She sent you a very nice present, didn’t she? Two of them, in fact.”
“Yes. That music box meant a lot to me. She must have known how much I wanted to thank her personally for that.”
“Can’t you write her?”
“My writing isn’t very good. I don’t use a typewriter, and I have to grope around with a pencil. I dislike writing intensely.”
“Well, why not call her up?” Bertha asked.
“That’s just the point. I did. She wouldn’t waste her time with me.”
“Wait a minute,” Bertha said. “This is something new. You say she wouldn’t waste her time with you?”
“I called her up, but she wasn’t in. I talked with some woman and I told her who I was. She said Miss Dell was busy right at the moment, but she would give any message. I told her I wanted to thank Miss Dell for her gifts and that I’d wait at that number until Miss Dell called.”
“Well?” Bertha asked.
“I waited and waited — for over an hour. She never called.”
“Where,” Bertha asked, “did you call her — at her apartment?”
“No, at the place she was working — the residence of the man she worked for. You know, Milbers.”