“Any clues?” Bertha asked, her eyes narrowing watchfully.
Sellers hesitated for a moment as though debating whether to tell Bertha what was on his mind, then he said abruptly, “It’s a man’s crime.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean a man did it.”
“Not Mrs. Belder?”
“I’m crossing her out.”
“Why?”
“The carving knife.”
“What about it?”
“A maid doesn’t peel potatoes with a ten-inch carving-knife.”
“Naturally.”
“A woman would know that. A man wouldn’t. Either Sally met her death accidentally, and someone, fearing he’d be blamed, tried to make it look like an accident, or else he was trying to cover up a murder.”
“Who could have murdered her?” Bertha asked.
Sellers grinned at her. “Everett Belder, for one.”
“Phooey!”
“Don’t be too damned certain... By the way, Mrs. Belder’s cat came back.”
“The deuce it did!”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Early?”
“Around midnight.”
“Belder let it in?”
“No. Mrs. Goldring heard it yowling and opened the door. The cat came in. Seemed to be well fed, but kept yowling, kept padding around the house all night and yowling. Wouldn’t stay put and settle down.”
“Probably misses Mrs. Belder,” Bertha said.
“Probably.”
The telephone on Sellers’ desk tinkled tentatively.
Sergeant Sellers picked up the receiver, said, “Hello,” then nodded to Bertha. “For you, Bertha. Your office calling. Says it’s important.”
Bertha took the telephone, heard Elsie Brand’s voice speaking in the low, somewhat muffled tones of one who is trying to be secretive by holding her lips well within the mouthpiece of the telephone. “Mrs. Cool, Mr. Belder keeps telephoning. He says he has to see you right away.”
“To hell with him,” Bertha announced cheerfully and promptly.
“I think he has another letter.”
“And hasn’t guts enough to do anything about it, eh?” Bertha asked.
“Something like that.”
“Well, you know what he can do,” Bertha said, and then with growing impatience, “My God, Elsie, don’t chase me around when I’m working on a case just because Belder wants—”
“Another matter,” Elsie broke in. “Just hold the phone a moment, Mrs. Cool. I’ll go in the outer office and see if I can find it among your papers.”
Bertha frowned, then, realizing that Elsie was making an excuse to get away from a client in the office, waited until she heard a faint click on the line. Elsie Brand’s voice, sounding less muffled, said, “There’s a woman here who wants to see you; won’t give her name. Says she has to see you at once, that it will be worth a great deal of money to you.”
“What’s she look like?”
“She’s somewhere around forty, but she has a very good figure. She looks a little — well, as though she could be hard on occasion. She has a short veil hanging down from her hat brim and ducks her head so the veil conceals her eyes every time she catches me looking at her. She says she can’t wait.”
Bertha said, “I’ll come up right away.”
“And what shall I tell Mr. Belder? He’s been calling every few minutes.”
“You know what you can tell him,” Bertha said, and hung up.
Sergeant Sellers grinned at her. “Business pretty good, Bertha?”
“So-so.”
“Glad to see it. You deserve the best there is. You’re all wool and—”
Bertha got angrily to her feet. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t stopped there,” she said. “Why the hell didn’t you go ahead and say ‘a yard wide’ and act as though it didn’t mean anything. But no, you had to stop and—”
“I was afraid you might take offence. I didn’t realize how it was going to sound until—”
“And why should I take offence?” Bertha demanded.
Sergeant Sellers coughed apologetically. “I was just trying to pay you a compliment, Bertha.”
“I see,” Bertha said sarcastically. “A yard wide! Phooey!”
Sergeant Sellers’ eyes remained fixed on the door after Bertha had slammed it shut. A smile twitched the corners of his mouth. He reached across the desk, picked up the receiver, said into the telephone, “Did you get all of that conversation Bertha had with her office?... Okay, write it out and bring it in. I want to look it over... No, let her go. Give her lots of rope... No, I don’t want her to hang herself, but when she gets tangled up, she starts moving with rapidity and violence. Someone who’s on the other end of the rope is going to get jerked into the limelight so fast it’ll scare him to death... No, no. Don’t try to intercept that Belder letter; we don’t want to take the responsibility of opening it. Let Bertha steam it open and then I’ll take it from Bertha.”
13
Simple, But Very Important
The woman who rose as Bertha Cool opened the door of her office seemed, at first glance, an attractive woman in the very early thirties, with a figure that could still have fitted into her wedding dress, and perhaps her graduation dress as well. It was only when Bertha Cool’s sharp eyes peered through the protection of the veil, past the mask of rouge and mascara, and detected the fine wrinkles about the eyes and the lines of tension about the mouth, that she placed her visitor as being somewhere around forty.
“You’re Mrs. Cool, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. The way you opened the door. You fit in with what I’ve heard about you.”
Bertha nodded, glanced inquiringly at Elsie Brand. Elsie nodded her head almost imperceptibly.
“Come in,” Bertha invited, and ushered her visitor into her private office.
“Did you,” Bertha asked casually, “give your name and address to my secretary?”
“No.”
“That’s required. It’s a custom of the office.”
“I understand.”
“Well?” Bertha asked.
“My name and address will come later. The first question is whether you are free to accept certain employment.”
“What sort of employment?”
“You’re working for Mr. Belder?”
“I have done work for him.”
“There’s an unfinished matter on which you are working?”
Bertha frowned. “I don’t think I care to answer that question — not in so many words. Do you want me to do something against Mr. Belder’s interests?”
“No. Something that would probably be very much to his best interest.”
“Why the questions, then?”
“Mrs. Belder might not like it.”
Bertha said, “Mrs. Belder is nothing in my young life.”
“I think, Mrs. Cool, you’re the logical person to do what I want.”
Bertha simply sat there waiting.
“Mr. Belder has, of course, told you about the family — Mrs. Goldring and Carlotta.”
Bertha jerked her head in a quick affirmation which wasted no time.
“Have you met them?”
“Just met them, that’s all.”
The woman’s black eyes were boring into Bertha Cool’s now. Even through the fringe of veil, Bertha could see light from the window reflecting from them as though they had been polished black granite.
“Go on,” Bertha said.
“I am Carlotta’s mother.”
“Oh, oh!”
“Now you see why it is necessary for me to keep myself in the background until I am very, very certain that you can do what I want.”