It was the number of Mrs. Belder’s automobile.
Bertha walked around to the right-hand side of the car.
The subdued light of late afternoon, filtering in through the door which opened to the east and through the window on the north, gave sufficient illumination for Bertha to see objects in the garage; but it was taking a minute or two for her eyes to accustom themselves to the gloomy interior.
At first Bertha thought the car was empty. She opened the door on the right-hand side and started to get in behind the steering-wheel. Her foot hit some obstruction. She glanced down to see what it was, and by that time her eyes had accommodated themselves to the dim light sufficiently to show her the shod foot and stockinged leg of the body that lay half on the seat, half on the floor, sprawled down behind the steering-wheel.
A moment more and the stale stench of death assailed Bertha’s nostrils.
Bertha backed out of the car, started for the garage door, thought better of it, went back, located the light-switch and turned on the light in the garage.
The light was high up, and the top of the car threw shadows over the corpse, but Bertha had a job to do and this was the only chance she’d have to do it.
The body was clothed in the distinctive plaid coat Bertha remembered so well; also the dark glasses with glaring white rims which shielded the dead eyes, yet gave the corpse a peculiar owl-like appearance of regarding Bertha Cool from white-rimmed black eyes.
Light from the dangling bulb came through the windshield and illuminated a piece of paper which had evidently fluttered to the floor of the car.
Bertha picked it up and read it.
It was typewritten and, as nearly as Bertha could determine, it had been typed on the same Remington portable that had typed the letters.
I am to drive out Westmore Boulevard. I will appear to be very unsuspicious and not turn my head at any time to look back, but I will watch the rear-view mirror out of the corner of my eye. If I am being followed, then I am to jockey the car so I will hit a changing signal at Dawson Avenue. I am to go through that signal, but at average speed. I am to turn left on North Harkington Avenue — that is the second block beyond Dawson. The second house from the corner is 709. The garage door will be open. I am to drive into that garage, jump out of the car, close the door, get back in my car and wait with the motor running until I hear an automobile horn blow three times. Then I am to open the door and back out. It is imperative that I follow these instructions to the letter. M.B.
Bertha let the paper drop back to the floor. She leaned across the body, put her thumb against the cold mouth, braced herself, and drew back the lips.
A removable bridge was missing from the lower right-hand side of Mrs. Belder’s jaw — the side nearest Bertha. It was a bridge that would have taken two teeth.
Bertha backed out of the car, hastily closed the door. She closed the garage door and, walking almost on tiptoes, so great was her desire for secrecy, was half-way to her automobile before the sound of childish voices made her realize that, having made the mistake of asking questions of the children, she had no alternative but to telephone Sergeant Sellers.
“I do have the damnedest luck!” she muttered under her breath, and jerked open the door of her automobile.
17
Diabolical and Ingenious
Bertha Cool said to the officer, “Go in and tell Sergeant Sellers that I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got work to do.”
The cop merely grinned.
“I mean it,” Bertha stormed. “I’ve been held here for over two hours while they’re doing all their messing around. Sergeant Sellers knows where to find me when he wants me.”
“He does for a fact,” the officer said.
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“It’s what I meant.”
“You go tell Sergeant Sellers what I said.”
“He’s busy. I can’t keep interrupting him with a lot of trivial messages.”
“This isn’t trivial... Damn it, I’m going to walk out.”
“I was told to keep you here.”
“And why should I have to stay here simply because I discovered a body for Sellers?”
“You’ll have to take that up with Sellers.”
“They let Mrs. Goldring go.”
“She was hysterical. They only wanted her to identify the body, anyway.”
“Well, what the hell do they want me for?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Is Sergeant Sellers finished with his investigation in the garage?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, what have they found out about the cause of death?”
“I wouldn’t know that either.”
“There seems to be a hell of a lot you don’t know.”
“There is for a fact.”
“What do you know?”
The officer grinned. “I know I was told to keep you here, and I’m going to keep you here. Right now, Mrs. Cool, I don’t hardly know a single thing outside of that.”
Bertha lapsed into indignant silence.
Abruptly the door opened. Sergeant Sellers walked in, made a slight signal to the officer, and grinned at Bertha Cool. “Hi, Bertha.”
Bertha glowered at him.
“What’s the matter, Bertha, you don’t seem happy?”
“Happy! If you think that I— Oh, hell!”
Sellers settled himself in the chair. “How did you know she was dead?”
Bertha took a deep breath. “I felt her flesh. It was cold. I smelled the odour of decomposition. She didn’t move when I touched her. I called to her. She didn’t answer, didn’t move. I realized she’d been there in that same position for three days. And then it dawned on me, Sergeant, all in a flash — like those brilliant inspirations the police get. I said to myself, ‘My God, she’s dead!’”
“Nice stuff, Bertha. That isn’t what I meant. How did you know she was dead before you went to the garage?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did you go to the garage?”
“I hate to lose anyone I’m shadowing.”
“Naturally.”
“Well, that’s the reason I came here. I wanted to look the place over.”
“I see. When you lose a person on Wednesday noon and decide you really shouldn’t have done it, you go back Friday night to the same place so you can pick her up and begin where you left off. Something like one of those motion pictures in the shooting galleries that comes to a dead stop when you pull the trigger on the gun.”
“No. Not that.”
“Well, what was it then?”
“I was just looking the place over.”
“You’ll have to do better than that, Bertha.”
“The hell I will. I lost her here, and I had a right to come and look for her here.”
“How did you know you’d lost her here?”
“She turned this corner and that was the last I saw of her.”
“Then why didn’t you stop here when you were doing the shadowing job?”
“Because I thought she’d gone on to the next corner, and then turned right.”
“And what caused you to change your mind?”
“I drove to the next corner, saw she hadn’t turned right and swung my car to the left.”
“You say you saw she hadn’t turned right?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know that?”
“Because when I started to swing my car to the right, the street was vacant. I didn’t think she could have gone to the right and got around the block.”
“So you changed your mind and swung your car to the left?”
“That’s right.”
“But the street on the left was also vacant, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And, by the same reasoning, if she didn’t have time to turn to the right and go a block, she didn’t have time to go to the left.”