“What happened?” Bertha asked, her eyes showing interest.
“Nunnely glanced through the war news on the first page, turned to the second page, and the headlines about Mabel hit him in the face.”
“What did he do?”
“He did exactly what you’d expect him to do. He got to his feet, smiling rather patronizingly at the lawyer, and told him not to bother making out the release; that on second thought he’d decided he would settle only for the full amount of the judgment, together with interest and court costs. It was a cinch. With Mabel’s death, he knew I’d inherit the property, and all he had to do was to grab that property out of the estate.”
“That’s tough,” Bertha said.
“I lost about nineteen thousand dollars right then. Perhaps more by the time the interest is all figured.”
“Tough luck,” Bertha said without sympathy. She opened her desk drawer, her eyes on Belder’s face, took out the spectacle case she had taken from Belder’s overcoat pocket, and placed it over on the far side of the desk where it was directly under Belder’s eyes.
Apparently Belder gave no heed to what she was doing.
“Look here, Mrs. Cool, I need you, I need your aggressive, dominant personality. I need your brains, your general competency. Now—”
Knuckles pounded on the closed door.
“Good Lord,” Bertha said, “I forgot to tell Elsie to lock the door. She’s gone home and some client has—”
“Tell him you’re busy. Tell him you can’t be disturbed,” Belder said. “Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Cool. I want to hire you and this time I’ve got the money. I’m willing to pay you anything—”
Bertha got up from her creaky swivel chair, walked over and said, through the closed door, “I’m busy. The office is closed. It’s Saturday afternoon. I can’t see anyone to-day.”
The knob twisted. The door pushed open. “Oh, is that so,” Sergeant Sellers said.
Bertha flung her weight against the door. “Get out of here and stay out.”
But Sergeant Sellers had glimpsed Everett Belder’s frightened face through the crack in the open door. He said, “That’s different, Bertha. I’m coming in.”
Bertha said grimly, “The hell you are,” and set her weight against the door.
Sergeant Sellers, on the other side of the door, exerted pressure. Slowly Bertha was pushed back.
“Come on and help me,” she panted to Belder.
Belder made no move, but sat there, apparently paralyzed with fear.
Sergeant Sellers pushed the door open.
“You can’t come into my private office this way,” Bertha blazed.
“I know it, Bertha,” he said placatingly, “but now that I’m in here, I can’t go away without taking your client with me.”
“Well, you just get the hell out of here,” Bertha stormed. “I’m talking business with this man. I have a right to conclude my business transaction. You can wait out in the corridor. You—”
“Sorry, Bertha,” Sellers said, “but I’m not waiting anywhere. I have a warrant for the arrest of Everett Belder on the charge of first-degree murder.”
Belder tried to get up out of the chair. His knees refused to function. He made a moaning noise which was almost a groan.
Bertha said angrily, “Well, get out of here for five minutes, anyway. Belder is — he wants to employ me. I want to get the financial end of it straightened out.”
Sellers didn’t move.
“Just five minutes,” Bertha pleaded. “Surely I’m entitled to that. I’m entitled to be paid for what I’m doing.”
Sellers grinned at Bertha Cool. “Okay, Bertha. You’ve been a good sport. You—” His eye fell on the spectacle case on Bertha’s desk.
“What’s this?” he asked curiously.
Bertha made the mistake of grabbing for it. Sergeant Sellers’ big hand clamped down on her wrists. He took the spectacle case from her fingers.
In a frenzy of rage and consternation, Bertha Cool came around the desk at him, but before she could reach him Sellers had the spectacle case open.
The removable bridge gleamed white and gold against the spectacle case.
“I’ll be damned!” Sergeant Sellers said softly, almost in a whisper.
Belder, staring at the spectacle case, screamed, “By God, you can’t do that to me! I’m being framed! I knew that Mrs. Goldring and Carlotta had been to see her, but I didn’t know she’d give me that kind of double-cross. I tell you I don’t know anything about that.”
“I,” Sellers announced again, in a solemn tone, “will be doubly damned.” He looked up at Bertha. “Where did this come from, Bertha?”
Bertha started to say something, then changed her mind and clamped her lips tightly together.
“Go on,” Sellers said.
Bertha said, “You give me that five minutes and then I’ll talk.”
Sellers’s grin was cold and mirthless. “Not now you don’t get any five minutes, Bertha. You’re finished.”
“And don’t leave me alone with her for a minute,” Belder all but screamed. “The dirty double-crosser. She’s framing me.”
Sellers walked over to Bertha Cool’s telephone, dialled Police Headquarters, said into the telephone, “Sergeant Sellers. I’m at the offices of Cool & Lam, Private Detectives. Everett Belder is here. I’m taking him into custody. Bertha Cool is here. I’m not taking her into custody — yet. I’m going to take Belder down to headquarters. When I come back I want to talk with Bertha Cool. Rush a man over here to stay with her until I get back. I want to be sure she’s here to answer questions when I get ready to ask them.”
Sellers dropped the receiver back into place. His hand moved back to his belt, brought out jangling handcuffs.
Belder said in dismay, “You mean you are going to use those?”
Sellers wasn’t grinning now. “You’re damned right,” he said. “And if you think you’re better than any other murderer, I don’t.”
21
Bodyguard with Bottle
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hours circled across the dial of Bertha Cool’s electric clock and into oblivion. The bodyguard whom Sergeant Sellers had placed in charge had proved himself to be a singularly taciturn individual, a huge man who spent hours reading the paper, manicuring his nails, and silently smoking, a distinctly nonsocial individual who seemed utterly bored by the entire affair.
Bertha Cool had tried him out during the afternoon on several lines of attack, and each time the man had an answer which stopped Bertha in her tracks.
First Bertha had demanded the right to consult an attorney. “I don’t think you have any right to pull such a high-handed course as this,” she said, “and I’m going to telephone my lawyer.”
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t have any objection?”
“The sergeant says that if you want to make it legal, then we’ll make it legal.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll take you down to headquarters, charge you with being an accessory after the fact, and book you. Then you can see all the lawyers you want.”
“But you can’t hold me in my office this way.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve got a right to leave any time. You can’t stop me.”
“That’s right.”
“Then what’s to stop me from walking out of that door?”
“Nothing.”
“All right, then, I’m going to do it.”
“Only,” the man said, “the Sarge left definite orders. The minute you stick your foot through that door, I’m to arrest you, take you down to headquarters, and book you.”
“What,” Bertha demanded indignantly, “is the idea?”
“The Sarge is trying to protect you, that’s all. Once he arrests you, your name gets in the newspapers, and your reputation as a detective is smeared. The Sarge is trying to give you a break.”