“By George! You’re right on that!” Sergeant Sellers exclaimed.
“It’s a lie!” Carlotta screamed.
Bertha said, “I’ve got it now. When she found those other papers, she found Mabel’s will. It left all the property to her husband. If Mabel died without a will, the property, as her separate property, would go half to the husband and half to her mother. With that will it would all go to her husband, and it was, of course, reasonable to suppose Everett Belder knew all about that will. So what does sweet little Carlotta do — although she must have had her mother’s help on this little job; she takes the will, tears out the parts that contain the name of Everett Belder so just in case some of the ashes can be reconstructed by a handwriting expert, she won’t fall on her face. Then she looks for a chance to plant the will where she can burn it and put the blame on Belder. That’s what she’s looking for when she walks into the office. And things couldn’t have worked out better for her. There was a fire going on in the grate and everybody in the room was concentrating on Imogene Dearborne. So dear little Carlotta sidles around with her back to the fire, drops the will in and then at the proper moment talks about Mabel having made a will leaving everything to her mother, accuses Everett Belder of having burnt it up, and calls in a handwriting expert to photograph the ashes in the fireplace. The expert manages to get enough evidence to show that Mabel Belder’s will had been the last paper burnt in the fireplace. He couldn’t get all of the terms of that will. Even if he had, the name of the beneficiary would have been missing, because you can gamble Carlotta didn’t take any chances on that.”
“Now then, what’s wrong with that picture?”
“I am not going to stand here and submit to all of these insults,” Carlotta said.
“You don’t have to, dear,” Mrs. Croftus announced with dignity. “Personally, I think the woman is crazy.”
Sergeant Sellers pulled a cigar from his pocket with an air of preoccupation, bit off the tip of the cigar, fished a match from his pocket. “I thought she was a little goofy myself,” he admitted, “until she pulled that stuff about Carlotta dropping papers in the fireplace. By George, she did! I remember definitely the little fresh puff of flame which came out from behind her. I thought perhaps her skirt was going to catch fire and was thinking what a bad break that would be because it would make a diversion and I wanted to have the cards put on the table while everyone was in the mood for a showdown. What did you drop in the fireplace, Carlotta?”
“Nothing. You’re crazy.”
Sellers said, “That clinches it. I know you dropped something. If you’d had some logical explanation of what it was, it would have been all right, but to swear that you didn’t drop a thing is—”
“Oh, I remember now,” Carlotta said. “I was reading a letter. A circular I’d received. I had it in my hand when I came in the office and saw the fire going in the fireplace. I’d almost forgotten about it”
Sergeant Sellers grinned at her through the first puffs of the blue cigar smoke. “You walked right into that trap, didn’t you, sister? So you did drop papers into the fireplace?”
“Yes. But it was this letter. I—”
“Then how do you account for the fact that your handwriting expert says the will was the last thing burned? Those ashes were on the very top of the heap.”
“I—” Carlotta turned in frantic appeal, not to Mrs. Goldring, but to her mother, Mrs. Croftus.
Mrs. Croftus said with quiet dignity, “I don’t think I’d argue the matter with him, darling. It’s very plain that he’s trying to take the side of this woman, so that we can’t sue her for defamation of character. Don’t you think we’d better all wait until we’ve seen a lawyer about suing Mrs. Cool? I know a lawyer who will be glad to handle the case. Let’s go and see him right now. He’ll file suit against her.”
Sergeant Sellers looked at Mrs. Croftus with respect. “That’s a damned slick way of smothering an idea with words,” he said. “It sounds very nice the way you say it; but, when you strip the verbiage off, what you’re actually doing is telling the girl not to say anything more until she’s seen a lawyer.”
“About bringing a suit for defamation of character,” Mrs. Croftus said icily.
“But seeing a lawyer just the same,” Sellers insisted.
“Well, what do you want us to do — sit here and take all of these insults?”
“No,” Sergeant Sellers announced with slow deliberation. “I want you to go up to the D.A.’s office and make written statements — and I want you to start right now. Is there any objection?”
“Certainly there’s an objection. I never heard of such highhanded procedure in my life.”
“Well, I should say so!” Mrs. Goldring snapped. “We’ll see a lawyer before we—”
Sergeant Sellers frowned at Bertha Cool. “A hell of a way to solve a murder case,” he said. “Haven’t you anything besides that?”
“The hole in the wall,” Bertha said, “was bored from the bedroom into the garage. The picture was hung over the hole from the inside. I took it for granted it was used as a peep-hole, but there’s one other thing it might have been used for.”
“What?” Sellers asked.
“I’m not like Donald,” Bertha apologized, “but—”
“I know, but you’re just as inimitable in your sweet way. Go ahead, Bertha, and tell me about the hole in the bedroom wall.”
Bertha grinned at him. “I’m not a mechanic, and I’m not built right to get down on my hands and knees, but you might take a look at the exhaust pipe on Mrs. Belder’s automobile and see if there are any fresh-looking scratches around the end of the exhaust pipe.
“And that cat was switching its tail when the woman I followed came out of the house. Cat’s don’t do that when they’re going riding with someone they like. Cats do that when they’re angry. And if that was Mrs. Belder I followed, why wasn’t the cat asphyxiated too? It would have been shut up in the garage just the same as the woman in the car.
“I tell you she was dead before I ever came out to this house on that shadowing job — and that’s where the hole in the wall becomes significant. Now, think that over!”
Sellers frowned with annoyance. “Damn it, Bertha, you’ve said just enough so I’ve got to start pulling your chestnuts out of the fire for you.”
Bertha heaved a sigh. “If you think that isn’t music to my ears, you’re nuts!”
24
A Letter to Donald
Bertha Cool plumped herself triumphantly in the chair across from Elsie Brand’s desk. “Well,” she announced cheerfully, “here it is Monday morning. The start of a brand-new week.”
Elsie Brand nodded.
Bertha said, “Get your note-book, Elsie. Take a letter to Donald... Dear Donald: Bertha has just been mixed up in the damnedest case! I certainly did wish you were here to help me. It almost got Bertha down, but she managed to kick through with the winning ticket just when it looked as though the cards were all stacked against her.”
“Sergeant Sellers took over after I gave him the key clue to the situation. Well, I guess I may as well begin at the beginning and tell you all about it.”