“You’re so good to me,” Bertha said sarcastically, and then added, “fifty thousand years would be all right.”
“The beginning of the world is a legal safeguard. It’s a form, Mrs. Cool. Apparently Mr. Lam has some familiarity with the procedure in such cases, and I think he can assure you that it’s a customary form and it would be well for you to take advantage of its protection.”
“Oh nuts!” Bertha said disgustedly. “Have I got to write all that stuff in a check?”
I said, “Elsie can type it. Give me a check and I’ll go out and get her to fill it in.”
“Don’t give up the check until you get the releases,” Bertha said.
Mysgart coughed again.
I said to Mysgart, “The bank’s right downstairs. It’s after hours, but we can get in the side door and they’ll cash a check given for a settlement like this. You and Glimson can go down to the bank with me. When the cashier shoves the cash through the window you and Glimson can hand me the signed releases, and...”
Mysgart’s head was bobbing enthusiastically up and down. “You and I are businessmen, Mr. Lam! That’s excellent.”
Bertha jerked open the drawer of the desk, pulled out a checkbook, and ripped out a blank check which she fairly shoved into my hand. “Donald,” she said, “if you love me get these goddamn lawyers out of my office.”
Mysgart turned and started to say something conciliatory.
I slipped my hand through his arm and gently led him out of the office.
Elsie Brand had to crowd the lines in order to get all of that in the check, but she managed it.
I said to Mysgart, “Wait here. I’ll go and get Bertha’s signature on the check, then we’ll go downstairs. Now there’s a couple of things we’ll want in connection with the settlement.”
“What are those?”
I said, “Esther Witson was a busy little woman getting names and license numbers of witnesses at the time of the accident, and I think Mr. Lidfield did a little prowling around on his own. My partner is a little suspicious. She’ll want to get all of the data that both parties had, the names of witnesses and license numbers.”
“Oh, yes,” Mysgart said, nodding enthusiastically once more. “I can appreciate her attitude. She confuses my professional attitude with my personal relations. She shall have all the data, Lam, all of it. We won’t hold out a thing. No, indeed!”
He beamed at me.
I took the check in and put it on Bertha’s desk.
She looked at me suspiciously, said, “When these goddamn lawyers start pussyfooting around the office and smirking at each other, damned if you don’t join in the procession and pussyfoot and smirk right along with the rest of them. I don’t know what the hell it is. It’s probably your legal training.”
Bertha grabbed up the desk pen and all but jabbed the point through the paper as she signed the check.
I went out gently closing the door.
The little group was clustered around the elevator. Lidfield came over and thrust out a rather timid hand. “I haven’t had a chance to meet you, Mr. Lam. I’m glad we’re getting this thing settled. Rather a nasty case.”
“I only hope your wife will get better,” I said.
A look of ineffable sadness crossed his face. “I hope so. Poor girl!”
We all went down to the bank.
“Now just a moment,” I said, “before the money is passed over. You’ll remember that I was to get a complete list of the witnesses.”
Mysgart smiled at Esther Witson and said, “That was the understanding, Miss Witson. I think you have a notebook there...”
Esther Witson pulled a notebook out of her pocket, said, “You can copy these or...”
I said, “Just take the original pages out of the notebook. It’s a loose-leaf notebook and...”
Esther Witson jerked the pages out of the notebook and handed them to me.
“These are all?” I asked.
“All,” she said.
“Now then,” Glimson said, “there’s a consideration to be paid by Miss Witson herself, and...”
“We can do that between us,” Mysgart interposed hurriedly. “Miss Witson’s bank is down the street four or five blocks, and if we hurry, we’ll be able to get in the side door. They know Miss Witson very well down there, and...”
Glimson said to Lidfield, “Give me a list of your witnesses.”
Lidfield was rather apologetic. He said, “I just wrote the license number of every car that was around there that I could see.”
I said to Glimson, “Of course after your client gave you the license numbers of these automobiles, you had them investigated and have the names of the owners?”
Glimson sighed reluctantly, opened his brief case and took out a typewritten sheet of paper which he handed to me without a word.
The teller looked at me inquiringly.
I nodded.
They grabbed the money and started for the door of the bank, anxious to get down to Esther Witson’s bank while they could still get in.
16
I crossed over to a phone booth and telephoned the office.
Elsie Brand answered the telephone.
“Hello, Elsie.” I asked, “How’s the blood pressure?”
“Pretty high.”
“Okay. I’ve got a little thinking to do. If there’ll be a rise in blood pressure in the office I’ll go over and sit in the car while I think things out.”
“Personally,” Elsie said, “I’d recommend the car. The open air will be restful. There still seems to be the question of where you were last night.”
“Okay. Thanks. Be a good girl.”
“It seems almost compulsory,” she said, and hung up before I could ask her what she meant by that crack.
I went across to the parking lot, sat in the agency car and took out the loose-leaf notebook pages I’d received from Esther Witson in connection with the settlement.
The name of Mrs. Crail wasn’t on there. The name of Rufus Stanberry wasn’t on there. The name of Boskovitche wasn’t on there. That whole page of the notebook was missing. There were half a dozen other names and license numbers. I put them to one side for a minute and looked at the list I’d got from Lidfield.
These were just license numbers, but on the typewritten sheet which Glimson had passed over, these license numbers were listed against names of registered owners.
There was the license number of Bertha Cool’s car; Bertha Cool’s name and address; the license number of a car listed as belonging to Mrs. Ellery Crail, 1013 Scarabia Boulevard; a license number of a car listed as a Packard sedan registered to Rufus Stanberry, 3271 Fulrose Avenue; three or four license numbers that checked with those on the Esther Witson list; a couple of license numbers that Esther Witson didn’t have; then a license number, “Miss Georgia Rushe, 207 West Orleans Avenue.”
I folded the list, put it in my wallet, crossed over to a telephone and rang the Crail Venetian Blind Company. “May I speak with Miss Georgia Rushe?” I asked the switchboard operator.
“Who wants to speak with her? You’ll have to give your name.”
“Tell her Donald wants to talk with her.”
“Just a moment.”
I heard the plugging of connections, the distant echoes of a ghostly voice, then the professionally cordial voice characteristic of a high class switchboard operator said, “She went home early tonight.”
I looked at my watch. It was four thirty-five.
“Thank you,” I said and hung up.
I tried Georgia Rushe at the phone number she’d left with us when she’d employed us. There was no answer.
I went back to the agency car and warmed up the motor while I was making a mental check of times and places, getting the sequence of events straightened out in my own mind.