When Bertha made herself comfortable, she settled down to make a good job of it, and thoroughly relaxed. She didn’t believe in halfway measures in anything that affected her personal comfort and convenience.
Bertha was out in about ten minutes. She crossed over to the humidor, filled up her case with cigarettes, looked at me suspiciously, and slammed closed the doors on the liquor cupboard. “Let’s go,” she said.
We got in her coupé.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Out to Ashbury’s.”
“Who’s the woman?”
“Alta Ashbury.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to get rough. Alta may try to interfere. Mrs. Ashbury’s having perpetual hysterics. Her husband’s announced that he’s through. He’s told her she can go to Reno. She’ll be running a blood pressure, with a doctor at her bedside and a couple of trained nurses in attendance. She figures her husband will probably show up sooner or later to pack some of his things and move out. She’s getting all ready for him when he comes.”
“Nice party you’re getting me into,” Bertha Cool said.
“Isn’t it?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“If the women keep out of things, it’s all right,” I said, “but if they start horning in on the party, I want you to horn ’em out. Alta may try to work a sympathy gag. Mrs. Ashbury may get tough.”
Bertha lit a cigarette. “It isn’t such a good idea quarrelling with a customer’s wife.”
“They’re going to get a divorce.”
“You mean he wants one.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a hell of a long way from getting one,” Bertha said, and then added significantly, “when a man has the dough he’s got.”
“He can always buy his way out.”
“Through the nose,” Bertha said, and relaxed to enjoy her smoking.
Halfway out there, Bertha ground out her cigarette and looked at me. “Don’t think you’re getting away with all this stuff, Donald. I’d ask you some questions if I weren’t so damned afraid of the answers.” Then she lit another cigarette, and settled back to dogged silence.
We pulled up in front of Ashbury’s residence. There were three cars parked at the kerb. Lights were on all over the house. Ashbury had given me a key, but because of Bertha, I rang the bell and waited for the butler to let us in. He was up, all right. He looked at me with mild disapproval, and at Bertha with curiosity.
“Has Mr. Ashbury returned yet?”
“No, sir. Mr. Ashbury is not here.”
“Nor Miss Alta?”
“No, sir.”
“Robert?”
“Yes, sir. Robert is here. Mrs. Ashbury is very ill. The doctor and two nurses are in attendance. Robert is at her bedside. Her condition is critical.” He looked at Bertha and said, “And if you’ll pardon the suggestion, sir, there are no visitors.”
I said, “That’s all right. We’re waiting for Mr. Ashbury,” and we walked on in.
“Mrs. Cool will wait in my room,” I said. “When Mr. Ashbury comes, tell him that I’m up, and that Mrs. Cool is with me.”
“Mrs. Cool?”
“That’s right,” Bertha said, turning to stick a bulldog jaw out at him. “The name’s Bertha Cool. Which way do we go, Donald?”
I led the way up to my room.
Bertha looked it over and said, “You seem to rate.”
“I do.”
“A nice place, Donald. He must have some dough tied up here.”
“I suppose he has.”
“It must be hell to be rich — not that I wouldn’t mind taking a fling at it. That reminds me, I’ve got some letters to write in connection with a couple of stocks. When’s Elsie coming back?”
“Two or three days,” I said.
“I’ve got two girls up there now,” Bertha said, “and neither one of them is worth a damn.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t they take shorthand?”
“Sure, they can, and they can type, too, but it takes the two of them to do the same amount of work in a day that Elsie did.”
“They’re pretty good girls then,” I said.
She glowered at me. “Donald, don’t tell me you’re going to start falling for Elsie. My God, but you’re susceptible to women! All a woman has to do is to put her head down on your shoulder and cry, and you start oozing sympathy. I suppose she’s been beefing about what a tough job she has.”
“She hasn’t said anything. I’m the one who did the talking.”
“What did you say?”
“Told her to take it easy up in that new office, and have a rest.”
Bertha made a sound of indignation. It was half sniff and half snort. “Paying a girl,” she said, “to sit around and look at her finger-nails while I’m slaving my fingers to the bone trying to make both ends meet.” The humor of her remark struck her as soon as she made it, and she added, with a half smile, “Well, perhaps not clean to the bone. Donald, what the hell did we come here for?”
“Sit tight,” I said. “We’re getting ready to go into action.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Wait here.”
“You’re going some place?”
“Yes, down the hall to look in on Mrs. Ashbury. If you hear her voice raised in an argument, come on down. Otherwise, stay here until the party gets rough.”
“How will I know it’s her voice?”
“You can’t miss it,” I said, and slipped out of the room to tiptoe down the corridor. I tapped gently on the door of Mrs. Ashbury’s room, and opened it a crack.
Mrs. Ashbury was in bed with a wet towel over her forehead. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were closed, but they popped open when she heard the door. She was expecting Henry Ashbury, and was all ready to put on an act. When she saw who it was, she snapped her lids back down again and made up for any false impression I might have had because of her interest in the door by groaning audibly.
Dr. Parkerdale sat at the bedside, wearing his most professional manner, one hand on her pulse, his face grave. A white-clad nurse stood at the foot of the bed. There were bottles and glasses and medical gadgets scattered all over a bedside table. The lights were low. Robert was sitting over by a window. He looked up as I came in, frowned, and raised a finger to his lips.
There was hush in the room — an air of subdued silence which is usually associated with funerals and deathbeds.
I tiptoed over to Bob. “What’s happened?” I asked.
The doctor glanced sharply at me, then back at his patient.
“Her whole nervous system’s been thrown out of co-ordination,” Bob said.
As though the whisper carried to the patient on the bed, she started twitching, making little spasmodic motions with her arms and legs, twisting her facial muscles.
The doctor said, “There, there,” in a soothing voice and nodded to the nurse. The nurse glided around the bed, took the cover from a glass, dipped in a spoon, and held a small towel beneath Mrs. Ashbury’s chin while she tilted the spoon.
Mrs. Ashbury blew out bubbles and spluttered drops of liquid up in the air like a miniature fountain, then swallowed, coughed, choked, caught her breath, and lay still.
Bob said to me, “Where’s Henry? Have you seen him? She keeps calling for him. Bernard Carter telephoned he’d tried every one of the clubs and hadn’t found him.”
I said, “Step in my room a minute where we can talk.”
“I don’t know whether I dare to leave her,” he said, glancing solicitously over toward the bed, but getting up at the same time he started speaking.
We tiptoed out of the room. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw Mrs. Ashbury open her eyes at the sound of the clicking doorknob.