‘Plenty of them. We take turns listening at the bathroom. When we hear a man come in, I go around to their room. If it’s Morgan Birks, I serve the papers on him.’
‘You’ll recognize him from his photographs?’ Sandra Birks asked.
‘Yes, I’ve studied them carefully.’
‘How are you going to get in?’ Bleatie asked me.
‘I’m going to ring the room, tell them it’s the office talking, that there’s a telegram for Mr. B. F. Morgan, and ask if I shall send it up.’
‘That’s an old dodge. They’ll get suspicious, and tell you to slip it under the door.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll have the telegram and a registration book. I won’t be able to get the book under the door. I’ll try. The telegram will be real.’
‘They’ll open the door a crack, see you, and slam it shut.’
‘Not when they see me, they won’t,’ I said. ‘I’m going out and collect the stage properties. You stay here and hold the fort. Don’t get excited if Morgan comes in. I’ll be back inside of half an hour. He’s certain to stay at least that long. Remember, she’s brought an overnight bag.’
‘I don’t like it,’ Bleatie said. ‘It sounds crude and—’
‘Everything sounds crude when you outline it in cold conversation,’ I said. ‘It’s the build-up. Look at all the bunco games which are pulled by the slickers. You read about them in the newspapers, and they seem so crude you can’t imagine anyone falling for them. Yet people fall for them three hundred and sixty-five days out of the year just like clockwork. It’s the buildup.’
‘Nevertheless, I still think it’s crude. I—’
I didn’t see any sense debating it with him. I slipped out of the door and into the corridor, leaving him to explain to the others how crude it was.
Chapter 6
I was gone about an hour. When I came back, I had a bellboy’s uniform which I’d rented from a costume house, a telegram I’d sent myself, under the name of B. F. Morgan, and a notebook with ruled pages, half a dozen of which had been scrawled with signatures that I’d faked with pencil and pen.
I tapped gently on the door of my room in the hotel.
Alma Hunter opened it.
Looking past the open door, I saw Bertha Cool squeezed into the big, overstuffed chair, filling it to overflowing. A bottle of Scotch, some ice, and a siphon of soda were on the table beside her. She was sipping from a tall glass. Sandra Birks came gliding toward me, like some supple shadow. ‘Oh you bungler!’ she said. ‘You’ve ruined things.’
‘Why the bouquets?’ I asked, my eye drifting past her to rest apprehensively on the head of the Cool Detective Agency.
‘For God’s sake, close the door,’ Bertha Cool said to Sandra. ‘If you want to bellyache, go ahead and do it, but don’t advertise your troubles to the hotel. Come on in, Donald.’
I walked in and Alma Hunter closed the door. I couldn’t see Bleatie anywhere. The bathroom door was closed. I could hear voices coming from behind the door.
‘What’s the trouble?’ I asked.
‘You went away and didn’t tell anyone where you were going,’ Sandra Birks said. ‘You had that original summons and the copy for service, and Morgan has been in there for an hour. He came in just a few minutes after you left. Of all the dumb, bonehead tricks—’
‘Where is he now?’ I asked.
‘He’s still there — I hope.’
‘Where’s your brother?’
‘He had a hemorrhage. His broken nose started to bleed back into his mouth, and I telephoned for the doctor. It may be serious. He and the doctor are in the bathroom.’
Bertha Cool said, ‘You evidently started something, Donald. Mrs. Birks telephoned me to try and find where you were. Why don’t you keep in touch with the office?’
‘Because you told me you didn’t want reports. You wanted the papers served,’ I said. ‘If I’m let alone long enough, I’ll serve them. I’m sorry you were disturbed. It’s what I get for trying to be polite and letting Mrs. Birks know what is going on. I wasn’t in favor of her and her brother coming up here in the first place.’
‘That’s all nonsense,’ Sandra Birks said coldly. ‘You’re trying to dodge responsibility by putting the blame on us.’
‘I’m not putting the blame on anyone,’ I said. ‘If your brother’s having a hemorrhage in the bathroom, I’m going to change into this bellboy suit in the closet. I suggest you try keeping your back turned.’
Sandra Birks said, ‘The papers. We want those papers. My God, we’ve been telephoning frantically—’
‘Keep your shirt on,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to serve these papers, and I’m going to. Do you know that it’s Morgan in there?’
‘Yes, you can hear his voice through the bathroom door.’
I glanced across at Bertha Cool. ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked.
‘About ten minutes,’ she said. ‘My God, you’d have thought the place was on fire, the way they’ve been burning up the wire. If Morgan Birks gets away from you, Donald, I’m going to be very angry about it.’
I didn’t say anything. I went in the closet, unwrapped the costume, got out of my clothes, and put on my bellboy’s uniform. There was no light in the closet so I left the door ajar to see to make the change. Through the open door, I could hear what was taking place in the other room. I heard Alma Hunter say, ‘I think you’re unjust, Sandra. He had to use his best judgment, didn’t he?’
Sandra said, ‘His best judgment wasn’t good enough, that’s all,’ and then I heard the glug-glug-glug-glug of whisky being poured from a bottle which was almost full, the hiss of siphon water and Bertha Cool’s calm voice saying, ‘After all, Mrs. Birks, he let you in on this. If he hadn’t telephoned you, you wouldn’t have known a damn thing about it. We’re hired to serve papers. If Morgan Birks has left and Donald can’t serve the papers, then it’s a horse on me. If Morgan Birks is still there and Donald serves the papers, you’re going to be charged for getting me to drop everything else and come rushing out here as fast as a cab could bring me.’
Sandra Birks said, ‘Well, if you want to know the truth, I think my attorney made a mistake in recommending you. I’m sorry that I ever came to your agency.’
‘Yes,’ Mrs. Cool said in the voice of a perfect lady discussing the latest novel, ‘it is regrettable, isn’t it, dearie?’
I came out of the closet, buttoning up the bellboy’s coat around my neck. I took the yellow envelope with the telegram and the notebook, walked over to the telephone, and said to the operator, ‘Ring 618, please.’ A moment later, when I heard a woman’s voice on the line, I said, ‘There’s a telegram for Mrs. B. F. Morgan.’
‘I’m not expecting any telegram,’ she said. ‘No one knows I’m here.’
‘Yes, Mrs. Morgan. This telegram has a very peculiar address. It reads: “Mrs. B. F. Morgan, Perkins Hotel, or deliver to Sally Durke.” Now, we have no Durke registered here.’
‘Well, I’m certain I don’t know what it’s about,’ she said, but her voice was a little less positive than it had been.
‘I’ll send it up,’ I said, ‘and you can look at it. Open it if you want to and see if the message is for you — you have a right to do that, you know. Boy, oh boy! Telegram to 618. I hung up.’
Bertha Cool dropped more ice into her glass, and said, ‘Better make it snappy, Donald, she’ll call the office to verify the information.’
I tucked the book under my arm, unlocked the door, and stepped out into the corridor. The three of them stood looking after me. I walked down to 618 and tapped on the door.
I could hear a woman’s voice talking over the telephone, and said, ‘Telegram.’
The woman’s voice quit talking. Then I heard her on the other side of the door.