‘Slide it under the door,’ she said.
I squeezed the notebook partially under the door, so that she could see just the edge of the yellow envelope in between the leaves. ‘I can’t make it,’ I said. ‘You have to sign for it. The book won’t go under the door.’
She said, ‘Just a minute, I’ll unlock the door.’
She unlocked the door and opened it a crack, stood staring out at me suspiciously. I kept my face lowered. When she saw my uniform and the telegram in the book, she opened the door six or eight inches. ‘Where do I sign?’ she asked.
‘Right on this line,’ I told her, shoving the book through the door and handing her a pencil.
She was wearing a rose-coloured robe over not very much of anything. I looked through the crack in the open door and could see nothing, so I pushed the door open and walked in.
At first she didn’t get the idea. Then as the light fell on my face, she recognized me. ‘Morgan!’ she cried. ‘Look out! It’s a detective.’
Morgan Birks, attired in a double-breasted gray suit, was lying on the bed, his ankles crossed, a cigarette in his mouth. I walked over to him and said, ‘This is an original summons, Mr. Birks, in the case of Sandra Birks versus Morgan Birks. This is a copy of the summons and a copy of the complaint which I hand you herewith.’
He calmly removed the cigarette from his lips, blew smoke at the ceiling, and said, ‘Pretty smart, aren’t you, buddy?’
Sally Durke came running up behind me, her rose-colored robe trailing out behind her. She had ripped the yellow envelope open and pulled out the fake message. She slammed the book on the floor, tore the telegram in two and flung it at me. ‘You damn double-crossing stool pigeon,’ she said.
‘What else?’ Birks asked me.
‘That’s all.’
‘No warrant of arrest?’
‘No, this is just a civil case.’
‘Okay, buddy. I wish you luck.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘and you might call off your dog. I don’t like’, her bark.’
I turned and started toward the door just as it banged open’ and Sandra Birks came rushing into the room. Behind her came’ Alma Hunter, apparently trying to pull her back. And looming’ behind them, a cigarette in her lips, was the huge form of Bertha Cool.
On the bed, Birks said, ‘Well, well, well!’
Sandra Birks shouted at him, ‘You dirty chiseler. So this is the way you’ve been carrying on is it? This is the little hussy you’ve been squandering your money on. This is the way you treat your marriage vows.’
Birks took the cigarette out of his mouth, yawned and said, ‘Yes, dearest, this is Sally Durke. I’m sorry you don’t like her. Why didn’t you bring your doctor friend along if you wanted to make the party complete?’
Sandra Birks sputtered indignantly. ‘You — you — you—’
Birks raised himself to one elbow. I could see the sharp features, the long, slender body, the tapering fingers of his hands. Light glinted from rich black hair which was combed straight back from a high forehead. ‘Never mind the fireworks, Sandra. You want a divorce, and you don’t want it any worse than I do. Get the hell out of here.’
Sandra Birks said to Bertha Cool, ‘I just want you to see the kind of husband I have. Look what he’s doing. Carrying on up here with a dirty, faded blonde, wandering around without any clothes on.’
She made a grab at the rose-colored robe. Sally Durke clutched it around her. Sandra pulled it up high enough to show bare legs and thighs. Sally Durke kicked at her face and called her a name.
Bertha Cool scooped an arm around Sandra Birks’ waist and pulled her away from the fighting blonde.
‘Thanks,’ Morgan Birks said, still sprawled on the bed. ‘It saves me from popping her one. For God’s sake, Sandra, take a tumble to yourself. You’ve been two-timing me right under my nose.’
‘That’s a lie,’ she said, struggling against Bertha Cool’s big arm.
Alma Hunter ran to Sandra’s side. ‘Come, Sandra,’ she said, ‘don’t argue with him. The papers have been served.’
Morgan Birks leaned over the side of the bed, found the cuspidor, dropped the end of his cigarette in it, and said to Sally Durke, ‘I’m sorry my wife is such a bitch, dearest, but she can’t help it.’
‘If you ask me,’ Sally Durke said, ‘she needs a good beating.’
I said to Bertha Cool, ‘I’ve served the papers. I’m ready to make the affidavit. That’s all I have to bother about,’ and walked out into the corridor.
A moment later, Bertha Cool pushed Sandra Birks out ahead of her into the corridor. She was mumbling soothing words. Behind us, the door slammed and the bolt turned. We walked down to 620 and went in. I said, ‘I didn’t know there was to be a show.’
‘I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to confront him with the proof of his infidelity,’ Sandra Birks said.
The door from the bathroom opened, and Dr. Holoman came into the room. His sleeves were rolled up, his coat was off, and his shirt was spattered with water and bloodstains.
‘What was all the racket about?’ he asked. ‘And did I hear something about a doctor?’
‘I’ll say you did,’ Bertha Cool said. ‘And I don’t think Mrs. Birks’ lawyer would care very much about you being here.’
‘He had to come on account of Bleatie,’ Sandra Birks said. ‘How is he, Archie?’
‘He’s going to be all right,’ Dr. Holoman said, ‘but it’s been touch-and-go. I had the devil of a time stopping that hemorrhage. He got too excited. I’m going to insist that he keep absolutely quiet for at least three days.’ He popped back into the bathroom and closed the door.
Sandra Birks said, ‘He’s a beast. He’s always made those rotten insinuations. I’ve been absolutely true to him. I’ve never so much as looked at another man all the time I’ve been married. He’s even poisoned my own brother’s mind against me.’
I went back in the closet, changed my clothes, and wrapped up the bellboy costume.
She walked over to the door and called out, in a loud voice, ‘Oh, Bleatie, it’s all right. He’s been served.’
I heard Bleatie’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door saying, ‘Shud up. He cad hear.’ Then from the other room, sounding distant and mumbled, but still taunting, came Morgan Birks’ voice, distinctly audible: ‘Bleatie, eh? So I have you to thank for this? I should have known it.’
Bleatie sputtered into noise. ‘You’re crazy, Morgan,’ he yelled in his hay-fever voice. ‘I stuck up for you. I’ve got something in my pocket to give you. Open the door.’ There was silence for a minute or two, then the bathroom door burst open, and Bleatie came storming into the room. He was a mess, with red stains all over his shirt and coat. ‘You fool!’ he cried at Sandra, his voice coming thickly past the bandaged nose. ‘Haven’t you any more sense than to yell at me like that? Didn’t you know he could hear?’
‘I’m sorry, Bleatie.’
‘Sorry, hell!’ he shouted. ‘You never did anything in your life you were sorry for, unless it was something that inconvenienced you. Now that the papers have been served, you don’t give a damn about me. Well, I’ll make it a point to see that you don’t stick Morgan for a lot of alimony.’
He dashed past us, jerked the door to the corridor open and ran around to room 618. He hammered on the door. Then, when there was no answer, said, pleadingly, ‘Morgan, let me in. It’s Bleatie. I want to talk with you. I have something to tell you.’
Bertha Cool finished the last of her drink and smiled benignly at the tense group in the room. After a moment, Sandra Birks moved out into the corridor where she could watch Bleatie standing in front of the door, pleading and knocking.
Bertha Cool said calmly, ‘Come on, Donald. We’re going back to the office.’