Chapter 8
The taxi driver turned into the eight hundred block on Willoughby Drive. Mrs. Cool said, ‘Go down to 907, but don’t stop. Drive past slowly and let us look it over.’
The driver asked no questions. Fares who send a cab prowling around at that hour of the morning are apt to make peculiar requests, and a cab driver gets his tips by saving his arguments until he gets home to his wife.
‘Take a look at it, Donald,’ she said, as the driver indicated the house on the corner.
I studied the driveway leading into the garage, figured the general layout of the house, and said, ‘That could be it.’
‘You’re not certain.’
‘No.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s a hell of a chance, but we’ll give it a try. Swing around to the curb, driver, and stop at that house across the street — the one on the corner.’
The cab driver swung the car to a stop. ‘Want me to wait?’ he asked.
‘Yes, wait,’ she said.
I held the door open. She pulled the springs far over as she stepped to the ground, disdaining our assistance. The driver stood and watched us go up the cement walk toward the dark, silent house. I groped for the bell button, found it, and leaned against it. Inside the house, I could hear the jingling of the bell.
‘Do I do the talking, or do you?’ I asked.
‘If it’s the right party,’ she said, ‘tip me off. Let me go on from there.’
‘All right,’ I said, ‘but if someone I’ve never seen before comes to the door, we’ll have to get in the house before I can be certain.’
‘All right. Tell them I’m sick, and you want to come in and telephone for a doctor — you’ve seen the room where the telephone’s located, haven’t you?’
‘One of the phones, at any rate.’
‘All right. That’s all we need — don’t keep that thing going so steadily, Donald. Take it easy. Let up, and ring again after a minute or two.’
I could hear someone moving around on the upper floor. A window raised, and a masculine voice said, ‘Who is it?’
‘It sounds like the chief’s voice,’ I whispered.
Bertha Cool raised her voice and said, ‘I have an important message to deliver here.’
‘Put it under the door.’
‘It isn’t that kind of a message.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’ll give you the name when you come down,’ she said.
For a second or two the man seemed undecided, then he slammed the window down. A light clicked on, and the window blazed into an oblong of brilliance that was subdued as the shade was pulled A second or two later I heard steps on the stairs.
‘Move over to one side, Donald,’ she said. ‘Let me stand in front of the door.’
The porch light clicked on, flooded us with brilliance. Bertha Cool stood squarely in front of the oval plate glass window in the front door. The steps had ceased now, and I had the impression that someone was looking through the window, sizing her up.
After a moment, the door opened a crack, and the man said, ‘What is it?’
I stepped back and around so I could see him. It was the chief. He was wearing light silk pajamas and slippers, with no robe.
I said, ‘Hello, chief.’
He stiffened for a minute into ominous, tense immobility. Then his fat, blubbery lips twisted into a smile. He said, ‘Well, well, well, it’s Lam! I hadn’t expected to see you so soon, Lam. I hadn’t expected you’d find your way back so quickly. And who’s your friend?’
‘Bertha Cool,’ I said, ‘head of the Cool Detective Agency.’
‘Well, well, well,’ the chief beamed. ‘This is indeed a pleasure, and I want to congratulate you — er — er — is it Miss or Mrs.?’
‘Mrs.,’ she said. ‘Mrs. Bertha Cool.’
‘It’s indeed a pleasure.’ He bowed. ‘And you’re to be congratulated on having a man so quick-witted and courageous as Lam working for you. He’s a bit of all right, that boy! A most observing disposition; and I can personally vouch for his courage. Do come in.’
He stood to one side. I hesitated, but Mrs. Cool sailed past me through the door and into the reception hall. I followed her. The chief slammed the door shut, and shot a bolt into place. ‘So you found your way back. Lam?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll have to speak to Fred about that. I will indeed. That was rather a faux pas on his part, letting you get the address. Would you mind telling me just how you did it, Mr. Lam?’
Bertha Cool answered the question. ‘Yes, he would,’ she said.
‘Well, well, well, no hard feelings,’ the chief said. ‘Won’t you come in and sit down — sorry I can’t offer you a drink.’
He switched on lights in the living room and we went in and sat down.
A woman’s voice from the head of the stairs called down, ‘Who is it, dear?’
‘Come down, m’love. Slip on something and come down. We have a couple of visitors. You know one, and I’m quite anxious to have you meet the other.’
He beamed across at Mrs. Cool, and said, ‘Always like to have the little woman in our conferences. You know how it is. I believe marriage is a partnership, and two heads are always better than one. Whenever the situation becomes just a little delicate, I always call in the little woman.’
I heard a door slam up above, and then the stairs began to creak. We followed the creak down until the tall woman came silently into the room, walking on the felt soles of bedroom slippers.
She didn’t pay any attention to me. Her eyes were fixed on Bertha Cool’s.
I got up when she came in. The chief didn’t. I said, ‘Mrs. Cunweather — is that the name?’
The fat man hastened to say, ‘It will do just as well as any, Lam, my boy. After all, what’s in a name? Yes, yes, let it be Cunweather by all means. Mrs. Cunweather, my wife, Mrs. Cool. I want you two to be friends.’
The tall, big woman looked down at the chunky one. Mrs. Cunweather said, ‘How do you do, Mrs. Cool?’ And Mrs. Cool said, ‘Howdy do. I hope you don’t stand on formality — I don’t.’
Mrs. Cunweather sat down. Her eyes were cautious-watchful.
The chief said, ‘Precisely what do you want, Mrs. Cool?’
‘Money,’ Bertha Cool said.
His face broke into blubbery smiles. ‘Well, well, well, Mrs. Cool. That’s being direct! That’s a woman after my own heart. I’ve always said that I like plain, straightforward business where there’s no beating about the bush, haven’t I, m’love?’
He didn’t turn toward his wife as he spoke. Evidently, he expected no reply from her, and she made none.
Mrs. Cool said, ‘I thought we’d talk terms.’
‘Now, don’t get me wrong,’ the fat man said. ‘I don’t know what Mr. Lam has told you, but if he insinuates that he received other than the most courteous treatment at my hands, he—’
‘Nuts,’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘We’re not wasting time over that. You beat him up — it’s good for him — toughen him up some. Beat him up again if you want to, only don’t leave him so he can’t go to work at eight-thirty in the morning. I don’t give a damn how he spends his evenings.’
The chief broke into laughter. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, ‘if you aren’t a quaint, original woman — that is, if you don’t mind my saying so. That’s being delightfully frank. Now tell me, just what was it you had in mind, Mrs. Cool?’
‘You want to know about Morgan Birks. I might be able to tell you something.’
‘Well, well, well, that’s nice of you, Mrs. Cool. We certainly appreciate that, my wife and I. And it was nice of you to drive out here early in the morning and tell us. After all, you know, sometimes seconds are important in this business, and we hate to lose them. Now precisely what was it you had to offer, Mrs. Cool?’