I said, “When the police found her body in the apartment, they found she’d been on an all-night party and was sleeping late. The newspaper was under the door. That means she hadn’t got up. There were cigarette stubs and an ash tray by the bed. One of them had lipstick on it. One of them didn’t.
“Evaline slept with a package of cigarettes and matches by the bed. She always had a cigarette first thing after she woke up. I know that.
“Now then, I figure someone went to see Evaline. It was someone she knew. She sat down on the bed, and they talked. The talk didn’t go to suit this man, and he slipped a loop over her neck — and I think you know who that man was.”
“Sure, I do,” she said. “It was Dr. Alftmont. He’d traced her — probably through that claim she’d made to the railroad company. He went down to see her. He was willing to be reasonable with her, but he found out she was just a tool, that there were bigger game afoot. He couldn’t buy her off, so he croaked her. Now then, you can either get the hell out of here, or I’ll call the cops, and I mean it.”
I said to Bertha, with a surreptitious wink, “Well, the police are working on that package of cigarettes and on the cigarette stubs, using that new iodine process for developing fingerprints. Don’t kid yourself. They’re going to get the prints of the man who called on Evaline. Won’t it be too bad if those are the prints of Sergeant Harbet of the Santa Carlotta police force, and won’t it be funny if Harbet drags Flo Danzer into the picture.”
“Don’t be silly,” Flo Danzer said, “How’s he going to drag me into the picture? I’ll stand up on my two feet and admit everything I did — I went to Oakview and said I was Mrs. Lintig — so what? Maybe I intended to work some blackmail on Dr. Lintig. Maybe I didn’t. I haven’t asked anyone for five cents in cash. And don’t kid yourself John Harbet is ever going to get dragged into this thing. Dr. Alftmont is the one who’s holding the bag on this rap. He lost his head and killed Evaline.”
I nodded to Bertha, got up, and started over towards the door.
“Come on, Bertha,” I said.
She hesitated.
“Come on. We’re going down to the district attorney’s office and put the cards on the table. We’re going to get a warrant for Flo Danzer and John Harbet on criminal conspiracy. We can prove the conspiracy, and her going to Oakview and registering as Mrs. Lintig was an overt act. She isn’t in the clear. She only thinks she’s in the clear.”
Bertha said, “Now listen. I—”
I raised my voice. “Come on,” I said. “Do as I say.”
I flung the corridor door open.
Getting Bertha Cool out of that room was like pulling a bristling dog away from another dog who’s trying to pick a fight. Bertha Cool finally came out into the corridor, but she didn’t want to come. She was mad clean through. She didn’t like the way I was playing the game, and she wanted to stay and have it out with Flo Danzer.
Flo Danzer didn’t say anything. She’d got control of her face now, and it was set in an expression of tight-lipped hostility.
Out in the hallway, Bertha said, “My God, Donald, what’s the matter with you? You’ve called the turn on her, and she’s just about ready to cave.”
I said, “No, she isn’t. You two women will start fighting. We haven’t enough cards to call for a showdown.”
“Why haven’t we?”
“Because we can’t prove anything. All we can do is bluff. Remember, the object of this visit was to make her call Harbet. She’ll call him now. What she’ll say over the telephone will make that switchboard operator’s hair stand right up on end. She’ll be listening in on that conversation. By the time we know what’s said over the telephone, we’ll be ready to call for a showdown. Then we’ll have some proof. Now, we’re just running a bluff.”
We went down in the elevator. I paused at the switchboard to say, “Thank you very much,” and added in a lower voice, “I’ll ring you in fifteen minutes.”
Bertha Cool paused at the clerk’s desk to flash her diamonds. “You have very lovely apartments,” she said, with that gracious smile of hers, and the clerk came out from behind the shell of icy reserve to smile all over his face. “In case you’re interested,” he said, “we have one or two choice vacancies.”
“Perhaps a little later,” Bertha Cool said, nodding with just the right amount of condescension, and sailing majestically out of the door, which I deferentially held open. She looked for all the world like Mrs. Million-bucks taking her pet diamonds out for an airing.
I indicated the agency car. Bertha Cool said, “To hell with that bunch of junk. He may be looking out of the door. We’ll get a taxi.”
“We won’t find one cruising along here,” I said.
“We’ll stop at a drugstore and telephone.”
I said, “Let’s go up and see Marian,” and then watched Bertha Cool’s face out of the corner of my eye.
She said, “No, lover, we can’t go see Marian.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll explain to you later. You haven’t seen the morning papers.”
I said, “No, I’ve been on the job all night.”
“I know, Donald. Now listen, we can’t go to the office. We can’t go to your place. We can’t go to Marian’s place. I’ll telephone for a taxi. You go back and tell the relief operators to telephone reports in to me at the Westmount Hotel. We’ll go there.”
I said, “What’s in the morning papers? I’d better buy one.”
“Not now, lover,” she said. “Just keep your mind on this.”
I said, “All right. You get the cab and pick me up.”
I walked back to the operatives on duty and told them to report to Bertha at the Westmount Hotel, and, in case there was no answer there, to ring the agency and report to Miss Brand.
I was half-way back to the drugstore when Bertha showed up with a taxi. I climbed in, and we drove to the Westmount Hotel in silence. Bertha had a morning paper clamped under her arm, but she wouldn’t let me see it.
Chapter Thirteen
We registered as Mrs. Cool and Donald Cool. Bertha said, “My nephew and I would like two rooms with a connecting bath. I’m expecting some telephone calls. Please be certain they’re handled without delay. Our baggage will come later.”
She flashed her diamonds again, and the gang in the hotel fell all over itself giving us service.
In the rooms, I waited until the bellboy had left and then put through a call for the Key West Apartments. When I heard Frieda Tarbing’s voice on the line, I said, “Call Bertha Cool at the Westmount Hotel for any tip-off. We’re in six-twenty-one. Better make a note of the number.”
“Very well,” she said. “There’s nothing at present. I’ll call you back.”
I said, “Are you always as good-natured when you’re pulled out of a deep sleep?”
“Was I good-natured?” she asked.
“Yes. Mrs. Cool said you were one woman in a million, that I’d better lay siege to your heart and marry you before some other guy grabbed you off.”
Her laugh was melodious. “There’s merit to the idea,” she said.
“I thought so,” I told her.
Suddenly her voice changed to that of impersonal efficiency. “I have the message. I’ll see that it’s delivered,” she said. “Thank you.”
I hung up, and Bertha Cool, sprawled out in the overstuffed chair with her shoes kicked off and her stockinged feet elevated to another chair, looked at me and shook her head. “It’s a gift,” she said.
“What is?”
“Making women fall for you.”