Cats Prowl at Night

20 Bertha in a Bind

Everett Belder was waiting in the office when Bertha got back. He jumped up as she opened the door from the corridor. He was talking before Bertha Cool had got her eyes into hard focus on him. “Mrs. Cool, I want to apologize. I want to make you the most abject apology I know how to make.”

Bertha stood just inside the doorway, her eyes impaling him with a wordless accusation.

“I just didn’t know when I had good service,” Belder rushed on. “Now I’m in the most terrible predicament. Mrs. Cool, I want to talk with you.”

Bertha hesitated.

Belder, good salesman that he was, launched into the only argument which could possibly move her. “I don’t care what I have to pay,” he said. “I’ll pay anything.”

Bertha started for the door of the inner office, “Come in.”

Elsie Brand asked, “Is there anything else, Mrs. Cool?”

Bertha looked at her watch, said with some surprise, “That’s right, it’s Saturday afternoon. No, Elsie, I guess that’s all.” She turned to Belder, “Come in.”

Belder, entering the office, dropped wearily into a chair.

“What are your troubles?” Bertha asked.

“The bottom’s dropped out.”

“How so?”

“I’m going to be accused of murder.”

“Have they got any case?”

“Have they got any case!” Belder exclaimed sarcastically. “With my mother-in-law and sweet little Carlotta searching their minds to dig up every fact they can possibly recollect — every single solitary thing that will put me in bad. Well, you can see my position.”

Bertha simply sat there, saying nothing.

“And,” Belder went on, “there’s that mysterious third letter Sergeant Sellers got. I’ve simply got to know what’s in there.”

“Why?”

“Because it accuses me of intimacy with some other woman.”

“Well?”

Belder was silent for a moment, then suddenly blurted out, “I’ve got to know what woman it was.”

“Like that, eh?” Bertha asked.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Cool.”

“I don’t think I did.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“How did you mean it?”

“Well — I— Well, I just wanted to know what I’m accused of, that’s all.”

Bertha thoughtfully lit a cigarette. “Anything else?”

“Anything else! Isn’t that enough?”

Bertha didn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” Belder went on, “they’re accusing me of having burnt up my wife’s will. Good Lord, I never even thought about a thing like that. When I put all my property in my wife’s name, she made a will leaving everything to me. Now they’re saying she left a new will. That’s news to me. The fact she might have made a new will never even entered my head. I supposed, of course, her will left everything to me.”

“That’s bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gives you a motive for murdering her.”

There was exasperation on Belder’s face. “That’s the way they put a man on the spot. If I knew about that other will, I’m supposed to have burnt it. If I didn’t, I’m supposed to have killed Mabel to get the property.”

Bertha said, “Or you might have killed her to get the property, then found the new will and burned it up.”

“That’s exactly what they say I did.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not!”

“How about this judgment Nunnely has against you? What’s happened to that?”

“That’s why I owe you an apology, Mrs. Cool. If I’d left it in your hands we could have had that settled, but I had to get temperamental and put it in the hands of a lawyer.”

“What happened?”

“Everything happened. The lawyer got in touch with Nunnely, made an appointment for Nunnely to come to his office this morning. Last night after Mabel’s body was discovered, I tried and tried to get in touch with this lawyer. I couldn’t do it. His home reported that he was out of town. I learned afterward that that was what he had told the maid to tell anyone who called up, because his wife was giving a bridge party and he didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“And this morning?” Bertha asked.

“This morning we met in the lawyer’s office. Nunnely had a morning paper under his arm, but he hadn’t read it — hadn’t opened it, even. I was trembling with anxiety to get the thing over with. The lawyer fooled around with so darned many technicalities in getting the release worded just right that Nunnely finally sat back in his chair, lit a cigarette, and opened the newspaper. I tried to signal that damned fool lawyer, but he was looking up some law on the subject of releases, trying to find out just how to ‘protect my interests.’ ”

“What happened?” Bertha asked, her eyes showing interest.

“Nunnely glanced through the war news on the first page, turned to the second page, and the headlines about Mabel hit him in the face.”

“What did he do?”

“He did exactly what you’d expect him to do. He got to his feet, smiling rather patronizingly at the lawyer, and told him not to bother making out the release; that on second thought he’d decided he would settle only for the full amount of the judgment, together with interest and court costs. It was a cinch. With Mabel’s death, he knew I’d inherit the property, and all he had to do was to grab that property out of the estate.”

“That’s tough,” Bertha said.

“I lost about nineteen thousand dollars right then. Perhaps more by the time the interest is all figured.”

“Tough luck,” Bertha said without sympathy. She opened her desk drawer, her eyes on Belder’s face, took out the spectacle case she had taken from Belder’s overcoat pocket, and placed it over on the far side of the desk where it was directly under Belder’s eyes.

Apparently Belder gave no heed to what she was doing.

“Look here, Mrs. Cool, I need you, I need your aggressive, dominant personality. I need your brains, your general competency. Now—”

Knuckles pounded on the closed door.

“Good Lord,” Bertha said, “I forgot to tell Elsie to lock the door. She’s gone home and some client has—”

“Tell him you’re busy. Tell him you can’t be disturbed,” Belder said. “Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Cool. I want to hire you and this time I’ve got the money. I’m willing to pay you anything—”

Bertha got up from her creaky swivel chair, walked over and said, through the closed door, “I’m busy. The office is closed. It’s Saturday afternoon. I can’t see anyone to-day.”

The knob twisted. The door pushed open. “Oh, is that so,” Sergeant Sellers said.

Bertha flung her weight against the door. “Get out of here and stay out.”

But Sergeant Sellers had glimpsed Everett Belder’s frightened face through the crack in the open door. He said, “That’s different, Bertha. I’m coming in.”

Bertha said grimly, “The hell you are,” and set her weight against the door.

Sergeant Sellers, on the other side of the door, exerted pressure. Slowly Bertha was pushed back.

“Come on and help me,” she panted to Belder.

Belder made no move, but sat there, apparently paralyzed with fear.

Sergeant Sellers pushed the door open.

“You can’t come into my private office this way,” Bertha blazed.

“I know it, Bertha,” he said placatingly, “but now that I’m in here, I can’t go away without taking your client with me.”

“Well, you just get the hell out of here,” Bertha stormed. “I’m talking business with this man. I have a right to conclude my business transaction. You can wait out in the corridor. You—”

“Sorry, Bertha,” Sellers said, “but I’m not waiting anywhere. I have a warrant for the arrest of Everett Belder on the charge of first-degree murder.”

Belder tried to get up out of the chair. His knees refused to function. He made a moaning noise which was almost a groan.

Bertha said angrily, “Well, get out of here for five minutes, anyway. Belder is — he wants to employ me. I want to get the financial end of it straightened out.”

Sellers didn’t move.

“Just five minutes,” Bertha pleaded. “Surely I’m entitled to that. I’m entitled to be paid for what I’m doing.”

Sellers grinned at Bertha Cool. “Okay, Bertha. You’ve been a good sport. You—” His eye fell on the spectacle case on Bertha’s desk.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously.

Bertha made the mistake of grabbing for it. Sergeant Sellers’ big hand clamped down on her wrists. He took the spectacle case from her fingers.

In a frenzy of rage and consternation, Bertha Cool came around the desk at him, but before she could reach him Sellers had the spectacle case open.

The removable bridge gleamed white and gold against the spectacle case.

“I’ll be damned!” Sergeant Sellers said softly, almost in a whisper.

Belder, staring at the spectacle case, screamed, “By God, you can’t do that to me! I’m being framed! I knew that Mrs. Goldring and Carlotta had been to see her, but I didn’t know she’d give me that kind of double-cross. I tell you I don’t know anything about that.”

“I,” Sellers announced again, in a solemn tone, “will be doubly damned.” He looked up at Bertha. “Where did this come from, Bertha?”

Bertha started to say something, then changed her mind and clamped her lips tightly together.

“Go on,” Sellers said.

Bertha said, “You give me that five minutes and then I’ll talk.”

Sellers’s grin was cold and mirthless. “Not now you don’t get any five minutes, Bertha. You’re finished.”

“And don’t leave me alone with her for a minute,” Belder all but screamed. “The dirty double-crosser. She’s framing me.”

Sellers walked over to Bertha Cool’s telephone, dialled Police Headquarters, said into the telephone, “Sergeant Sellers. I’m at the offices of Cool & Lam, Private Detectives. Everett Belder is here. I’m taking him into custody. Bertha Cool is here. I’m not taking her into custody — yet. I’m going to take Belder down to headquarters. When I come back I want to talk with Bertha Cool. Rush a man over here to stay with her until I get back. I want to be sure she’s here to answer questions when I get ready to ask them.”

Sellers dropped the receiver back into place. His hand moved back to his belt, brought out jangling handcuffs.

Belder said in dismay, “You mean you are going to use those?”

Sellers wasn’t grinning now. “You’re damned right,” he said. “And if you think you’re better than any other murderer, I don’t.”