It was not until Wednesday morning that Bertha Cool returned to her office.
“Where,” Elsie Brand asked, “have you been?”
Bertha Cool’s sun-bronzed face twisted into a grin. She said, “I’ve been doing the one thing I’m good at.”
“What’s that?”
“Fishing.”
“You mean you were fishing all day yesterday?”
“Yes. I got so damned exasperated I darn near blew up. I decided to hell with it. I was running a blood pressure of about two hundred and eighty. I climbed in my car, drove down to the beach, rented some fishing tackle, and proceeded to enjoy myself. Do you know what happened? It’s an uncanny combination of circumstances, a coincidence that wouldn’t happen once in ten million times.”
“What?” Elsie Brand asked.
“The man who ran into Josephine Dell was drunk. Josephine Dell thought she took his licence number. She didn’t. She got the wrong licence number. She got a couple of figures juggled somewhere, but, as luck would have it, the man whose licence number she did get had also been driving his car, and he was also drunk, so drunk that he didn’t know but what he actually had hit her. Therefore, she’s in the position of being able to collect from two insurance companies, only she hasn’t sense enough to—”
“You’d better read Donald Lam’s letter first, Mrs. Cool.” Elsie Brand said.
“Was there a letter from Donald?”
“He dictated it to me.”
“To you!” Bertha Cool exclaimed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“Here at the office.”
“You mean Donald Lam was here?”
“Yes, he got a thirty-six-hour leave of absence, took a plane down here, and dropped in to see us. My, but he looked swell in his uniform, and he’s really filling out. He’s getting fit, putting on some weight, and looks hard as—”
“Why in hell,” Bertha exclaimed, “didn’t you get in touch with me?”
“I did everything I could, Mrs. Cool. You told me that you were going to Redlands. I told Donald everything that you had told me, and he started out to Redlands after you. I don’t think that you had been gone more than half an hour when Donald came in, and evidently he followed right along behind you. Do you want his letter?”
Bertha snatched the envelope out of Elsie Brand’s hand, started for her private office, turned, and snapped over her shoulder, “I don’t want to be disturbed. No telephone calls. No visitors. No clients. Nothing.”
Elsie Brand nodded.
Bertha, once more seething with indignation, ripped off the end of the sealed envelope, plumped herself down in the chair, and started reading the long letter:
Dear Bertha,
I am very sorry I missed you. I have taken a keen interest in the case from the correspondence, and when I unexpectedly received a thirty-six-hour leave, decided to come down and see what could be done. You weren’t in the office. Elsie said you had gone to Redlands where you thought Josephine Dell was or had been located. I hired a car and drove to Redlands.
Because of certain peculiar circumstances, I had already come to the conclusion that Josephine Dell might be in an out-of-town hospital. The fact that two gifts had been sent to the blind man, one a very tactful gift such as a sympathetic young woman would give to a man in his position with no note accompanying it, and the other a rather tactless gift accompanied by a note, made me think that there might be two Josephine Dells; one the real Josephine Dell, and the other an imposter.
The conversation you had with the manager of the Bluebonnet Apartments should have shown you that the girl you met who was checking out was the one the manager knew as Myrna Jackson. Recall that conversation, remember your visit the night the girl was checking out, and you’ll see the whole thing.
It didn’t take me long once I had arrived in Redlands to find Josephine Dell in the sanitarium. I arrived about forty minutes after you had left. I told Miss Dell who I was, and found her in a very hostile and suspicious frame of mind, but she was willing to talk and answer questions and let me explain.
I think you made your mistake, if you will pardon my saying so, in being a little too greedy. You kept looking at it from your angle. Because you were interested in getting a twenty-five-hundred-dollar cut from the insurance company, you kept thinking of the insurance angle; whereas it was manifestly apparent that this was really a very minor issue.
By being sympathetic and tactful, and convincing Miss Dell that I was trying to right a wrong and clear up an injustice, I was able to get her talking. Once she started talking, the whole solution became apparent.
I first convinced myself that Josephine Dell actually had been employed by Harlow Milbers in his lifetime. I asked her about the occasion when she executed the will as a witness, and she remembered it perfectly. She also remembered that the second witness to the will was not Paul Hanberry at all, but was a man by the name of Dawson who, at that time, had a photographic studio adjoining Harlow Milber’s office. The will was not made at the house at all, but was made at the office.
I got Josephine Dell to sign her name for me. The signature did not in the least agree with the signature of Josephine Dell which was appended to the will.
I had already deduced much of this because I took the precaution of looking up the weather on the twenty-fifth of January 1942 — apparently something you neglected doing. Had you done it, you would have found that it was raining steadily on the twenty-fifth of January. Therefore, Paul Hanberry would hardly have been washing a car in the driveway during a pouring rainstorm.
I also questioned Miss Dell as to the symptoms which accompanied Harlow Milber’s death and. found very definitely that he did complain of cramps in the calves of his legs. Under the circumstances the symptoms are so absolutely typical of arsenic poisoning that it would seem possible to make a very convincing diagnosis for the police.
In short, then, Harlow Milbers was poisoned on Friday morning. He died late Friday afternoon. Josephine Dell, returning home, was struck by an automobile, and had a mild concussion. She called a doctor the next morning when she experienced unusual symptoms. The doctor diagnosed a concussion and suggested she should keep absolutely quiet, preferably that she should go at once to a hospital or a sanitarium. Miss Dell had no money, but she thought that Nettie Cranning might make an advance from the household allowance. She thereupon went to Milber’s residence and explained the circumstances to Nettie Cranning.
That is where Mrs. Cranning showed unusual genius. In place of telephoning to the person who had struck Josephine Dell, she proceeded to get some money. She got some friend of hers to pose as a man named Milbran who claimed to be representing an insurance company which had no actual existence.
By means of this deception, they were able to get Miss Dell out of town into a sanitarium where she would be out of circulation for at least two months. That gave them ample opportunity to go to work on the will. As I suspected, the first page of the will was genuine. The second page was a complete forgery. You will remember that Myrna Jackson had moved in with Josephine Dell about three weeks prior to the accident. At the time there was no sinister purpose in this whatever. However, it is well to remember that Myrna Jackson was a friend of Mrs. Cranning and of her daughter, Eva, of about the same mental and moral calibre.
Following the death of Harlow Milbers, Nettie Cranning discovered the will. She found that the cousin was cut off with ten thousand dollars. In fact the first page of that will is absolutely genuine. It wasn’t until the next day the possibility of changing the will occurred to Mrs. Cranning, Eva Hanberry, and Paul Hanberry. Mrs. Cranning evidently was the one who conceived the idea. By getting rid of Josephine Dell for two months they would be able to substitute a second page of the will, leaving most of the property to themselves. You will remember that I pointed out to you the possibility of this in my telegram. It was only necessary to get someone to take the part of Josephine Dell, get her to sign as a witness on the fraudulent second page of the will, have Paul Hanberry also sign as a witness, forge the signature of Harlow Milbers, and then make some compromise with Christopher Milbers, who was the only other relative, get rid of him, and be sitting pretty. The real Josephine Dell was out of circulation for sixty days. The ‘insurance company’ had promised her a job when she was able to leave the sanitarium. Doubtless that job would have been one which took her to South America or some place where she would never see or hear of Milbers again.
The only fly in the ointment was that the man who had actually hit Josephine Dell and who was intoxicated enough to become obnoxious, was not so intoxicated but what he remembered what had happened after he sobered up. Therefore, he got in touch with his insurance company in a contrite frame of mind, and the insurance company went dashing around trying to square the thing. The accident wasn’t reported to the authorities because the driver of the car was so intoxicated the insurance carrier was afraid to let him report the true facts, including the significant fact that he couldn’t remember the name of the person whom he had knocked down, etc.
When they saw your ad in the paper asking for a witness, they immediately started work on you, using you as their only possible contact with the person who had been injured. But subsequently Jerry Bollman moved in and doubtless would have chiselled you out in the making of a settlement had it not been that the spurious Josephine Dell was afraid to make a settlement with the insurance company, because she was afraid that, at some time during the negotiations, she would have to meet the driver of the car, who would then brand her as an imposter, and thereby ruin the whole scheme.
One of the most significant clues in the entire matter was that Josephine Dell didn’t go near the blind man after she had ‘recovered’. This was a bit of rudeness which bothered the blind man very much indeed. Your friend, Jerry Boll-man, started pumping the blind man. He began to smell a very large and odoriferous rat, and was shrewd enough to put two and two together. Prior to that time, he had been given a very good inkling of what was going on. Remember that he had telephoned the residence of Harlow Milbers and asked if Josephine Dell was working there. You will also remember that he made this call as a total stranger to her. That is very significant because no one was permitted to contact the person who was posing as Josephine Dell who knew her; but when Bollman said he was a stranger to her, he was given an opportunity to meet her. As soon as he did, he knew that she wasn’t the young woman he had seen knocked over; and with a man of Bollman’s temperament, that was all that was necessary to put him off on a hot trail.
What he had found out from the fictitious Josephine Dell and what he was able to worm out of the blind man convinced him of the general nature of the conspiracy. He didn’t go to the blind man’s house in order to get any evidence. He went there for one purpose, to rig up a snare gun which would kill the blind man — because, you see, the blind man was the only other possible witness who could upset the deal. Once this snare gun had been set up, so that Kosling would blunder into it and be killed, everything was all set to enjoy the huge estate. A settlement had already been made with Christopher Milbers who would return to Vermont. (Jerry Bollman, of course, was cutting himself in on the whole deal. That was the masterly part of his trap gun. He would leave the blind man in San Bernardino, go to his house, fix up a snare gun, then go to Nettie Cranning, Eva Hanberry, and Paul Hanberry, and declare himself in on the deal. Remember that there were several hundred thousand dollars involved, and Jerry Bollman was a type who valued money above all else.)
If they refused, he would have the blind man as a witness. If they cut him in, he would show them how he had arranged to get rid of the blind man — because, you see, this blind man had all the elements of the truth. He was going to investigate. He thought Josephine had lost her memory. By the time he’d done a little more thinking, he’d have realized the difference in voices. He’d have made trouble. He had started to confide to Thinwell. He was going to get a doctor and confide in him. It was better for all concerned to have Kosling out of the way, if they wanted to be absolutely safe.
The police made the mistake of thinking that the trap gun had been rigged up by a blind man since there was no attempt whatever to conceal it. The police overlooked the fact that the trap gun was rigged up for a blind man and, therefore, there was no necessity of concealing it. We can only guess what happened when Jerry Bollman met his death, but, in view of your letters and the report you made to Elsie Brand, I think it is quite apparent. Bollman had rigged up the gun, had everything so arranged that the minute any pressure was brought to bear on the fine wire which crossed the door, the gun would be discharged. He then started out. At that time, the tame bat came flying in out of the darkness and lit on Bollman’s shoulder or fluttered against his face. As was only natural, Bollman jumped back, forgetting for the moment the snare gun. What happened was a masterpiece of poetic justice. He jumped right into the wire.
I think this just about covers the case except that I think you will find there is a very strong possibility Josephine Dell was remembered in the genuine will in a very substantial manner. If the last pages of the will have been destroyed, the contents can still be proved by parol evidence, and it is almost certain that out of Nettie Cranning, Eva Hanberry, and Paul Hanberry, at least one will turn state’s evidence in order to get a lighter sentence.
Sergeant Sellers was all wet in fixing the time the trap gun was set as being around three in the afternoon, because the bat was flying around, and that bats only fly at night unless they’ve been disturbed. The shades were all drawn, which made the house pretty dark. Bats fly at dusk. Sergeant Sellers should have known this. Because he didn’t, he got his time element all wrong.
Oh yes, in regard to the death of Harlow Milbers. It is quite obvious that since Nettie Cranning couldn’t have foreseen the accident to Josephine Dell which took place after that death, they would hardly have planned to kill Harlow Milbers, since, in the ordinary course of things, they could not have substituted the last pages of the will. Questioning Miss Dell, I found that Harlow Milbers was quite fond of genuine maple sugar, that his cousin occasionally sent him bits of maple sugar from his Vermont farm, that on the morning in question, a small package of maple sugar had been received in the mail, and Harlow Milbers had eaten most of it. But there was still a small piece left in his desk drawer. I feel quite certain that an analysis of this piece will show that Christopher Milbers had attempted to realize on an inheritance by speeding the demise of his crotchety cousin.
Because you weren’t available, I turned the facts over to Sergeant Sellers, giving him an opportunity to solve two murder mysteries so that there would be quite a feather in his cap. To say that the sergeant was elated was putting it mildly.
And, oh yes, I almost forgot. Josephine Dell was very grateful indeed. She executed a power of attorney to the firm, giving us half of whatever we are able to get from the insurance company, and also agreeing to pay us ten per cent of any amounts which she might receive under the will of Harlow Milbers in the event we are able to prove the real contents of that will.
I think this covers everything. You will find the assignments enclosed herewith in due form. I have drawn them myself so as to make certain of their legality. No one seems to know just where you are. I am going to wait until the last possible minute before taking a plane back to San Francisco. It is necessary that I be at the Mare Island Navy Yard promptly on time. You understand that we are at war, and that discipline must be maintained. While I can’t mention it publicly and have nothing official to go on, I have reason to believe we are about to start out on what will doubtless prove a very unwelcome little surprise party for our enemies.
I am indeed sorry I missed seeing you, but Elsie will type this out, and I think you will find that you can count on the co-operation of Sergeant Sellers.
Bertha Cool laid the letter down on the desk, fished in the envelope, and brought out the assignments duly executed by Josephine Dell and witnessed by two nurses in the sanitarium.
“Fry me for an oyster,” Bertha Cool said.
She reached for a cigarette, but her trembling hands fumbled with the lid of the office humidor.
Bertha heard a commotion in the outer office; then the door burst open. She heard Sergeant Sellers’s booming voice saying, “Nonsense, Elsie. Of course, she’ll see me. My God, after what she’s done for me, I feel like a partner in the firm.”
Sergeant Sellers stood in the doorway, a vast hulk of beaming amiability.
“Bertha,” he said, “I want to apologize to you. I got a little rough with you, and then, by God, you make me feel like a heel. You heap coals of fire on my head. You give me a chance to crack the two biggest murder cases of my entire career, and you and that nervy little partner of yours step aside so that I can take the credit. I just want to shake hands with you.”
Sergeant Sellers came barging across the office, his hand outstretched.
Bertha got to her feet, gripped Sergeant Seller’s hand.
“Things work out all right?” she asked.
“Just exactly as you and Donald blocked them out for me. Bertha, if there’s ever anything you want from the police department, anything that I can do for you, all you’ve got to do is to say so. I think you understand that. I–I—dammit, come here.”
Sergeant Sellers threw a big arm around Bertha Cool’s massive shoulders, tilted her chin with his big ham-like hand, and kissed her on the mouth.
“There,” he said, releasing her. “That’s the way I feel.”
Bertha Cool dropped weakly into a chair.
“Can me for a sardine,” she said weakly. “I’m just a poor fish.”