Bats Fly at Dusk

Chapter V

Elsie Brand was back within thirty minutes. “Get him?” Bertha Cool asked.

Elsie Brand shook her head. A frown of annoyance crossed Bertha Cool’s forehead. “Why not?”

“Because,” Elsie Brand said, “I’m not Donald Lam. I’m not a detective; I’m a stenographer. What’s more, I think he was wise to me all the way.”

“What did he do?”

“Walked down to the corner, stopped in front of the blind man who’s our client, and dropped silver dollars into the cup — five of them.”

“Bowed his head every time a dollar hit the tin cup, and said, ‘Thank you, brother.’ He said it five times, very seriously and with considerable dignity.”

“And then?” Bertha asked.

“Then he crossed the street, started walking very fast. I stretched my legs, trying to keep up with him. He kept going until he caught a signal just as it was changing. Then he scooted across the street. I tried to follow him. The cop pushed me back, gave me a bawling out. A streetcar came along, and my man was gone.”

Bertha Cool said, “You should have gone after the street-car and—”

“Wait a minute,” Elsie Brand interrupted. “A taxi-cab was standing halfway down the block. I made frantic signals, and the driver came up. I climbed aboard and had the cab driver pass the streetcar three times. Every time we went past, I studied the passengers. I couldn’t see our man on the streetcar, so then I had the cab driver take me ahead of the street-car for two blocks and stop. I paid him off and caught the streetcar as it came along. Our man wasn’t aboard.”

Bertha said, with deep feeling. “Fry me for an oyster.”