Cats Prowl at Night

1 A Devilish Predicament

Bertha Cool heaved her hundred and sixty-five pounds up out of the swivel chair and, walking round her desk, jerked open the door of her private office.

The sound of Elsie Brand’s typewriter came clattering through the door. Bertha Cool stood in the doorway waiting for Elsie to look up from her work.

Elsie Brand finished the letter with a crescendo of speed, ripped the paper off the platen, laid it to one side, swooped down to the lower drawer of the desk for an envelope to address, then saw Bertha Cool in the doorway.

“Was there something you wanted, Mrs. Cool?”

“What are you writing?”

“Those letters to the lawyers.”

“Quit it.”

“Do you mean no more letters?”

“That’s right. No more letters.”

“Why I–I thought—”

“I know you did,” Bertha Cool said, “and so did I. That’s where we made a mistake. Those lawyers are counsel of record in personal injury cases. I thought we could write to solicit business — that there might be a missing witness or something.” Elsie Brand said, “But why not? I think it’s a splendid idea. It gives you a chance to contact future clients who are in the big money, and—”

“That’s just it,” Bertha interrupted. “I’m tired of big money. Not the money,” she added hastily, “but the strain and excitement that goes with that high-pressure stuff.

“I never used to get those big cases. I ran a quiet, cosy little detective agency specializing in the type of work other agencies wouldn’t take. Mostly divorce stuff. Then Donald Lam walked into the office, got me to give him a job, and weaseled his way into a partnership... It wasn’t thirty minutes after he’d started working here before the whole business changed. My income went up and my blood-pressure went up with it. At the end of the year, the government is going to take away fifty per cent of the income, but nobody’s going to take away half of the blood-pressure... The hell with it. Now Donald’s in the Navy, I’m going to run the business my own way.”

Bertha glowered belligerently at Elsie Brand as though expecting an argument.

Elsie Brand silently opened a drawer in the desk, dropped the list of lawyers Bertha had culled from the court records into the drawer, scooped up a pile of letters some two inches thick, and said, “How about the letters I’ve already written? Do you want to send them?”

Bertha said, “Tear ’em up, throw ’em in the waste-basket... No, wait a minute. Damn it, it’s cost me money to have those letters written — stationery, time, wear-and-tear on the typewriter... All right, Elsie, we’ll use them. Bring ’em in and I’ll sign ‘em — but we won’t send out any more.”

Bertha turned, stalked back into her private office, plumped her heavily muscled, competent frame down into the swivel chair, and cleared away a place in front of her on the blotter so she could sign the letters Elsie Brand brought in.

Elsie laid the letters down on the desk, stood beside Mrs. Cool, blotting each letter as Bertha Cool signed it. Bending methodically back and forth, watching the open door, she said suddenly, “A man just came into the entrance-room.”

“What’s he like?” Bertha asked. “Damn it, I’ve spoiled that one. I can’t talk and write at the same time.”

Elsie said, “Shall I see what he wants?”

“Yes. Close the door.”

Elsie closed the door behind her as she entered the reception-room. Bertha Cool resumed signing the letters, blotting the signatures carefully, glancing up at intervals toward the door which opened into the reception-room.

Bertha was down to the last few letters when Elsie Brand re-entered, carefully closing the door behind her.

“What’s his name?” Bertha asked.

“Everett Belder.”

“What’s he want?”

“Donald Lam.”

“Tell him Donald was in the Navy?”

“Yes. I told him that you were Donald’s partner. I think if I tell him you’ll be able to see him right away, he’ll talk with you. But he’s disappointed about not finding Donald.”

“What’s he look like?” Bertha asked.

“Around thirty-five, tall, high cheek-bones, hair sort of reddish. He has nice eyes, only they look worried. He’s a sales engineer.”

“Money?”

“I’d say — some. He makes that sort of an impression.”

“Much?”

“Medium. He’s wearing a very fine overcoat.”

“All right,” Bertha said. “Get him in. I’ll find out what he wants. If he’s a friend of Donald Lam, he’s probably a wild-eyed gambler. He may be a— What are you standing there staring at me for?”

“I was waiting for you to finish.”

“The hell with that polite stuff. When a potential client who looks as if he had money is waiting in the office, don’t let politeness interfere with efficiency. Get him in here.”

Elsie quickly opened the door, said, “Mrs. Cool, the senior partner, will be able to give you a few minutes right away — if you’ll step in this way, please.”

Bertha once more devoted herself to signing letters. Not until she had finished and blotted the last signature did she look up, then her glance was for Elsie.

“Elsie, get this bunch of letters in the mail.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”

“Be sure every one of those envelopes is marked ‘personal and confidential.’ ”

“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”

“See the envelopes are securely sealed.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”

Bertha swivelled her eyes around to the tall man. “So your name’s Belder?”

He widened an expressive mouth into a smile. “That’s right, Mrs. Cool.” He extended his hand across the desk. “Everett G. Belder.”

Bertha gave him an unenthusiastic hand, said, “You wanted to see Donald. He’s in the Navy.”

“So your secretary told me. That’s indeed a shock.”

“Know Donald?”

“Only by reputation. A man for whom Lam once handled a case told me about him. Said he was the nerviest little guy he’d ever seen; that he was fast-thinking, quick-moving, and courageous. In fact, he summarized his feelings by a colloquialism which, while perhaps coarse, nevertheless conveyed a perfect picture.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s a bit on the coarse side, Mrs. Cool. I wasn’t going to repeat it. I—”

Bertha Cool said irritably, “Do you think you know any words I don’t? What did he say?”

“He said Donald was a combination of brains and guts.”

“Humph!” Bertha said, then after a moment added somewhat irritably, “Well, he isn’t here. Do you want to tell me what it’s all about?”

“You’re his partner?”

“Yes.”

Everett Belder studied her as he would a new automobile he contemplated buying.

Bertha said, “You don’t have to marry me, you know. If you have something on your mind, spill it; if you haven’t, get the hell out of here and let me get caught up on some of this work.”

“I had hardly contemplated hiring a female investigator.”

“All right then, don’t.”

Bertha Cool reached for the telephone.

“On the other hand, you impress me as being just the type to get results.”

“Make up your mind.”

“Mrs. Cool, do you ever take cases on a contingency basis?”

“No.”

Belder moved uneasily in the chair.

“Mrs. Cool, I’m a sales engineer. I’ve been under a lot of expense, and—”

“What’s a sales engineer?” Bertha interrupted.

He smiled then. “In my case, just a good salesman with a lot of nerve, and enough dough to see him through until pay-day without asking for an advance.”

“I get you. What’s your trouble?”

Belder became uneasy once more. “Mrs. Cool, I’m in the very devil of a predicament. I don’t know what to do, where to turn. Every move I make seems blocked. I’ve racked my brain over—”

“Don’t get steamed up about it,” Bertha said reassuringly. “Lots of people who come in here are like that. Go ahead, open up. Get it off your chest.”

“Mrs. Cool, do you ever do any collection work?”

“What sort of collections?”

“Bad bills — judgments — things like that?”

“No”

“May I ask why?”

“There’s no money in it.”

Belder shifted his position in the chair once more. “Suppose I were to show you where there was a judgment of more than twenty thousand dollars to be collected, guaranteed that you’d be paid for the time you put in, and on top of that gave you a bonus if you did a satisfactory job.”

Bertha’s eyes showed interest. “Who’s the twenty-thousand dollar judgment against?” she asked.

Belder said, “Let’s express it this way. A. has a judgment against B. B. is judgment-proof, then C gets—”

Bertha held up her hand. “Stop right there. I’m not interested in this A.B.C. stuff. I have too damn many alphabetical headaches right now — what with O.P.A. and O.W.I. and W.L.B. and all the rest of that stuff. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

Belder said, “It is very difficult to put into words, Mrs. Cool.”

“Then you aren’t much of a salesman.”

He laughed nervously. “I want you to collect a judgment for twenty thousand dollars. You won’t be able to collect all of the judgment. You’ll compromise on a percentage basis and—”

“Who’s the judgment against?” Bertha interrupted.

“Me.”

“Do you mean you want to employ me to collect a judgment from you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I’m judgment-proof.”

Bertha said, with exasperation in her voice, “So that makes it very simple. You want me to collect a judgment from you because you’re judgment-proof... Oh, yes, just an ordinary, routine matter.”

Belder’s smile was apologetic. “You see, Mrs. Cool, a few years ago when there was lots of merchandise to be had and not a very brisk market, there was an excellent opportunity for salesmen who were up on their toes to clean up.”

“Did you clean up?” Bertha asked curiously.

“I made a small fortune.”

“Where is it now?”

“In my wife’s name.”

Bertha raised and lowered her lids rapidly, a sure sign of interest. Her eyes, hard and intent, held Belder as a moth is held on a collector’s pin. “I think,” she said with quiet emphasis, “that I’m beginning to see. Now suppose you tell me the whole business. Begin with the things you’d decided not to tell me. We’ll save time that way.”

Belder said, “I had a partner. A man by the name of Nunnely — George K. Nunnely. We didn’t get along very well. I thought Nunnely was taking advantage of me. I still feel that he was, and always will. He was running the inside part of the business. I was on the outside. Unfortunately, I couldn’t prove anything, but I decided to get even with him in my own way. Nunnely was smart. He hired lawyers and went to court. He could prove his case against me. I couldn’t prove mine against him. He got a judgment for twenty thousand dollars.

“By that time the tide had turned and was running the other way. Salesmanship was a drug on the market. I wasn’t making a thin dime. I couldn’t have done very much no matter how hard I tried, so not having any current income, I — well, Mrs. Cool, I turned everything over to my wife; put everything in her name.”

“Did Nunnely try to set the transfer aside?”

“Naturally. He claimed it was a transfer with intent to defraud creditors.”

“When did you make it, after he got the judgment?”

“Oh, no. I was too smart for that. I don’t think I’d better say very much about that angle, Mrs. Cool, because, of course, if Nunnely could establish even now that the real intent of the transfer was to defraud creditors — well, let’s just let it go as it is, Mrs. Cool. My wife has the property.”

“And in court proceedings she had to swear it was her sole and separate property?”

“Yes.”

“A gift from you?”

“Yes.”

“What did you swear?”

“The same thing.”

“What did the judge do?”

“Ruled that because I was engaged in a highly venturesome business, with periods when money came in quickly, followed by long periods when there was no income, that I not only had a right, but that it was my duty, to provide for my family, and that the intent with which I had made this particular transfer was to safeguard my wife from want.”

Belder grinned. “It was a nice decision.”

Bertha didn’t grin. “How much?” she asked.

“Twenty thousand dollars plus interest and—”

“Not the judgment, the property.”

“You mean that I turned over to my wife?”

“Yes.”

“It was a — a considerable amount.”

“I can find out by consulting the court records.”

“Over sixty thousand dollars.”

“You getting along all right with her?”

Bertha Cool’s question evidently probed the end of a raw nerve. Belder jack-knifed himself into a new position. “That’s one of the things that’s bothering me.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing — too much mother-in-law, I guess.”

“Where does her mother live?”

“San Francisco.”

“What’s her name?”

“Mrs. Theresa Goldring.”

“Any other children?”

“A daughter, Carlotta — rather a spoiled brat. She lives here in Los Angeles. She’s worked as a secretary, but she doesn’t hold jobs long. She’s been staying with us for the past few weeks.”

“Your wife’s sister, or half-sister?”

“As a matter of fact, Mrs. Cool, she isn’t related to my wife at all.”

Bertha waited for him to explain that statement.

“She was adopted when she was a child. She never knew she was adopted until just recently — within the last few months.”

“Older than your wife, or younger?”

“Quite a bit younger.”

“All right, she knows she’s adopted, so what?”

“She’s trying to find out who her real mother and father are.”

“Find out from whom?”

“From Mrs. Goldring and from my wife.”

“They know?”

“I guess so — yes.”

“And won’t tell her?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They it would — well, they think it’s best to have things the way they are.”

“How old is Carlotta?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Your wife?”

“Thirty. But what I wanted to talk to you about, Mrs. Cool, was that judgment. All of this other stuff just” — Belder laughed apologetically — “well, it just crept in, Mrs. Cool — crept in casually.”

“The hell it did,” Bertha said. “I brought it in.”

“Well, yes, I guess you did.”

“And you want to settle Nunnely’s judgment”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I want to get it off my mind.”

“So you can get the money back out of your wife’s control?”

“I–I’m not certain of that— Well there’s my mother in-law to consider.”

“What’s she got to do with it?”

“A lot.”

“You mean your wife won’t give it back?”

Belder squirmed around uneasily. “Mrs. Cool, you do have the most disconcerting habit of boring right in. I hadn’t intended to tell you all this.”

“What did you intend to tell me?”

“Simply this. George Nunnely is in a jam. He’s been lifting money from another associate, and this time he wasn’t clever enough, or else the other man was smarter than I was. Anyway, he’s got Nunnely right where he wants him.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“Nunnely has to have twenty-five hundred dollars or he’s going to the penitentiary. He has to have it within the next two or three days.”

“And you want me to go to him?” Bertha asked.

“Yes”

“And dangle a sum of cash in front of his eyes?”

“That’s right.”

“To settle the judgment?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that he’ll settle a twenty-thousand-dollar judgment for twenty-five hundred dollars?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Then why don’t you ring him up and offer to settle?”

“That’s the embarrassing part of it, Mrs. Cool.”

“What is?”

“I’m not supposed to have any money. Don’t you see, if I offered to make a settlement, it would be equivalent to an admission that I had money. My lawyer has warned me against that. I’m supposed to be flat broke.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Why not have your wife make an offer of settlement?”

Belder rubbed his fingers along the side of his chin. “Well, you see, Mrs. Cool, there’s a personal angle.”

“I don’t see,” Bertha said crisply. “But I don’t know as I need to. Any particular approach you want me to use?”

“I have the thing all blueprinted for you, Mrs. Cool.”

“You don’t need to blueprint it for me,” Bertha said. “I’ve forgotten more about these things than you’ll ever know. A judgment creditor hates to think the debtor is getting off too easy. If I tell him I can get twenty-five hundred dollars as a settlement of a twenty-thousand-dollar judgment, no matter how badly he wants to settle, he’ll feel you’re getting off too easy; but if I tell him that I can get five thousand out of you, that I’m going to keep twenty-five hundred and give him twenty-five hundred, he’ll be twice as apt to agree to it. In that way he thinks you’ll be getting stuck for five thousand dollars cash.”

Belder’s eyes sparkled. “That’s an excellent point, Mrs. Cool, an excellent point. I can see that you are a woman of experience and discernment.”

Bertha brushed his praise to one side. Her chair creaked as she swivelled so that her hard, intense eyes were beating her client into a psychic submission.

“Now then,” she asked, “what’s in it for me?”