A. Fair - Owls Don't Blink

I stopped, swung her around to the curb, and pointed to a cab that was parked on the opposite side of the street. “There’s a cab,” I said. “Get in.”

Bertha hesitated.

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t think so, do you, Donald?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“There are lots of reasons.”

“Name some.”

I said, “It stinks.”

“What does?”

“The whole business.”

“Why?”

I said, “Hale came to Los Angeles. He hired us to come to New Orleans and find Roberta Fenn. Why didn’t he get a New Orleans detective agency on the job?”

“Because he had confidence in us. We’d been recommended to him.”

“So rather than get a New Orleans detective agency for a routine job, he pays us a fancy price, and traveling expenses, and a per diem from Los Angeles here.”

“You were already in Florida. He seemed to be pleased when I told him that. I told him you could be here a couple of days before we arrived.”

“All right, he was pleased. He hired us to come in and work on this case because he had confidence in us. And he knew where Roberta Fenn was all the time. ”

Bertha stared at me as though I’d done something utterly incomprehensible like tossing a brick through the plate-glass window in the drugstore behind us.

“It’s the truth!” I said.

“Donald, you’re absolutely crazy! Why should a man come all the way to Los Angeles and hire us at fifty dollars a day with an extra twenty for expenses, to find a woman in New Orleans whom he said was missing, but who wasn’t?”

“That,” I said, “is the reason I’m not getting in any taxicab and going to police headquarters. You may if you want to. There’s the cab, and knowing you as I do, I feel quite certain you have enough money to pay the fare.”

I started walking toward the hotel.

Bertha came striding along after me. “You don’t need to be so damned independent about it!”

“I’m not being independent. I’m simply keeping my nose clean.”

“What are you going to say when the police do get hold of you and make things tough because you didn’t report the murder?”

“I did report the murder.”

She thought that over.

“The police aren’t going to like it, just the same.”

“No one asked them to.”

“When they finally get their hands on you,” Bertha warned, “it’s going to be just too bad! ”

“Unless we can give them something else to distract their attention.”

“Such as what?” she asked.

“The murderer who was in that room, or, perhaps, a brand new murder case. Something that will keep their minds occupied.”

Bertha automatically fell into step with me, thinking things over.

She said at length, “Donald, you’re crazy about that Hale business.”

“What about it?”

“About him knowing where Roberta Fenn was.”

“He had already found her.”

“What makes you think so?”

I said, “The waiter at The Bourbon House saw her coming out of Jack O’Leary’s Bar with Hale.”

“You’re certain?”

“Reasonably so. The waiter described him to a T, said he looked like he was holding something in his mouth.”

“When was this?”

“About a month ago.”

“Then she knows who Hale is?”

“No. Hale knows who she is. She thinks Hale is Archibald C. Smith of Chicago.”

Bertha sighed. “This is too damn much for me. It s one of those Chinese puzzles that you like. I don’t like them.”

“I’m not crazy about this one myself. This isn’t a question of whether we like it or not. It’s something we’re in — right up to our necks.”

Bertha said, “Well, I’m going to get in touch with Hale and call for a showdown. I’m—”

“You’re going to do nothing of the sort,” I interrupted. “You’ll remember that Hale told us he didn’t want us making any investigation as to why we were hired, or who had hired us. We were hired only to do one thing, to find Roberta Fenn.”

I could see that Bertha was thinking things over all the way to the hotel. Just before we entered the lobby, she said, “Well, I’ve made up my mind to one thing.”

“What?”

“We’ve found Roberta Fenn. That’s what we were hired to do. And we collect that bonus. Now I’ve got to get back to Los Angeles. That construction-company business is important.”

I said, “It’s okay by me.”

Bertha entered the lobby, marched up to the desk, and said, “When’s the next train out of here for California?”

The clerk smiled and said, “If you’ll inquire at the porter’s desk, he’ll— Wait a minute. Aren’t you Mrs. Cool?”

“Yes!”

“You were registered here. Checked out last night, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.”

The clerk said, “A telegram came in for you this morning. We sent it back to the telegraph company. Just a moment. Perhaps it hasn’t gone out yet. No. Here it is.”

He picked it out and handed it across to Bertha Cool.

She tore it open and held the message so I could read over her shoulder. It was dated Richmond the night before and read: After talking with you on telephone have decided return New Orleans first available plane. Emory G. Hale.

We moved away from the desk. Bertha kept staring at the telegram. I said, “He’ll be here almost any time now. There’s an early plane gets in from New York. He didn’t say just what plane he’d take, did he? Richmond must have been where he was grounded on the trip north.”

“No-the first available plane. That was because they’re so crowded these days.”

I said, “When he comes, I’ll do the talking.”

Bertha reached a sudden decision. “You’re damn right you’re going to do all the talking. Bertha is bundling herself into an airplane and flying to Los Angeles. In case Mr. Hale asks questions, it’s because Bertha has some war work which demanded her presence. You aren’t going to tell him anything about having gone down there this morning and about what happened, are you?”

“No.”

“That is all I wanted to know,” she said.

“Want me to go out to the airport with you to see you off?”

“I do not. You’re poison. You’re the smarty pants that held out on Hale just because you thought Hale was holding out on you. It’s your party. You sent out the engraved invitations, and now you can seat the guests as they come in. Bertha is going over and get some nice pecan waffles, and then be on her way.”

“I want a key to the apartment,” I said, “and—”

“It’ll be in the door. I’ll pack my bag and leave my key in the door. Good-by.”

She strode to the door, and I watched her get into a taxicab. She didn’t even look back.

When the cab had pulled away, I went into the dining-room, had a good breakfast, went up to my room, stretched out in a chair with my feet propped on another chair, and read the morning paper while I was waiting for Hale.

He arrived shortly after ten o’clock.

I shook hands and said, “Well, you certainly made a quick round trip.”

He pulled his lips back from his teeth in his characteristic smile. “I did for a fact,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize I was teamed up with two such fast workers. What happened to Mrs. Cool? I inquired for her, and they said she’d checked out.”

“Yes. She was called back to Los Angeles on an emergency — war work.”

“Oh,” he said. “You’re doing work for the F.B.I, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you intimated as much.”

I said, “I’m not familiar with all the partnership business, but I don’t think we are.”