Doolittle’s smile was frosty. “So many of my clients tell me that,” he said, “that I have found it’s better to put it the other way, Mrs. Cool. My fee for consultation will be twenty-five dollars; then if, as you surmise, anything comes of it, that twenty-five dollars will be credited on whatever additional fee is charged.”
Bertha Cool sighed and opened her purse. “Everybody seems to collect money in this case except me.”
Chapter XVII
The 1600 block on Fairmead Avenue, the address the blind man had given Bertha, was sparsely settled, being well on the outskirts of current real-estate development.
Conditions of the dim-out made it necessary for the cab driver to grope his way, pausing frequently to consult a map which he took from his pocket.
“This should be close to it,” he said. “Somewhere on the other side of the street and a little past the middle of the block.”
“Let me out here,” Bertha said. “I can find it better on foot than we can by prowling around.”
“But it’s more convenient to look for it this way, ma’am.”
“And more expensive,” Bertha snapped. “Let me out.”
The cab driver slid the vehicle to a stop, jumped out, and held the door open for Bertha Cool.