Bertha Cool’s gasp of startled surprise gave Sergeant Sellers all the cue he needed. “It isn’t Kosling?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
The beam from the flashlight slid abruptly from the face of the dead man to shine full on Bertha Cool’s features.
“All right,” Sergeant Sellers said crisply. “Who is it?”
Bertha said dully and without thinking, “He’s a dirty, two-timing chiseler by the name of Bollman. He had a good killing coming to him — and you get that damn spotlight out of my face, or I’ll bust it.”
Chapter XVIII
Sergeant Sellers hesitated only for a moment, then said, “Pardon me;” and moved the flashlight. “So this man’s name is Bollman?”
“Yes.”
“And how long have you known him?”
“About — a week or so.”