“You have proof?”
“Hell, no! The point is that if we go to work we can get the proof.”
“Oh,” Milbers said, a subtle change coming in his voice, “I thought you said you had proof.”
“No. I said I was practically certain he was poisoned. So far it’s all circumstantial, but I think I’ve got enough right now to get the D.A. to exhume your brother’s body for a check-up to see whether death actually wasn’t caused by arsenic.”
Milbers said, “Oh, come, Mrs. Cool. After all, that’s getting the cart somewhat before the horse. I think you can appreciate that I wouldn’t consider having any such step taken unless there was some definite, tangible proof that I personally considered absolutely ironclad.”
Bertha said, “Well, I think I can get the proof. I’ve got enough at least so they’ll start questioning Nettie Cranning and the Hanberrys. It’ll take a little work on my part, but I think I can get the whole thing lined up and ready to dump in the D.A.‘s lap in four or five days or perhaps a week.”
“After all,” Christopher pointed out, “this is rather an unusual situation. Exactly what did you have in mind Mrs. Cool?”
Bertha said, “If they killed him, they can’t inherit his property. Even if only one of them was in on the job and the others helped, none of them can take anything under the will. That would leave you, as the only living relative sitting pretty. Now, I’d be willing to gamble. I’d take, say, ten per cent of what you got out of the estate and do all of the detective work to make out a perfect case.”
Christopher Milbers pushed the tips of his fingers together, placed the middle fingers directly beneath his chin and frowned at Bertha Cool over the tops of his spread fingers.
“Well?” Bertha asked.