“No. He just referred to the young woman as the injured party, and the other young woman as the room-mate. He told a very convincing, straightforward story, however.”
“And you fell for it?”
Fosdick’s eyebrows raised.
Bertha Cool said, “You’re young. You’re just out of Harvard or some other law school that’s given you a superiority complex. You think you know it all. For Christ’s sake, snap out of it!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Skip it.”
Fosdick’s manner was that of a complete martyr. He managed to convey the impression that the customer was always right, that he wouldn’t even try to defend himself. He said demurely, “I have no doubt Mr. Bollman could have substantiated his story. Unfortunately, however, I see from this morning’s paper that Mr. Bollman was killed last night. It is, of course, regrettable from the standpoint of society and—”
“And the relatives of the dead man,” Bertha Cool pointed out. “But as far as you’re concerned, it’s just a plain calamity. Well, I don’t think Bollman would have done anything except take you for a ride, and keep stringing you along. You know damn well you can’t settle a case like that for a thousand dollars.”
“Why not?”
Bertha Cool laughed and said, “A man so drunk he could hardly see where he was going knocks down a pretty girl, gives her a brain concussion, and you want to settle for a thousand bucks.”