Bertha took the stationery back to her office building, arranged with the elevator starter to take care of mail, and then went to her own office where she dictated a letter:
Dear Miss Jackson: In order to keep alive an interest in bank night, an association of motion picture theatres has arranged to contribute a small percentage into a large fund on which every sixty days there is a super drawing. It is, of course, necessary to take extraordinary precautions to see that the winnings are paid to the right person. If you can, therefore, convince us that you were the person who registered at one of our member theatres during the past three months, we will give you some information which will doubtless cause you a great deal of pleasure. However, please bear in mind that since this entire matter is gratuitous and in addition to any bank night sponsored by any member theatre, the entire system of awards is handled purely as a gratuitous disbursement. There is no right whatever on the part of any person whose name is drawn to receive anything. Very truly yours, Bank Night Super Drawing, Inc. by
“You can sign that, Elsie,” Bertha Cool said. “I’ve arranged with the elevator starter to take care of any inquiries and see that they’re passed along all right.”
“How about using the mail to defraud?” Elsie Brand asked.
“Pish. When she shows up, we’ll give her twenty-five dollars and tell her it’s a gratuitous disbursement.”
“Think she’ll show up?”
“I’ll say she will. She’ll read that letter and think she’s won about five thousand dollars, but someone is trying to gyp her out of it. Unless I miss my guess, Myrna Jackson has something she’s keeping very much under cover. She is not going to make any squawk to the postal authorities nor anyone else and when I get done with her, she’s going to be a very, very good little girl.”
Elsie Brand whipped the letter out of the typewriter, picked up her fountain pen, and signed it. “Under your orders,” she said.
“Under my orders,” Bertha Cool acknowledged reluctantly.