“I know,” Bertha said impatiently, “but I don’t want to pick up the car at my office.”
“I see.”
Bertha said, “I’m going to walk down to Seventh Street and take a streetcar west on Seventh. I’m leaving the office immediately. I want you to have a boy pick up my car and drive slowly along West Seventh. I’ll get off the streetcar somewhere between Grand Avenue and Figueroa Street. I’ll be waiting in a safety zone, and I’ll be watching for the car. As soon as I see it come along I’ll jump into the back seat. The boy can drive me for two or three blocks until we get out of traffic, and then I’ll let him out of the car and he can take a streetcar back. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Cool.”
“That,” Bertha announced, “is the kind of service I like. I’m leaving at once.”
“The car will leave here in just about three minutes.”
“Take five,” Bertha said. “I want to be certain we don’t miss connections.”
Bertha hung up, grabbed her hat, pushed it down on her head, and said to Elsie Brand, “Close up the office at five o’clock. If anyone asks where I am, you don’t know. I went out to see a witness.” She didn’t even wait to make sure of Elsie Brand’s nod of understanding, but hurried to the elevator, emerged into the glare of the sun-swept street, walked briskly over to Seventh Street, caught a streetcar as far as Grand Avenue, then got out and stood in the safety zone, waiting, watching traffic.
Apparently no one gave her more than a casual glance, nor did she notice any suspicious looking automobiles discharge passengers, pull in to the curb, or do anything to arouse her suspicions.
She had been waiting less than two minutes when she saw a garage attendant driving her automobile, slipping along in the stream of traffic.