“Come in.”
Bertha entered the room, which was close with the smell of human occupancy. Kosling closed the door after her and locked it.
Bertha said: “Good heavens, it’s stuffy in here. You’ve got the windows down, the shades drawn, and—”
“I know, but I was afraid someone would see in.”
Bertha Cool went over to the window, pulled the shade to one side, then jerked the shade up, raised the windows, and said, “No one can see in. You have an outside room.”
“I’m sorry,” Kosling said in a patient voice. “That’s one of the disadvantages of being blind. You can never tell whether you have an inside room, and there’s another room right across the court from you.”
“Yes,” Bertha said, “I can understand that. How did you know what happened?”
“The radio,” he said, indicating a section of the room with a vague wave of his hand. “I stumbled on the radio, rather a luxury for me. They apparently have some meter arrangement by which they can charge you for the amount of time it’s played.”
“Yes,” Bertha said. “Fifteen cents an hour.”
“I turned it on and was listening to music and news broadcasts. Then I heard about it in a news broadcast.”