“Yes, I know all about that,” Bertha Cool said. “Begin from when you met Bollman.”
“The first time I met him I didn’t know who he was. He dropped five silver dollars into my-cup, one right after another, and—”
“Skip that,” Bertha Cool said. “I know about that.”
“I naturally remembered him. I remembered the sound of his step, and there’s a peculiar odour about him, a rather distinctive type of tobacco. It has a certain pungent aroma.”
“All right, you remembered him. When was the next time you saw him again?”
”Yesterday.”
“When?”
“About noon.”
“What happened?”
“He came to my house just around twelve and said, ‘You don’t know who I am, but I want to ask you a few questions. Answering them correctly may mean a good deal to you.’ He thought I didn’t know him, thought I didn’t realize he was the same man who had put the five silver dollars into my cup. I never let on. When they don’t want me to know, I pretend I don’t know. So I just smiled and said, ‘Very well, what is it?’