“But I’ve got to eat. I can’t get out of here, and I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Bertha said. “Come on down to my room. I’ve got some woman’s clothes that will fit you. You’re going out with me as my mother. You’ve just had a slight stroke, and you’re walking very slowly, leaning on my arm. You aren’t using a cane.”
“Think we can do it all right?”
“We can try.”
“I would like to have it appear that — well you know the time I was here.”
“Why?”
“So that in case — well, in case the police should accuse me of killing Bollman, I could show them that I’d been right here in the hotel all the time.”
Bertha Cool pursed her lips, gave a low whistle, and then said, “Fry me for an oyster!”
“What’s the matter?” Kosling asked.
Bertha said, “You haven’t an alibi that’s worth a damn.”