She was halfway through the sporting sheet when the telephone buzzed on her desk. Bertha picked up the receiver, and Elsie Brand said, “Have you time to give a few minutes to a Christopher Milbers? He says that he’s met you.”
“Milbers — Milbers?” Bertha repeated the name a couple of times, then said suddenly, “Oh yes, I place him now. What does he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Tell him to come in.”
Christopher Milbers seemed even more self-effacing in Bertha Cool’s office than he had in Josephine Dell’s apartment. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said apologetically.
“What is it you wanted?” Bertha asked.
“Miss Dell told me you were a detective. I was astounded.”
“We make confidential investigations.” Bertha said.
“A detective sounds so much more romantic than an investigator — don’t you think so?”
Bertha fixed him with a cold eye. “There isn’t any romance in this business. It’s a job, and I have an overhead just like any business. What do you want?”