“No. No one answers the bell.”
“Then she isn’t in. There’s nothing I can do. Good day.”
The door slammed.
Bertha scribbled a note on the back of one of her cards. Miss Dell, call me immediately. It’s very important. There’s money in it for you.
She dropped this note into the box and was turning away when a taxicab slewed around the corner and came to a stop.
The nameless young man who had answered Bertha’s ad calling for witnesses to the accident alighted from the cab, poked at the meter, and stood with his back to the sidewalk, raking change for the cab driver.
Bertha marched purposefully toward him.
The cab driver, seeing her approach and thinking he had another fare, jumped out from behind the wheel to run around and hold the door open.
Bertha was within three feet of the passenger when he turned around and recognized her.
Bertha Cool said, with every evidence of satisfaction, “Well, that’s about what I thought you’d do. It isn’t going to do you any good; I got here first.” There was consternation on the man’s face.