“Cut yourself in,” Bertha told him.
“I may, at that.”
Bertha said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make you exactly the same proposition I made in the first place. Twenty-five dollars and you forget the whole business and fade out of the picture.”
He settled back against the cushions with a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “It’s highway robbery, but you’ve made a deal.”
Bertha Cool entered the office and said to Elsie Brand, “Elsie, make out a receipt for this man to sign. Twenty-five dollars in full for account of any and all claims of any sort, nature, or description covering present claims and any contingencies that may arise from future developments. Follow the form of that receipt Donald Lam made out for the man to sign in that case a couple of months back.”
Elsie Brand whipped a letter out of her typewriter, jerked a sheet of paper out of the drawer in her desk, fed it into the roller and said, “What’s his name?”
“Damned if I know,” Bertha said, turning to the man.
“What’s your name?”
“Jerry Bollman.”
Bertha Cool said, “Sit down. I’ll get you the twenty-five.”