“What do you want?”
“Some low-down,” I said. “You know the master of ceremonies there, don’t you?”
I knew that was a safe bet, because Bertha knew them all. There was a streak of the showman about Bertha, and somehow she managed to know half of the night-club entertainers in the country.
“Let me see,” Bertha said, “I think Bob Elgin is down there now.”
“I’d like to talk with him.”
“He wouldn’t like to talk with you.”
“He might.”
Bertha sighed, and said, “Open that drawer over there in the bureau, lover. Get me that red notebook in there on top of the cigarette cartons. Better toss me out a fresh package of cigarettes while you’re about it, too.”
I got her the notebook and the cigarettes.
Bertha said, “What’s Sellers got on his mind? Wasn’t it just another suicide-pact?”