Sellers said, “Hell, let’s quit beating around the bush. Where is he?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Sellers said. “You’ve got him up here, hiding.”
“Why, what are you talking about?” Claire Bushnell exclaimed indignantly.
“Phooey,” Sellers said. “I knew damn well that as soon as this thing broke Donald would be too smart to come to the office. He’d go some place where he didn’t think anybody would look for him and telephone Bertha to come and join him, so I simply stuck around and shadowed Bertha. When she started out here, I tagged along. I knew damn well she came out here to meet Donald Lam. He’s either here now or else he’s going to come in later and meet Bertha Cool.”
Bertha said, “You’re nuts, Frank, I haven’t talked with Donald. I don’t know where the hell the little runt is.”
“You’re not kidding me a damn bit, Bertha,” Sellers answered. “You may think he’s a murderer or you may not, but you’ve got business together and you sure as hell aren’t going to let him get locked up until you’ve had a chance to find out everything he knows about that case he’s working on, so you can carry on and make some mazuma out of it.”
Bertha said, “It would have been a good idea; if I’d known where to get in touch with him I would have. I came out here because this little lady gave us a two-hundred-dollar cheque that bounced.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sellers said. “I’ll just look around.”
“Look around,” Bertha Cool told him. “If you want to make a bet, I’ll bet you don’t find him, because he isn’t here.”