“I got her aunt’s address,” Bertha said. “She told me this personable slicker had an appointment with the old gal for four o’clock in the afternoon.”
“But she didn’t tell you much about the aunt’s affairs, her history, her preferences? You didn’t ask about her love history?”
“Damn it,” Bertha said, “she signed her name on the bottom of a cheque for two hundred bucks! Don’t talk to me about what I should have done.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I just wanted to do a little thinking.”
“I see,” Bertha said sarcastically. “I suppose now you’re going to bed and dream of some little babe who had to draw you a diagram. My God, you were driving her home, way out in the suburbs! Then her brother-in-law was going to drive you back! How nice! How cosy! You went driving along with both hands on the wheel. I suppose you were talking about books, or astronomy, or some of the good shows you’d seen lately, and the poor thing finally had to take that auto court and—”
“She did, for a fact,” I interrupted.
“Well, let that be a lesson to you.”
I said, “When you’re driving through town, go along Seventh Street. I want to stop at the Westchester Arms Hotel. I think I’ll begin to give Mr. Thomas Durham a little highly specialized attention.”
“You be damn careful you don’t let the cat out of the bag,” Bertha said. “The whole thing sounds to me as though you’d spilled the beans. If Durham knew he was being followed…”
“If he knew I was following him,” I said, “he’s a mind-reader and a veteran crook. I did a pretty smooth job.”