Sellers said affably, “Well, you’ve got to admit it was a swell try, Bertha. I shouldn’t have tried it when you were here. I think I’d have got somewhere with it if you hadn’t butted in.”
Belder faced Sellers angrily. “I don’t know how much of this stuff a citizen has to take from the police department.”
“Quite a bit,” Sellers told him, “particularly when wives disappear shortly after former sweethearts, who are pretty well heeled, have called on the husband. You’d be surprised, Belder, how many times wives have ‘simply disappeared’ or gone to visit relatives and haven’t returned. Well, no, I won’t say it in that way. It sounds as though I were accusing you of something. I’m not. I’m only investigating. It’s your mother-in-law who’s made the accusation.”
“There he goes again,” Bertha interrupted. “Don’t let him get your goat, Belder. Let’s get this letter opened and see what it says.”
Bertha raised some papers on Elsie’s desk, picked up the envelope which she had hastily concealed as Sellers opened the door. Sellers settled back in the chair, puffing cigar smoke contentedly, watching operations.
Bertha loosened the adhesive on the flap with steam, inserted a lead pencil near the upper part of the flap, and rolled it down under the flap.
“Rather neat,” Sellers commented. “Shows long practice.”
Bertha refused to be baited.
Belder said nervously, “I think I should be the first to read this. There may be something—”
Sellers came up out of the chair with the smooth, easy motion of an athlete. Belder jerked the letter from Bertha’s wrist.