Bertha walked around to the right-hand side of the car.
The subdued light of late afternoon, filtering in through the door which opened to the east and through the window on the north, gave sufficient illumination for Bertha to see objects in the garage; but it was taking a minute or two for her eyes to accustom themselves to the gloomy interior.
At first Bertha thought the car was empty. She opened the door on the right-hand side and started to get in behind the steering-wheel. Her foot hit some obstruction. She glanced down to see what it was, and by that time her eyes had accommodated themselves to the dim light sufficiently to show her the shod foot and stockinged leg of the body that lay half on the seat, half on the floor, sprawled down behind the steering-wheel.
A moment more and the stale stench of death assailed Bertha’s nostrils.
Bertha backed out of the car, started for the garage door, thought better of it, went back, located the light-switch and turned on the light in the garage.
The light was high up, and the top of the car threw shadows over the corpse, but Bertha had a job to do and this was the only chance she’d have to do it.
The body was clothed in the distinctive plaid coat Bertha remembered so well; also the dark glasses with glaring white rims which shielded the dead eyes, yet gave the corpse a peculiar owl-like appearance of regarding Bertha Cool from white-rimmed black eyes.
Light from the dangling bulb came through the windshield and illuminated a piece of paper which had evidently fluttered to the floor of the car.
Bertha picked it up and read it.
It was typewritten and, as nearly as Bertha could determine, it had been typed on the same Remington portable that had typed the letters.