I am to drive out Westmore Boulevard. I will appear to be very unsuspicious and not turn my head at any time to look back, but I will watch the rear-view mirror out of the corner of my eye. If I am being followed, then I am to jockey the car so I will hit a changing signal at Dawson Avenue. I am to go through that signal, but at average speed. I am to turn left on North Harkington Avenue — that is the second block beyond Dawson. The second house from the corner is 709. The garage door will be open. I am to drive into that garage, jump out of the car, close the door, get back in my car and wait with the motor running until I hear an automobile horn blow three times. Then I am to open the door and back out. It is imperative that I follow these instructions to the letter. M.B.
Bertha let the paper drop back to the floor. She leaned across the body, put her thumb against the cold mouth, braced herself, and drew back the lips.
A removable bridge was missing from the lower right-hand side of Mrs. Belder’s jaw — the side nearest Bertha. It was a bridge that would have taken two teeth.
Bertha backed out of the car, hastily closed the door. She closed the garage door and, walking almost on tiptoes, so great was her desire for secrecy, was half-way to her automobile before the sound of childish voices made her realize that, having made the mistake of asking questions of the children, she had no alternative but to telephone Sergeant Sellers.
“I do have the damnedest luck!” she muttered under her breath, and jerked open the door of her automobile.
17
Diabolical and Ingenious
Bertha Cool said to the officer, “Go in and tell Sergeant Sellers that I can’t wait any longer. I’ve got work to do.”
The cop merely grinned.
“I mean it,” Bertha stormed. “I’ve been held here for over two hours while they’re doing all their messing around. Sergeant Sellers knows where to find me when he wants me.”