“And don’t leave me alone with her for a minute,” Belder all but screamed. “The dirty double-crosser. She’s framing me.”
Sellers walked over to Bertha Cool’s telephone, dialled Police Headquarters, said into the telephone, “Sergeant Sellers. I’m at the offices of Cool & Lam, Private Detectives. Everett Belder is here. I’m taking him into custody. Bertha Cool is here. I’m not taking her into custody — yet. I’m going to take Belder down to headquarters. When I come back I want to talk with Bertha Cool. Rush a man over here to stay with her until I get back. I want to be sure she’s here to answer questions when I get ready to ask them.”
Sellers dropped the receiver back into place. His hand moved back to his belt, brought out jangling handcuffs.
Belder said in dismay, “You mean you are going to use those?”
Sellers wasn’t grinning now. “You’re damned right,” he said. “And if you think you’re better than any other murderer, I don’t.”
21
Bodyguard with Bottle
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hours circled across the dial of Bertha Cool’s electric clock and into oblivion. The bodyguard whom Sergeant Sellers had placed in charge had proved himself to be a singularly taciturn individual, a huge man who spent hours reading the paper, manicuring his nails, and silently smoking, a distinctly nonsocial individual who seemed utterly bored by the entire affair.
Bertha Cool had tried him out during the afternoon on several lines of attack, and each time the man had an answer which stopped Bertha in her tracks.