She walked over to the door, slammed it shut, turned the key in the lock.
“May I ask the meaning of this?” Mrs. Croftus demanded.
“You’re damned right you can ask the meaning of this,” Bertha said, “and I hope you do something about it, dearie. You can sneak up behind me and bang me on the head with a club and get away with it, but you make a move now, and I’ll show you what being tough really is. I’ll take you apart and see what makes you tick, darling.”
Mrs. Goldring said indignantly to Sergeant Sellers, “You represent the law. Are you going to stand by and permit anything like that?”
Sergeant Sellers grinned. “I’m certainly not going to do anything to stop it,” he announced gleefully.
Carlotta said meaningly, “That blow on her head must have affected her reasoning. You’d think she’d be in enough trouble because of careless statements she’s made about people without inviting more trouble for herself.”
Bertha Cool glared at Carlotta. “Shut up! You saw that picture moving on the wall a long time before you claimed you did. I heard you having a whispered conversation before I could see into the room. That was when you told your mother to go out and crack my head open; then you were going to concoct this story about the mysterious assailant. And that telephone conversation you had with Nunnely was all faked — just to keep my eyes and ears glued to what was going on in the bedroom. That’s why you asked information what his number was — so I’d know whom you were calling and wait right there while your mother—”
Mrs. Goldring said, “I’m going to sue you for that, Mrs. Cool. I have never been so insulted in my life. I—”
“Keep your shirt on,” Bertha told her. “Don’t start yelling before your toes get stepped on. I said Carlotta’s mother.”
Mrs. Croftus threw back her head and laughed. “Up until five minutes ago,” she said, “I haven’t seen Carlotta for years and years — not since she was a baby.”