Sergeant Sellers frowned at Bertha Cool. “A hell of a way to solve a murder case,” he said. “Haven’t you anything besides that?”
“The hole in the wall,” Bertha said, “was bored from the bedroom into the garage. The picture was hung over the hole from the inside. I took it for granted it was used as a peep-hole, but there’s one other thing it might have been used for.”
“What?” Sellers asked.
“I’m not like Donald,” Bertha apologized, “but—”
“I know, but you’re just as inimitable in your sweet way. Go ahead, Bertha, and tell me about the hole in the bedroom wall.”
Bertha grinned at him. “I’m not a mechanic, and I’m not built right to get down on my hands and knees, but you might take a look at the exhaust pipe on Mrs. Belder’s automobile and see if there are any fresh-looking scratches around the end of the exhaust pipe.
“And that cat was switching its tail when the woman I followed came out of the house. Cat’s don’t do that when they’re going riding with someone they like. Cats do that when they’re angry. And if that was Mrs. Belder I followed, why wasn’t the cat asphyxiated too? It would have been shut up in the garage just the same as the woman in the car.
“I tell you she was dead before I ever came out to this house on that shadowing job — and that’s where the hole in the wall becomes significant. Now, think that over!”
Sellers frowned with annoyance. “Damn it, Bertha, you’ve said just enough so I’ve got to start pulling your chestnuts out of the fire for you.”
Bertha heaved a sigh. “If you think that isn’t music to my ears, you’re nuts!”