Belder cleared his throat again. “Well, you see, Mrs. Cool, it’s this way. Miss Rosslyn was a waitress in a San Francisco restaurant. She impressed me as having a great deal of ability. This, you understand, was two years ago—”
“Go on.”
“I thought she could use her talents to better advantage. I was acquainted with some executives in San Francisco, and I got her a job, that’s all.”
“Still holding it?”
“Heavens, yes! She went right to the top.”
“What’s this Sindbad stuff?”
He laughed. “I naturally saw something of her — in a business way, you understand, and she laughed at some of the stories I told her of sales technique, and the possibilities of turning buying resistance into enthusiasm. She — she told me I talked like Sindbad, the Sailor. She—”
A businesslike knock sounded on the outer door, which promptly opened. Imogene Dearborne stood on the threshold. “Mrs. Goldring is on the telephone,” she said. “I told her you were in conference. She insists that she must speak with you.”
“Oh, my God!” Belder said.
Bertha Cool watched him with an air of detached interest. “Going to talk with her?”