Ashbury took my arm. “All right,” he said. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Downstairs in my car.”
“It might be a good plan to travel,” Bertha Cool said to me.
“I’ve thought of that. Where’s the agency car?”
“In the garage.”
“See you later,” I said.
“When can I have Elsie back?”
“I don’t know.”
Bertha Cool struggled with her temper, and Ashbury took my arm, led me across the office, and down to a parking station where he’d left his big sedan. “All right,” he said, “we talk here.”