“Who pays the fare?”
“You do.”
I said, “That’s not right.”
Esther Clarde said, “Well, I guess I’ve lost enough of my beauty sleep.” She took keys from her pocket, unlocked the spring latch on her door, and went in. We heard the bolt turning on the inside.
The whole procession trooped down the stairs. Bertha Cool was in the rear. Out on the sidewalk, I said, “Now listen, I was picked up several hundred miles from here. It cost me money to get there and—”
The officers opened the door of the police car. The district attorney’s investigator piled in. The door slammed. The car shot smoothly away from the curb and left us standing there.
Bertha Cool looked at me with eyes that were bugged out in astonishment, said softly under her breath, “I’ll be a dirty name!”
Chapter twelve
We went down to Bertha Cool’s office. Bertha Cool got rid of the lawyer, and we went into the private office and sat down. Bertha brought out a bottle of whisky from the lower drawer of her desk. “God, Donald,” she said, “that was a close squeak.”
I nodded.