“That’s rather expensive.”
“Well, you might give me prices on these three.” I checked three rooms. He went over to the desk, looked over a schedule, and wrote the prices on a slip of paper with the room numbers opposite. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket.
“You understand,” he said, “that includes everything: light, heat, maid service, and a complete change of linen once a week, fresh towels every day if desired.”
I thanked him, said good night, and went out. Two blocks down the street, I found a restaurant with a public phone. I went in and looked in the directory under the C’s, found Crumweather, C. Layton, attorney, office Fidelity Building. Down below that was the number of a residence telephone. It was Orange nine-six-four-three-two.
That was all I wanted to know.
Chapter thirteen
Bertha Cool, clad in gaudy striped silk pyjamas and a robe, was sprawled out in a big easy chair, listening to the radio. She said, “For Heaven’s sake, Donald, why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep? — and let me get some.”
I said, “I think I’ve found out something.”
“What?”
“I want you to get dressed and come with me.”