I went back to the hotel, went up to my room, opened a fresh package of cigarettes, sat by the window, and did a little thinking.
Bertha Cool was somewhere between New Orleans and Los Angeles. Elsie Brand would be running the office. It looked like a good time to get the information I wanted.
I picked up the telephone and placed a station-to-station call. It took about five minutes to get the call through. Then I heard Elsie Brand’s voice, crisp and businesslike, saying, “Hello.”
“Hello, Elsie. Donald talking.”
The hard, keen edge came off her voice. She said informally, “Oh, hello, Donald. Operator said New Orleans was calling, and I thought it was Bertha. What’s new?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me.”
“How come?”
“Bertha tells me she’s gone in for war work.”
“Didn’t you know?”
“No. Not until she told me.”