Bertha looked at me with those glittering, intense eyes of hers, said, “Let me talk with you a moment, Donald.”
She hooked her arm through mine, drew me off to one side. Her voice was positively motherly. “Now, Donald. You must get some sleep. You’re all in.”
I said, “Certainly. That’s why I’m breaking up the party.”
She lowered her voice, said out of the side of her mouth, “If you’re going to get that gun and try planting it, it’s too dangerous. Tell me where it is and I’ll get it.”
“What gun?” I asked.
“Don’t be a damn fool,” Bertha said. “Do you think I don’t know an agency gun when I see it? Where’s the other one?”
I said, “In my apartment in the upper dresser drawer.”
“Okay. Where do you want it?”
“Just any place. Under Edna’s apartment window. Don’t leave any tracks.”
Bertha said, “Trust me. I think they’re shadowing you. Is the gun Cutler used on you out of the way?”