“At the hotel. I’ve got rooms. The town’s still pretty crowded — tourist season still on.”
“Suits me,” Bertha said. “You found out anything yet, Donald?”
I said, “I gathered from the air-mail letter you sent to me in Florida that Mr. Hale was to give me the details so I could start work.”
“He is,” Bertha said. “I told you generally what he wanted in that letter. You must have been here three days already.”
“One day and two nights.”
Hale smiled.
Bertha didn’t. She said, “You look it.”
A taxi took us to a modern hotel in the business part of the city. It might have been any one of half a dozen large cities. There was nothing to indicate the romantic French Quarter which was within half a dozen blocks.
“Did Miss Fenn stay here?” Hale asked.
I said, “No. She stayed at the Monteleone.”