Chapter Seven
We sat in the hotel waiting for the telephone call to be completed. Central had reported that no one was at Hale’s office, and the house as yet hadn’t answered.
Bertha said into the telephone, “We don’t know just what time he’ll get home. It’ll be sometime tonight. Keep trying.”
I said to Bertha, “ I want something to eat while we’re waiting. It’s my dinner time.”
Bertha wouldn’t think of letting me go out. “I want you here when this call comes through. Have something sent up.”
I told her it would probably be midnight before we heard from him, but had a waiter bring up a menu. Bertha looked it over, and decided she’d have a shrimp cocktail while I was having my steak dinner.
“You know I just can’t sit and watch you eat,” she said.
I nodded.
The waiter seemed solicitous. “Just a shrimp cocktail?” he asked.
“What are those oysters Rockefeller?” Bertha inquired.