Bertha entered the lobby, marched up to the desk, and said, “When’s the next train out of here for California?”
The clerk smiled and said, “If you’ll inquire at the porter’s desk, he’ll— Wait a minute. Aren’t you Mrs. Cool?”
“Yes!”
“You were registered here. Checked out last night, didn’t you?”
“That’s right.”
The clerk said, “A telegram came in for you this morning. We sent it back to the telegraph company. Just a moment. Perhaps it hasn’t gone out yet. No. Here it is.”
He picked it out and handed it across to Bertha Cool.
She tore it open and held the message so I could read over her shoulder. It was dated Richmond the night before and read: After talking with you on telephone have decided return New Orleans first available plane. Emory G. Hale.
Chapter Nine
We moved away from the desk. Bertha kept staring at the telegram. I said, “He’ll be here almost any time now. There’s an early plane gets in from New York. He didn’t say just what plane he’d take, did he? Richmond must have been where he was grounded on the trip north.”