“Well, do the best you can with that.”
Endicott said, “It looks like we’ll have time to get off a few telegrams, Arthur. Philip, you’d better come along, too. Will you excuse us, Mrs. Cool?”
Most of the dirt brushed out of my clothes, but my tie was badly ripped, and my shirt collar crumpled and dirty. I got on a new shirt and tie, held hot towels on my face until I’d got rid of some of the soreness, combed my hair, and went back to Bertha’s room.
When the door had closed she turned to me. “That’s the first time I ever knew you to do that, Donald.”
“What?”
“Show the white feather. Not that Bertha’s blaming you, lover, because she isn’t. But I just can’t understand why you’re not out after that letter.”
I took the letter out of my pocket and handed it to her. “What’s that?”
“Corla’s letter.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From Helen Framley.”