“Then you lied to Whitewell?”
“No. I didn’t tell him I didn’t have it. I said the girl didn’t have it. She didn’t. She’d given it to me.”
Bertha’s little glittering eyes blinked at me. “What’s the idea?”
“Read it.”
Bertha read the letter, looked up, and said, “I don’t get it. Why hold out on our client?”
“Have you,” I asked, “got that letter Whitewell wrote?”
“The one you gave me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Let’s take a look at it.”