“Okay, give him a ring.”
I handed Bertha the telephone. She cleared her throat twice and said into the telephone, “Would you ring Mr. Arthur Whitewell’s room pull eese. Good morning, Arthur. This is Bertha. Oh, you flatterer! Donald’s here— Yes— That will be splendid!”
She hung up, looked up at me, and said, “He’s coming right up.”
I sat down, lit a cigarette, and asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“What?”
“This Arthur and Bertha business.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We just started calling each other by our first names. After all, you know, we’ve had quite an experience together — this murder and the resulting investigation.”
“How about Philip?”
“I haven’t seen Philip except for a moment when the police were asking questions.”
“Has Endicott gone to Los Angeles?”