“No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You mustn’t let him know you’re working on anything except Corla Burke’s disappearance.”
I said, “This is going to mean more expenses, you know, and—”
“That’s all right.”
Bertha Cool straightened up in her chair. “Pardon me,” she said, “but—”
Whitewell’s hand motioned her into the background.
Bertha said, “To hell with that stuff. Don’t think anyone sets prices in this agency except Bertha Cool.”
He suddenly became his old self, smiling at her. “Pardon me, Bertha,” he said. “No one was trying to go over your head. I simply wanted Lam to understand what has to be done, because he’s got to start immediately.”
Bertha smiled up at him. Her voice was butter-and-syrup. “You know, Arthur, we have to charge more for working on murder cases than on other matters.”
“How much more?”
Bertha looked at me and nodded toward the door. “All right, lover, you’d better get started.”