“Rotten. How’s the boss?”
“You won’t believe it. She’s slimmed herself down to around a hundred and fifty.”
“What?”
“No fooling. What’s more, she’s getting coy.”
“You’re drunk. When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. Listen. Go down to a friendly newspaper office. Look in their morgue for all the dope on a man by the name of Sid Jannix who was a prize fighter. He was up somewhere near the top at one time. Either get some photographs or get a photographer to copy the pictures if you have to. I want them sent on here by air mail. Sal Sagev Hotel.”
“Using your own name?” she asked.
“Uh huh. So’s Bertha. We’re both there at the Sal Sagev. Here’s another one. Get hold of the Bureau of Vital Statistics, find out who Sidney Jannix married. See if there’s ever been a divorce. Get that information and rush it me by wire.”
“Okay. There are a couple of people anxious to get some service at this end. One of them’s a blackmail case, and the other’s a hit-and-run. What’ll I tell them?”
“Tell them Bertha Cool can’t pledge the agency’s unique service unless she receives a substantial cash retainer. See how strong they’ll go. If it looks good—”