“Set your speedometer at zero when you cross the railroad tracks. I’ll want to get mileage from time to time. You’ll get waiting time while we’re gone, but I don’t want the lights on or the motor running. Do you get me?”
He said somewhat dubiously, “I know you’re okay, but on a trip out of town that way where we’re left waiting by a highway, we’re supposed to get—”
I handed him ten dollars. “That enough?” I asked him.
“That’s perfectly swell,” he said with a grin.
“Set the speedometer at zero as you cross the tracks.”
“Right.”
Bertha Cool settled back against the cushions. “Give me a cigarette, lover, and tell me what the hell all this is about.”
“Who murdered Jannix?” I asked, handing her the cigarette.
“How should I know?”
I said, “Someone who was close to Arthur Whitewell.”