“I’m not so certain about that. Remember that Endicott stayed behind at the Reno airport; that Arthur Whitewell didn’t go up to the room with his son; that Ogden Dearborne is a pilot and has a quarter interest in an airplane. He didn’t say anything about placing that at Philip’s disposal. Why?”
“Perhaps because he only owned a one-quarter interest.”
“That may be, and then again he may have wanted to go somewhere in a hurry himself.”
“Or with his ‘sister?” Bertha asked.
“Or his mother.”
Bertha Cool said, “Well, of all the saps! That’s what comes of having a detective get lovesick. I’d have been more comfortable waiting in the hospital. I think you’re nuts.”
“You don’t have to come with me. I told you the cab would take you back.”
Bertha Cool said, “That’s just it. If I stay out here and shiver and freeze, not a damn thing will turn up. If I bawl you out for being lovesick, take the cab and go back to Reno, you’ll trap the murderer within thirty minutes, make a big grandstand and have the laugh on me. Nuts to you, Donald Lam. I’m going to stay with the show.”
“All right,” I said, “suit yourself.”
“You should know me well enough by this time to know that I always do,” she snapped.