“And you operate a detective agency in Los Angeles? Thanks very much, Mrs. Cool… No, he hasn’t done anything. I was just checking up, that’s all— Well, just a minute. Hold the phone.”
He clamped the palm of his right hand over the transmitter, looked up at the manager, and said, “It checks. She wants to talk with him.”
The manager heaved a weary sigh. “Put him on.”
The officer handed me the phone. The hard rubber was hot and moist where his big hand had been touching it. I said, “Hello.”
Bertha said, “What the hell have you done now?”
“Nothing.”
“Baloney!”
I said, “I got a line on our party.”
“Talked with her?”
“No.”