I followed the nurse down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs. She paused before a swinging door. I pushed it open, and Bertha Cool said, “Get the hell out of here! I’ve paid my bill, and I won’t have any more thermometers— Oh, it’s Donald! You’re a sight for sore eyes. Come on in, lover. Well, don’t stand there staring like that. Come in. Pick up my bag, and let’s get the hell out of this place. Of all the — well, what’s the matter?”
I said, “I hardly knew you.”
“I hardly know myself. I lost it while I was sick, and the doctor says I can’t put it back on. Nuts to him. Do you know what I weigh, Donald Lam? A hundred and sixty. Think of it. I can’t wear a single stitch of clothes I’ve got to my name.”
“You look fine.”
“Bosh! That’s some more of that hooey the doctor’s been handing out. Told you to flatter me, didn’t he, Donald? Did the old croaker tell you confidentially that my pump couldn’t stand the strain?”
“What gave you that idea?” I asked.
“I’d be a hell of a detective if I couldn’t read the mind of a string bean like him. Asking about when the plane got in, when I expected you to get here, and telling the nurse that he’d like to see you as soon as you arrived. Bosh! Stuff and nonsense! What are you doing with the agency, lover? Are you making any money out of it? Bertha’s been under a big expense, and we’ve simply got to watch every penny. And do you know what that income-tax man did? My God, Donald, it’s all right to be patriotic, but I don’t want to pay for their whole damn rearmament program. I—”
I picked up the bag and said, “The plane leaves at ten o’clock. I have a cab waiting outside, and—”
“A cab! Waiting outside!”
“Yes.”