Her eyes grew hard. “Nice, hell!” she said. “That man was on a spot. He was a frightened man if I ever saw one. He was Santa Claus. And now, damn it, he’s stuck in the chimney, and our stockings are empty.”
I said, “Oh, well, I’ll come to lunch if you feel that way about it.”
“That’s better. We’ll go down to the Gilded Swan. We can talk there.”
Bertha Cool and I walked out together. I said, “Hi, Elsie,” as I held the door open for Bertha Cool, Elsie Brand gave me a nod without looking up. Her fingers never missed the tempo of perfect rhythm on the keyboard.
Over in the Gilded Swan, Bertha Cool wanted to know if I felt like a cocktail. I told her I did, that I was going home and spend the afternoon sleeping anyhow, that I’d driven virtually all night, and that I intended to go around to the Blue Cave in the evening.
She said, “No, you don’t, Donald. You stay away from that night spot. You’ll spend money there, and Bertha has no money to squander. Unless Smith changes his instructions, we let the matter drop like a hot potato. Not that Bertha is doing so badly at that. She got a retainer in advance, but you hooked me for too damned many expenses, Donald.”
I waited until we had a couple of Martinis, then lit a cigarette and said, “Well, it’s okay. Smith says for us to go ahead.”
Bertha Cool blinked her frosty eyes. “Says which?”
“For us to go ahead.”
“Donald, you little bastard, have you found Smith?”