Flo Danzer didn’t say anything. She’d got control of her face now, and it was set in an expression of tight-lipped hostility.
Out in the hallway, Bertha said, “My God, Donald, what’s the matter with you? You’ve called the turn on her, and she’s just about ready to cave.”
I said, “No, she isn’t. You two women will start fighting. We haven’t enough cards to call for a showdown.”
“Why haven’t we?”
“Because we can’t prove anything. All we can do is bluff. Remember, the object of this visit was to make her call Harbet. She’ll call him now. What she’ll say over the telephone will make that switchboard operator’s hair stand right up on end. She’ll be listening in on that conversation. By the time we know what’s said over the telephone, we’ll be ready to call for a showdown. Then we’ll have some proof. Now, we’re just running a bluff.”
We went down in the elevator. I paused at the switchboard to say, “Thank you very much,” and added in a lower voice, “I’ll ring you in fifteen minutes.”
Bertha Cool paused at the clerk’s desk to flash her diamonds. “You have very lovely apartments,” she said, with that gracious smile of hers, and the clerk came out from behind the shell of icy reserve to smile all over his face. “In case you’re interested,” he said, “we have one or two choice vacancies.”
“Perhaps a little later,” Bertha Cool said, nodding with just the right amount of condescension, and sailing majestically out of the door, which I deferentially held open. She looked for all the world like Mrs. Million-bucks taking her pet diamonds out for an airing.
I indicated the agency car. Bertha Cool said, “To hell with that bunch of junk. He may be looking out of the door. We’ll get a taxi.”
“We won’t find one cruising along here,” I said.