“I am working on it. I’ve put an ad in the Oakview Blade asking for information about Mrs. James Lintig or about her heirs, indicating that someone has died and left her property.”
“How much did that ad cost?” Bertha asked.
“Five dollars.”
Bertha looked at me over the smoke that spiraled upwards from the end of her cigarette. “It’s too damn much,” she said.
I opened the door, said casually, “It probably is, at that,” and closed the door behind me before she could say anything.
I drove the agency car around to the address of Eva-line Harris. It was a cheap, three-storied brick apartment house. By the mailboxes was a list of the tenants and call buttons. I found Evaline Harris was in 309, and pressed the button. I had rung the third time when the buzzer announced that the door was being unlatched. I walked in.
There was a lobby stretching across the building and extending back some fifteen feet. It was dark, gloomy, and filled with odours. A door marked Manager was on the left. Midway in the corridor a weak electric light glowed over the entrance to an automatic elevator. I rattled up to the third floor and walked back towards 309.
Evaline Harris was standing in the door, peering down the corridor with sleep-swollen eyes. She didn’t look either mousy or virginal. She said, “What do you want?” in a voice that was rough as a rasp.
“I’m an adjuster for the railroad company. I want to make an adjustment on that trunk.”
“My God,” she said. “It’s about time. Why pick this hour of the morning? Don’t you know a girl who works nights has to sleep some time?”