It was a walk-up, and Bertha climbed the stairs with the slow-deliberation of one who is determined to conserve wind and energy, leaning slightly forward as she negotiated the steps, getting her legs upward, giving to her climb a peculiar jerky motion. She arrived at the apartment, however, without being out of breath and her knuckles pounded authoritatively on the door.
The young woman who opened the door was about twenty-five. She had red hair, an upturned nose, laughing eyes, and a mouth which seemed naturally inclined toward smiles.
“Hello.”
“Hello,” Bertha said. “You’re Josephine Dell?”
“Yes.”
“May I come in?”
“Come right ahead.”
Josephine Dell was dressed in a lounging robe, pyjamas, and slippers. The interior of the modest apartment indicated she had been confined to her room for some time. There was a litter of newspapers and magazines. The ash tray was well filled, and there was an odour of stale cigarette smoke dinging to the apartment.
“Sit down,” the young woman said. “Tomorrow I get my release.”
“You’ve been laid up?” Bertha asked.
“Under observation,” Josephine Dell said, and laughed. “Misfortunes never come singly.”
Bertha Cool adjusted herself comfortably in the chair. “There’s been something else besides your automobile accident?” she asked.
“Of course. Didn’t you know?”
“No.”
“I’m out of a job.”
“You mean you were discharged because you couldn’t get to work?”
“Good heavens, no! It was when Mr. Milbers passed away that my troubles started. I presumed you knew about that. But suppose you tell me who you are and what you want before we start talking.”
Bertha said, “I’m not from any insurance company. I can’t offer you a cent.”
Josephine Dell’s face showed disappointment. “I was hoping that you represented some insurance company.”
“I thought perhaps you were.”
“You see, when the man hit me, I didn’t think I was hurt at all. It gave me a pretty good shaking-up of course, but, good heavens, I was always trained to take things in my stride; and just as soon as I could catch my breath, I kept saying to myself, ‘Now, don’t be a crybaby. After all, there are no bones broken. You just got knocked over.’ ”
Bertha nodded sympathetically.
“And this young man was so nice. He was out of his automobile in a flash. He had his arm around me and was putting me into the car almost before I knew it. He kept insisting that I must go to a hospital at least for a check-up. I laughed at the idea, and then it occured to me perhaps he was doing it for his own protection, so I told him all right, I’d go. Well, after we got started, we began to chat, and I think I convinced him that I wasn’t hurt at all, and there wasn’t going to be any claim for damages. I told him I wasn’t going to even claim a dime. So he consented to take me home.”
Bertha’s nod was the sympathetic gesture which keeps confidences pouring out.
“Then after I thought I was all right, I began to develop peculiar symptoms. I called a doctor and found out it’s not at all unusual in cases of concussion for a person apparently to be all right for a day or so and then have very serious symptoms develop. The doctor seems to think I’m lucky to be here at all.”
Again Bertha nodded.
“And,” Josephine Dell went on, with a little laugh, “I didn’t even take the man’s licence number. I didn’t get his name and haven’t the faintest idea of who he is. Not that I want to stick him, but if he’s insured, I certainly could use a few dollars right now.”
“Yes,” Bertha said, “I can appreciate that. Well, if you want to find out who he is, there’s a possibility that—”
“Yes?” Josephine Dell asked as Bertha caught herself. “Nothing,” Bertha said.
“Suppose you tell me just what is your connection with the case?”
Bertha Cool handed her a card. “I’m the head of a detective agency,” she said.
“A detective!” Josephine Dell exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes.”
Josephine Dell laughed. “I always thought detectives were sinister people. You seem very human.”
“I am.”
“Why on earth are you interested in me?”
“Because someone hired me to find you.”
“Why?”
Bertha smiled and said, “You’d never guess, not in a hundred years. This is a man who is interested in you. He knew that you were hurt and wanted to find out how you were getting along.”
“But why on earth didn’t he ring up—”
“He didn’t know where to reach you.”
“You mean he didn’t know where I was working?”
“That’s right.”
“Who is it?”
“An older man,” Bertha said. “A man who seems to—”
“Oh, I’ll bet it was the blind man!”
Bertha seemed somewhat chagrined that Josephine Dell had guessed the identity of her client so easily. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t, except that you seemed so confident I’d never think who it was that I realized it must be someone rather unusual. You know, I think a lot of him. I was thinking about him only today, wondering how I could let him know that I was getting along all right.” She laughed and went on, “You just can’t write a letter addressed to the blind man who sells neckties in front of a bank building, can you?”
“Hardly,” Bertha said.
“Will you tell him how very, very much I appreciate his interest?”
Bertha nodded.
“Tell him that it means a lot to me. I’ll probably see him myself tomorrow morning or the day after if there aren’t any further complications. I think he’s just a dear.”
“He seems very fond of you,” Bertha said. “Rather an unusual type — very observant.”
“Well, you tell him for me that I’m all right, and that I sent my love. Will you do that?”
“I certainly will.”
Bertha rose from her chair, then hesitated for a moment. “I might be able to do something about — well, about compensation for you, but I’d have to spend some money finding out who ran into you. I wouldn’t want to do it unless you felt there was no other way.”
“You mean you could find out who ran into me?”
“I think I might. It would cost some money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. Probably a percentage of what you’d get. I’d say offhand it would cost half of what you’d get. I wouldn’t want you to do it if there were any other way.”
“And you could handle the whole thing for me?”
“If there was a settlement, yes. If it went to court, that, of course, would be different.”
“Oh, I know it won’t go to court. This young man was so nice and so considerate. I feel confident that he’s insured, and if he had any idea I was laid up — but then, it isn’t anything serious. I’ve only lost three or four days from work, and my job was finished anyway.”
“You were working for a man who died?”
“Yes. Harlow Milbers.”
“Your office must have been close to the place where the blind man hangs out.”
“About two blocks from the bank — in that goofy old-time studio building around the corner. Mr. Milbers had a little studio up there.”
“What did he do?”
“Research work in connection with a private hobby of his. He had a theory that all military campaigns follow certain lines, that defence is of no value against aggression until aggression has expanded itself past a certain point, that no country can ever achieve anything permanent through aggression because once you start aggression there’s no place to stop. No matter how much force you have or how much initial impetus, you eventually arrive at a point where you’re vulnerable. The more powerful you are at the start, the farther your conquests take you, and the more extended your fronts are — but then you’re not interested in all that.”