“So what?”
“So,” he said, “you have a plane here. We are getting a plane. If you started now, you could get back to Reno ahead of us. If Corla Burke isn’t there in the hospital when we arrive, so far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any temptation to associate her with the murder of her husband.”
I said, “No soap.”
Bertha Cool said, “What the hell do you take us for anyway?”
Whitewell made a little gesture with his hands. “All right, I’ll approach it another way. Philip is my only child, my only living close relative. I realize that he is introspective, that he’s abnormally sensitive, that he’s inclined to brood. I know that his happiness doesn’t depend entirely on himself. He’s a young man who will be greatly influenced by his environment. That means that his marriage is going to be terribly important — getting just the right woman is going to mean a lot.
“Can’t you give me credit for having some intelligence? Can’t you realize that I know Philip better than any other person on earth? Don’t you understand that his happiness is the primary consideration with me, that if I thought he could be happy with Corla Burke, I would move heaven and earth to bring the two together? Can’t you realize that the only reason I didn’t want him to marry Corla was that I knew she wasn’t the woman for him? I knew the match was unsuitable. I knew that it was but the prelude to tragedy. She wouldn’t stay with him. She isn’t his type. She’d break his heart. Some persons can marry more than once. Some persons can’t. Philip is one who can’t.”
I asked, “How is your son going to feel toward her when he finds she’s been married before?”
He grinned. “What you’re leading up to is how is he going to find it out? I can’t say anything. That would be a giveaway. She won’t say anything because she’s had this very convenient loss of memory. Of course, it will come out after marriage, but that will be afterwards. Oh, I’ll hand it to you, Lam. You’re clever all right. It would have been a neat little checkmate. But it isn’t a mate.”
I saw the glitter in his eyes. “Don’t forget that I can be absolutely ruthless when anyone crosses me. You either have her out of the way by the time Philip gets to Reno or she’ll be arrested for murder, and then the whole thing will come out — and once she’s pulled this amnesia business, she’s licked.”
I yawned.
He stood glaring down at me. “Damn you, you insolent little terrier, I mean it.”
I reached in my pocket.
He crossed the room, picked up the telephone, and said to us, “I’m calling police headquarters.”
I pulled out the letter I’d taken from Corla Burke’s Reno apartment.
Whitewell took one look at that envelope and dropped the telephone as though it had been hot. I said, “I inquired for mail at Reno. I thought there might be a letter for her. There was.”
He became very still.
“That was a breach of the postal laws. They can raise hell with you for that.”
I went on calmly, “I notice Paul Endicott seemed very anxious to mail your letter about the option. It’s fortunate you accepted it. Evidently he’s quite familiar with your business.”
Bertha said, “Donald, what the hell are you talking about?”
I said, “Suppose Philip takes it right on the chin and still loves her, regardless of how many times she’s been married? You’re a man who likes your family, Mr. Whitewell. You’re going to be pretty lonesome without Philip, and it’s going to be quite a blow to you to be estranged from your own grandchildren.”
If I’d given him Louie Hazen’s one-two shift in the solar plexus, I couldn’t have given him more of a jolt.
“If I were in your shoes,” I went on, “I’d have considered the amnesia as just about the best break I’d had in ten years.”
He said with conviction, “When he finds out how she’s deceived him, he’ll walk out on her. It will hurt for a while, but he’ll walk out.”
I said, “You’re wrong. He won’t find out. Personally, I’m going to get something to eat. I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
I walked out and left him alone with Bertha.
I strolled down the street to a bar, got a toothpick, and came back to Bertha Cool’s room. She was alone. “Where’s Whitewell?” I asked.
“Gone to get some things together. You really shouldn’t have handled him that way, lover. You’ve always had a chip on your shoulder with him.”
“I gave him a break with that amnesia business, and he was too dumb to realize it,” I said.
“No, not dumb. Just confident that Philip will do exactly what he expects him to do.”
“Philip is in love.”
“Donald, what about that letter he sent. What was in it?”
“Nothing much.”
She glared at me. The phone rang. She picked it up, listened a moment after she’d said, “Hello,” and then said, “Okay, we’ll be on our way.”
She hung up. “Philip has chartered a plane. That and the one you brought from Reno will take us all. We start at once. Donald, what was in that letter?”
I started for the door. “Let’s get going.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bertha went in the plane with me. The others followed in the plane Philip had chartered. At the last minute, Paul Endicott decided he’d go along, too, just for the ride.
The drone of the plane motor lulled me to sleep shortly after the take-off. Occasionally, Bertha would prod me into wakefulness with questions. I’d answer in muttered monosyllables and return to the warm comfort of sleep.
“You mustn’t fight with Arthur Whitewell, Donald.”
“Uh huh.”
“You little devil, Bertha knew you weren’t falling for a woman. You fall in love with them all right, and I mean really in love, but you’re more in love with your profession than with any woman. Answer me, Donald. Isn’t that right?”
“I guess so.”
“Tell me, did Helen Framley kill that man she was living with?”
“She wasn’t living with him.”
“Oh, splash!”
“It was a business partnership.”
Bertha snorted. “Pickle me for a beet.”
I didn’t say anything. After a few minutes, Bertha said, “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“What?”
“Whether she murdered him.”
“I hope she didn’t.”
I didn’t have to look up to realize that her glittering little eyes were searching every line of my face, trying to surprise some telltale expression. “Helen Framley knows a lot about who committed that murder.”
“Perhaps.”
“Something she hasn’t told the police.”
“Possibly.”
“I’ll bet she’s told you what it is. You wormed it out of her, you little devil. My God, Donald, how do you do it? Do you hypnotize them? I guess you must. You can’t give them the cave-man stuff. You make them come to you. I guess it’s your readiness to fight at the drop of the hat, even when you know you’re going to get licked. I guess that’s it. Women love a fighter.”
I felt my head jerk forward as I all but slipped into unconsciousness. Bertha pulled me back with her patter.
“Listen, lover, has it ever occurred to you what’s going to happen next?”
“What?”
“Whitewell has money, influence, and brains. He isn’t going to be pushed around.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll bet that Framley girl would do just about anything you asked her.”
That didn’t seem to call for any reply.
Bertha said, “I’ll bet the person who did the job is sweating blood right now. Suppose this Framley girl really does know who killed him?”
I said, “I think she does.”