“Make me a check for a hundred and fifty dollars,” Mrs. Cool interrupted. “Make it out to Bertha Cool. I’ll send it down to the bank. If the check’s any good, we’ll find Morgan Birks. When we find him, we’ll serve him. If we find him tomorrow, it costs you a hundred and fifty bucks. If it takes more than seven days, it costs you twenty dollars a day for every extra day we put in. No matter what happens, you get no refunds. Frankly, if we can’t find him in seven days, I don’t think we can ever find him. No use you throwing good money after bad. I’m telling you now.”

“But you’ve got to find him,” Alma Hunter said. “It’s—it’s imperative.”

“Listen, dearie. The whole police force is trying to find him. I’m not saying we can’t. I’m not saying we can. I’m just telling you how you can keep costs down.”

“But the police force doesn’t have Sandra helping them. Sandra can—”

“Do you mean that Sandra knows where he is?”

“No, but her brother does.”

“Who’s her brother?”

“His name’s Thoms, B. Lee Thoms. He’s going to help Sandra. She’s at the train, meeting him. He knows who Morgan’s girl friend is. You should be able to locate him through the girl friend.”

Bertha Cool said, “All right. As soon as you get the money, we start.”

Alma Hunter raised her purse. “I’ll give you cash right now.”

“How’d you happen to come to me?”

“Sandra’s lawyer said you’d get results, that you took cases that the other detective agencies wouldn’t touch—divorce cases and things of that sort, and—”

“Who in hell is he?” Bertha Cool interrupted. “I forgot to look at his name. Donald, hand me those papers—no, never mind, just read me the name of the lawyer.”

I looked down at the bottom of the jacket. “Sydney Coltas,” I said. “He has his office in the Temple Building.”

“Never heard of him,” Mrs. Cool said. “But he seems to know me. Sure I do anything—divorces, politics—anything. My idea of ethics in this business is cash and carry.”

Alma Hunter said, “You did some work for a friend of his once.”

Bertha Cool said, “Well, don’t get me wrong, dearie. I’m not going to serve your summons. I don’t go wandering around the highways and byways with papers in my hand. I hire people to do my leg work. Donald Lam is one of my legs.”

The phone rang. She frowned and said, “I wish somebody’d invent a muzzle for a telephone so the damn thing wouldn’t always ring in the middle of a sentence. Hello—hello, what is it? Yes, what do you want, Elsie? . . . All right, I’ll put her on.”