“Bleatie went into the bathroom, took off his nose business, and became Morgan Birks. He went into 618 and waited until I’d served him. As soon as we went out of 618, he jumped off the bed, went back into the bathroom, changed the parting of his hair, changed back into his bloodstained clothes, had his nose guard taped back into place, and became Bleatie again. Then it was a cinch for him to add the finishing touch. Standing in the bathroom, he was able to impersonate Morgan Birks as calling from 618, and Bleatie as answering from the bathroom. Bleatie’s voice was distinguished from Morgan’s because it sounded as though Bleatie was talking with a clothespin over his nose. And that bandage business made a perfect disguise. In that way he was able to come to the hotel and leave it right under the noses of the gang that was looking for him. That’s the way he’s been able to dodge the police. He’s been at the place where they least expected him, living in his own apartment with his own little wife. She’s covering him up in order to get that divorce. That’s why he’s so sore at Holoman.”

“Being sore at Holoman doesn’t fit in,” she said. “The doctor must be in on it with him. He must be a confederate.”

“Sure, he’s in with Birks, but only on this one play. Birks didn’t get Holoman. Sandra did. Holoman is Sandra’s friend. Morgan and Sandra came to a parting of the ways. Morgan told her about his mistress, and she admitted having a lover. They fixed up the divorce business. They needed a doctor to fix up the disguise. Sandra’s lover was called in.”

The taxi driver drew up in front of the Stillwater Apartments.

“How much is the meter, Donald, darling?” she asked.

“Four dollars and fifteen cents.”

She handed the cab driver a five-dollar bill. “Give me seventy-five cents,” she said, “and keep the rest.” He gave her a fifty-cent piece and a quarter.

She turned to me. “Donald,” she said, “you’re a darling. You’re the fair-haired boy child. This job takes brains, and you’ve got them!” She put her arm around my shoulders and said, “Donald, I could love you for this. You figured the thing out, and here is where Bertha Cool goes to town. I’ll make a clean-up on this, you darling!—and you owe ninety-five cents on this taxi meter, Donald. I’ll take it out of your salary.”

She stood on the sidewalk, fished a notebook out of her purse, and marked three dollars and thirty cents in her expense account under taxis. Then she turned the page, and marked down D. L., advance on taxi meter, ninety-five cents.

I said, “Thanks for your praise, Mrs. Cool. Some day I’ll try to think of an idea that will cost me an even dollar.”