"This is Mrs. Cool," Esther Witson went on, "and this is Mr. Lam."

  Mysgart shook hands. He was, he announced, very pleased to meet us both.

  "Won't you be seated?" Bertha asked.

  Esther Witson said, "They've served papers on me. I brought my lawyer along because I wanted him to explain the legal aspects of the situation."

  She turned to Mysgart and beamed at him.

  Mysgart cleared his throat. The amiable expression instantly left his face as he marshalled his features into the judicial. He said, in tone of deep solemnity, "This is a legal outrage, Mrs. Cool. It is unfortunate that the legal profession is besmirched by such a firm as Cosgate & Glimson."

  "Shysters?" Bertha asked.

  "Not exactly what you'd call shysters," Mysgart said. "They are shrewd, aggressive, able, and scrupulous in observing the exact letter of the law. But that is all. Yes, Mrs. Cool, that is all. Understand, I wouldn't want to be quoted in this. It is merely a confidential statement that I'm making—a privileged communication, by the way."

  "He's had dealing with them before," Esther Witson interposed.

  Mysgart lifted his brief-case, opened it. "Take, for instance, this dispicable, this damnable attempt to influence your testimony, Mrs. Cool. It is legal in the sense that there's no law against it, but it is something which the ethical lawyer can never condone. You see what they have done, don't you?"

  "They've sued me," Bertha said.

  "Exactly. They've named you as a defendant in order to worry you, in order to harass you, in order to annoy you, and in order to stampede you so that in giving your testimony you will be swayed by a desire to placate them."

  Bertha said, "They can't scare me."

  Esther Witson nodded enthusiastically. "That's exactly what I told Mr. Mysgart."

  Mysgart beamed at Bertha. "I'm glad to hear you say so, Mrs. Cool. Now my idea is to turn their despicable little trick against them. You are entitled to five days' notice before theycan take your deposition, but these lawyers naturally didn't tell you that. They wanted to force you to testify in their favour, to intimidate you, to browbeat you. However, we've worked out a perfect defence to their little scheme, Mrs. Cool. My client was not only blameless throughout, but she is a generous, warm-hearted, sympathetic woman who has a keen appreciation for the inconvenience to which you have been subjected.

  "Mrs. Cool, my client, Esther Witson, has told me that she will defray the expenses of making a legal appearance for you. In other words, I am instructed by my client to file an answer on your behalf and proceed as your attorney until the matter is disposed of and it will not cost you one red cent—not one red cent, Mrs. Cool. My client will defray the entire cost of the action."

  Bertha beamed all over her face. "You mean I won't have to hire any lawyer?"

  "No, Mr. Mysgart will appear for you. He'll take care of everything," Esther Witson said.

  "And it won't cost me a cent?"

  "Not a red cent," Mysgart repeated.

  Bertha heaved a sigh of relief and reached for a cigarette.

  There was a moment's silence while Bertha lit up. I could see Bertha struggling for a diplomatic approach. Abruptly she blurted, "How about settling the case?"

  "Settling it!" Mysgart said, mouthing the words as though forcing himself to say something utterly reprehensible. "My dear Mrs. Cool, there is nothing to settle—absolutely nothing."

  Bertha coughed a couple of times, looked over to me for help.

  I didn't say anything.

  Bertha said, "After all, you know, law-suits are expensive. And it occurred to me that in order to avoid all of the trouble of litigation—well, you know, I might make some offer of settlement to the plaintiff's lawyer to see if he'd wipe the whole thing off the books."

  "Oh, don't do that! For Heaven's sake, don't do that, Mrs. Cool. That would be an admission of liability on your part. That would jeopardise the entire case. That would be inconceivably disastrous!"

  "Well," Bertha said, "I'm a busy woman. I can't take the

  time..."

  "Oh, but it isn't going to cost you anything," Esther Witson

  interrupted. "Mr. Mysgart will represent you at every stage of the proceedings and there won't be any charge—none whatever."

  "But there's my time," Bertha said lamely. "I thought perhaps—well, you know, I'd offer them a thousand or two and see what they did."

  Mysgart and his client exchanged glances of incredulous amazement.

  "You mean you'd offer it yourself out of your own pocket?”

  “Why not?"

  "But why should you?" Mysgart said. "Can't you understand, Mrs. Cool, the only reason on God's green earth that they have made you a party defendant to this action is so they could take your deposition and bullyrag you into distorting what had happened so that it would be in their favour. It's a very shrewd and a very desperate trick. They put you in the position of being a defendant faced with a large contingent liability, and then assure you that if your testimony is the way they think it is going to be, they will dismiss the action against you. It's very plainly an attempt to influence the witness."

  Bertha looked over at me.

  I lit a cigarette.

  Bertha looked at Mysgart, floundered around for words, then suddenly turned on me and said, "Damn it, say something."

  Mysgart elevated his eyebrows, glanced curiously over at me. "Want me to tell you what I think?" I asked Bertha. "Yes."

  I said, "Go ahead, tell them the truth. Tell them that Miss Witson was driving along behind you; that you stopped your car because you wanted to turn left; that you motioned her to go on around you and she stopped to bawl you out, and that was the reason she didn't see Lidfield's car coming."

  There was a silence that you could have put in a slicing machine, cut off into small slices and wrapped up in paper.

  Esther Witson said suddenly, "Well, if that's the position you're going to take, I'll do a little talking myself."

  Mysgart said soothingly, "Come, come now, ladies. Let's ..."

  "Shut up," Esther Witson said. "As a matter of fact, this fat slob was driving all over the road. First she was on the left. Then she swung away over to the right, just in front of me. Then damned if she didn't stop and start giving left-hand turnsignals and then waving her arms and going through a lot of outdoor calisthenics ..."

  "Who's a fat slob?" Bertha yelled.

  "You are ! "

  "Ladies, ladies," Mysgart interposed.

  "My God," Bertha said, "no horse-toothed bitch is going to call me a fat slob. I'm heavy—but I'm hard. There's nothing slobby about me. Get the hell out of here ! "

  "And," Esther Witson went on, "because I didn't know what you were going to do, and was trying to get past you. I was lured out into the intersection and ..."

  "My dear young lady," Mysgart said, on his feet now and between her and Bertha Cool, "you mustn't, you simply mustn't make such statements."

  "I don't care," Esther Witson screamed. "It was all her fault, and as far as I'm concerned, she's the one that's responsible for the whole business."

  Bertha Cool said, "You were so damned anxious to bawl me out that you damn near twisted your neck off. You weren't even looking where you were going. All I saw was those horse teeth of yours ..."

  "Don't you say anything about my teeth, you fat swill-barrel ! "

  Mysgart got the door open into the corridor. "Please, Miss Witson, please—I beg of you."

  Esther Witson yelled back over his shoulder, "I didn't want you for a witness, anyway. I hate fat stupidity."

  "Keep your lips over your teeth as much as you can, dearie," Bertha said. "You look like hell when your mouth is all the way open."

  The door slammed.

  Bertha, her face almost purple, looked at me. "Damn you," she said, "you did that. Sometimes I could rip you apart just to see what makes you tick—only you don't tick. You're too smooth. You're just a lot cf damn wheels running in an oil-bath. God, how I hate you! "

  I said, "Your cigarette's burning the desk."

  Bertha snatched up the cigarette end, ground it out in the ash-tray and glowered at me.

  I said, "It had to come out sooner or later. It's better this way. You try juggling the truth and you'll get hurt. Eventually we'll settle this case for Crail, but not by letting Mysgart think he's going to have a case he can win. Esther Witson has money.

  If you settle the case, Mysgart can't charge his client a fat fee. If you're on his side, he'll put in a lot of time on legal monkey business and when he's won the case send his client a bill for about three thousand bucks. Tell the truth and Mysgart may be willing to work out a settlement. Well, I've got some work to do. See you around deposition time. Better think over what you're going to say."

  I walked out of the office. Bertha, frowning at her desk, was too busy thinking to say anything.

  Elsie Brand was pounding away at the keyboard of the typewriter. Without missing a beat of a single letter, she glanced up at me, her right eye slowly closed.

  I winked back at her and went out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT was precisely three-seventeen when I returned to the office.

  The deposition was under way. A court reporter sat at Elsie Brand's desk, taking down everything that was said in shorthand. Bertha Cool was on the witness chair looking rather triumphant. The man of about fifty with a weak chin and eager greedy eyes who sat next to Frank Glimson would be Rolland B. Lidfield, one of the plaintiffs in the case.

  As far as possible, John Carver Mysgart had interposed his bulk between Esther Witson and Bertha Cool. He had Esther parked pretty well behind him and he was scribbling furiously on a notebook as I opened the door, evidently taking down something he wanted to ask Bertha when it came his turn.

  They all glanced up as I entered. Then Glimson went on with his questioning. His hands were out in front of his chest, the fingers spread apart, tips touching. His head was tilted back slightly and his bony face was a complete mask. "Now, Mrs. Cool, tell us exactly what you did."

  "I slowed my car at the intersection," Bertha said, "and then I heard this raucous horn blowing behind me."

  "Yes, yes, go on."

  "And then Miss Witson swung her car around me out into the middle of the lane of traffic."

  "And what did she do, if anything?"

  "She started giving me a tongue-lashing because she didn't like the way I was driving."

  "She stopped her car to do this?" Glimson asked.

  "She did not. She was shooting around me with a heavy foot on the throttle."

  "She was, of course, facing you," Glimson said as one who makes a statement rather than asks a question.

  "I'll say she was facing me," Bertha said.

  "You saw her eyes?"

  "I saw her eyes and her teeth."

  Esther Witson moved in her chair.

  Mysgart reached back and made little pattie-back gestures with his hand to quiet down his client.

  Glimson's eyes held a flashing glint of triumph. "Then when Miss Witson drove past you, she was looking at you and talking to you. Is that right?"

  "That's right."

  "Let me see if I have understood your testimony correctly, Mrs. Cool. I believe you said that when you came to the intersection you brought your car almost to a stop."

  "That's right."

  "Now let's not misunderstand each other. When Miss Wit-son went past you, she was looking at you and talking to you, and your car was at the intersection, is that right?"

  "Yes."

  "Then the front of her car must have been well into the intersection?"

  "Well, yes."

  "While she was looking at you and talking to you?”

  “Yes."

  "And all of this time she was travelling at a high rate of speed?"

  "She was stepping on it. She had a heavy foot on the throttle."

  "And when did she turn around to look where she was going?" Glimson asked.

  "Well, all of a sudden, it seemed to hit her that she hadn't been looking ..."

  "Note an objection," Mysgart said, "that the witness cannot testify as to what seemed to have been passing through my client's mind. She can only testify ..."

  "Yes, yes," Glimson interrupted. "Just tell us the facts, Mrs. Cool, not what you think."

  "Or what she thinks my client thought," Mysgart added sarcastically.

  Glimson glared at him.

  Mysgart wriggled his upper lip so that his moustache scratched his nose.

  "Well, she suddenly turned around and there was this other car right on top of her," Bertha snapped.

  "You mean the car which was being driven by Mr. Rolland B. Lidfield, the gentleman sitting at my right?"

  "Yes."

  "And this car driven by Mr. Lidfield was turning to the left, was it not, so that it was headed up Mantica Street in a northerly direction?"

  "That's right."

  "And Miss Witson, with what you have described as a heavy foot on the throttle, charged her car blindly into the intersection of Garden Vista Boulevard and Mantica Street directly in front of the car driven by Mr. Lidfield. Is that right?"

  "That's right."

  Glimson settled back in his chcair and lowered his hands until they rested across his stomach. He turned to Mysgart with a benign expression. "Would you care to cross-examine?"

  Esther Witson stirred uneasily in her chair.

  Mysgart made another little blind patting gesture in her general direction and said, "Certainly."

  "Go ahead."

  "Thank you," Mysgart retorted with heavy sarcasm.

  Mysgart shifted the position of his chair somewhat, Bertha Cool glanced at me with a triumphant expression as much as to say that no damn lawyer was going to mix her up, and then turned her eager little eyes on Mysgart.

  Mygart cleared his throat. "Now let's just go back to the beginning and see if we get this straight, Mrs. Cool. You were proceeding in a westerly direction on Garden Vista Boulevard?"

  "Yes."

  "And how long had you been driving westerly along Garden Vista Boulevard before you came to the intersection of Mantica Street?"

  "Eight or ten blocks, perhaps."

  "Now at the intersection of Mantica Street, you have testified that your automobile was in the extreme right-hand lane, the lane that is next to the kerb."

  "Yes.""And how long had it been in that lane?"

  "I don't know."

  "You wouldn't say for eight or ten blocks?"

  "No."

  "Some of the time you had been over on the extreme left-hand lane, the one that's closest to the centre of the road, hadn't you, Mrs. Cool?"

  "I suppose so."

  "And part of the time you had been in the middle lane?”

  “No."

  Mysgart raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're certain of that, Mrs. Cool?"

  "Absolutely certain," Bertha snapped.

  "At no time at all, had you operated your car in the middle lane? Is that right?"

  "That's right."

  "But you had been over on the left-hand lane?"

  "Yes."

  "And at the time of the accident you were over on the right-hand lane?"

  "Yes."

  "Then," Mysgart said with elaborate sarcasm, "will you be so kind as to tell us, Mrs. Cool, how you could possibly have got from the left-hand lane to the right-hand lane without driving over the middle lane?"

  "I may have crossed it," Bertha said.

  "Oh," Mysgart said with well-simulated surprise, "then you did operate your car on the middle lane?"

  "I went across it."

  "Straight across?"

  "Yes."

  "Then am I to understand you turned sharply and crossed the middle lane at a right angle?"

  "Don't be silly, I angled over to the right-hand lane."

  "Oh, then, you turned abruptly in front of oncoming traffic?"

  "Certainly not," Bertha said. "You can't mix me up. I eased my way over."

  "Taking perhaps a block in order to complete your manoeuvre, or two blocks, or three blocks, or four blocks.”

  “I don't know."

  "It might have been four blocks?"

  "I don't know.... It could have been."

  "Then for a long distance, Mrs. Cool, perhaps for as much as four blocks, you were operating your car in the middle lane of traffic?"