15“Her name wasn’t Bertha Taylor, it was Betty Livingstone, Mrs. Kent,” Captain Lamb said calmly. “And she is dead.”
“They bump——”
Captain Lamb yanked the small product of her mother’s boarding house, the radio and the moving pictures out of the room before she got any further in her gleeful rendering of what to her was just another exciting incident moved from the comic strips to the front page and her own immediate world. He came back into the room and shut the door, perspiring a little, not at all like d**k Tracy and no doubt greatly disappointing to the young of the neighborhood hanging around the outside edge of the scene.
“She was masquerading as Bertha Taylor,” he continued. I thought “masquerading” seemed a rather macabre term for it just then. “She was shot and killed—murdered,
