Lay Her Among The Lilies

over and straightened out.

I went over to him. He was out all right, and, looking down at the blood running out of the

corners of his eyes, I felt sorry for him. I didn’t mean to hurt him as badly as that, but it was

his life or mine, and at least I hadn’t killed him.

I leaned forward and pulled the thick leather belt from around his waist, rolled him over

and strapped his hands behind him. I took off my belt and lashed it around his ankles.

He was too heavy to carry and I wanted to get to my phone and my gun. I thought he would

be all right until I got back, and I turned and pelted towards the cabin.

It took me a couple of minutes to wake up Mifflin again. This time he sounded as mad as a

hornet you’ve slapped with a fly-whisk.

“All right, all right,” I said. “I’ve got Dwan here.”

“Dwan?” Anger went out of his voice. “With you?”

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“Yeah. Come on. Get the boys and the wagon. I want some sleep tonight.”

“Dwan! But Brandon said …”

“To hell with what Brandon said!” I bawled. “Come on out and get him.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Mifflin said dismally. “I’m coming.”

As I slammed down the receiver, a gun went off with a choked bang somewhere out on the

dunes. I made two quick jumps to my wardrobe, flung open the door and grabbed the .38.I

was back at the front door almost before the echo of the shot had died away. I didn’t rush out

into the moonlight. I stood looking around, just in the shadow of the verandah, seeing

nothing, hearing nothing and feeling spooked.

Then somewhere behind the palmetto trees a car started up and drove away with a rapid

change of gears.

I sneaked down the verandah steps, holding my gun waist high, down the garden path and

across the moonlit stretch of sand. The sound of the departing car became fainter and fainter,

and finally died away.

I reached Benny Dwan and stood over him. Someone had shot him in the head, firing very

close. The bullet had smashed in the side of his skull and burned his squashed ear with the

gun flash.

He looked very harmless and lonely. He also looked very dead.

IV

The little blonde who looked after the PBX in the outer office gave me a coy little smile as

I pushed open the frosted panel door on which was inscribed in gold letters: Universal

Services, and on the right-hand bottom corner, in smaller letters: Executive Director: Victor

Malloy.

“Good morning, Mr. Malloy,” she said, showing her nice white little teeth. She had a snub

nose and puppy-dog manners. You felt you had only to pat her for her to wag her tail. A nice

kid. Eighteen if she was a day, and only two heart throbs: me and Bing Crosby.

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The two kids sitting behind typewriters, also blondes and also puppies, smiled the way

Bobbysoxers smile and also said, “Good morning, Mr. Malloy.”

Mr. Malloy looked his harem over and said it was a swell morning.

“Miss Bensinger is over at County Buildings. She may be a little late,” the PBX blonde told

me.

“Thanks, Trixy. I’ll be right in the office. When she comes in tell her I want her.”

She ducked her head and flashed me a look that might have meant something to me if she

had been a couple of years older and didn’t work for me, and swung around on her stool to

take an in-coming call.

I went into my office and shut the door. My desk clock told me it was five past ten, early

for a drink, although I wanted one. After a little hesitation, I decided the bottle wouldn’t

know it was too early, hoisted it out of the desk drawer and gave myself a small, rather

shamefaced nip. Then I sat down, lit a cigarette and pawed over the morning’s mail without

finding anything to hold my interest. I dropped the lot in the out-tray for Paula’s attention, put

my feet on the desk and closed my eyes. After the night’s excitement I felt a little frayed at

the edges.

A bluebottle fly buzzed sleepily around my head. The two typewriters clacked in the outer

office. Trixy played with her plugs. I dozed.

At twenty minutes to eleven I woke with a start at the sound of Paula’s voice in the outer

office. I had time to get my feet off the desk and drag my out-tray towards me before she

opened the door and came in.

“There you are,” I said as brightly as I could. “Come on in.”

“If you must sleep in the office, will you try not to snore?” she said, pulling up a chair and

sitting down. “It’s demoralizing the staff.”

“They’ve been demoralized for years,” I said, grinning. “I had about two hours sleep last

night. I’m a tired old man this morning, and I must be treated kindly.”

Her cool brown eyes rested on the bruise on my cheekbone, and her eyebrows climbed a

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half-inch.

“Trouble?”

“Well, excitement,” and I told her about Benny Dwan’s visit.

“He’s dead?” she said, startled. “Who shot him?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I have an idea,” I said, hoisting my feet on to the desk. “Ten

minutes after my call to Mifflin, the cops arrived, but Mifflin wasn’t with them. You

remember those two coppers we ran into at Headquarters: the guy with the red hair and the

tough-looking one? Well, they turned up. Sergeant MacGraw; that’s the red head, and

Sergeant Hartsell. A couple of nice, well-behaved, quiet-mannered heels You could wish to

avoid any day of the week. They made no bones about how pleased they were to find Dwan

dead. Of course that was understandable. His death lets Salzer right out. All he has to do now

is to claim Dwan was no longer working for him. Why Dwan stole Salzer’s car, knocked off

Eudora and tried to knock off me is something for the police to find out. It’s my bet they

never will find out.”

“You said you had an idea who killed him.”

“Yeah. When those two boys took Dwan away I wandered around and looked for clues.

They came in a police car fitted with diamond tread tyres. I found the same pattern in the

sand at the back of my cabin. It’s my guess they came out early in the evening to keep an eye

on me and had a front-row seat for the little show Dwan put on for my benefit, and when I

knocked him out and left him tied up the temptation was too much for them. While I was

phoning Mifflin, they strolled over to Dwan and silenced him.”

“You mean two police officers … ?” Paula began, her eyes growing wide.

“Look at the trouble it saves,” I said. “Put yourself in their place. Here is a guy wanted for

murder, who will most certainly talk if he is ever brought to trial. He has probably a lot of

things to say about Dr. Salzer that would make interesting reading in the papers. Brandon is a

pal of Salzer. What could be more convenient than to put a slug into Dwan’s head and save

the cost of a trial and inconvenience to Brandon’s little pal? Simple, isn’t it? I may be wrong,

of course, but I doubt it. Anyway, there’s not much we can do about it, so let’s skip it and get

down to something we can do something about. Have you looked up the Crosbys’ wills?”

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