Lay Her Among The Lilies

oval cigarette fitted with a gold-tipped mouthpiece. He was tall and solid, around forty-five.

His dark hair was flecked with grey, his clean-shaven, strikingly-handsome face matched the

colour of his mahogany desk. His London-cut suit would have made any movie star green

with envy, and his linen was as immaculate and as white as the first snowdrop of spring.

He let me talk. His grey-green eyes didn’t shift from the elaborate silver pen set on his

desk. His big frame didn’t move. His mahogany-coloured face was as expressionless and as

empty as a hole in a wall.

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I began by showing him Janet Crosby’s letter, then told him about my visit to Crestways,

the state of the place, that Maureen was supposed to be ill, that Janet had been playing tennis

two days before she died of endocarditis. I mentioned Dr. Bewley, and that Benny Dwan,

who worked for Dr. Salzer, had tailed me. I told him briefly of my visit to Eudora Drew, how

Dwan had arrived and had strangled her. I dwelt on my interview with Captain of Police

Brandon, and how he had warned me to lay off Salzer and Maureen Crosby. I mentioned

casually that Brandon was prejudiced in their favour and why. I went on to describe how

Dwan had tried to shoot me, and how he had been knocked off by someone who drove a car

with diamond-tread tyres. I mentioned that Sergeants MacGraw and Hartsell had driven a car

fitted with such tyres. I concluded by telling him of my visit to Nurse Gurney’s apartment,

and of the fat woman who ate plums and how Nurse Gurney had vanished. It was a long

story, and it took time to tell, but he didn’t hurry me or interrupt me or suggest I should cut

out the details. He sat staring at his pen set, as still as the Graven Image, and I had an idea he

wasn’t missing anything, that every little detail registered, and behind that blank, empty

mahogany face, his brain was very, very much awake.

“Well, that’s the story,” I concluded, and reached forward to knock my cigarette ash into

the ashtray on his desk. “I thought that you, as the Trustee of the estate, should know about

it. I have been told by Brandon to return the five hundred dollars.” I took out my wallet and

laid the money on the desk, put my finger on it and without any show of reluctance, pushed it

towards him. “Strictly speaking that lets me out. On the other hand you may think there

should be an investigation, and if that’s what you think I would be glad to carry on. Frankly,

Mr. Willet, the set-up interests me.”

He turned his eyes on me and stared. Seconds ticked by. I had the idea he wasn’t seeing me.

He was certainly thinking.

“This is an extraordinary story,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I would have believed it if

I didn’t know your organization by reputation. You have handled several tricky jobs for

clients of mine, and they have spoken very highly of you. From what you have told me I

think we have grounds to begin an investigation, and I should be glad if you would handle it.”

He pushed back his chair and stood up. “But it must be understood that such an investigation

must be secret, and my firm must not be associated with it in any way. We will be prepared to

pay your fee, but you must keep us covered. Our position is a difficult one. We have no

business to pry into Miss Crosby’s affairs unless we are certain there is something wrong, and

we are not certain of that, although it looks like it. If you uncover any tangible evidence that

definitely connects Miss Crosby with these extraordinary happenings, then, of course, we can

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come out into the open. But not before.”

“That makes it awkward for me,” I pointed out. “I was relying on you to keep Brandon

from bothering me.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he said, “I’m sure you will be able to handle Brandon

without my help. But if the going happens to become difficult you can always quote me as

your lawyer. If there was an assault I should be happy to represent you in court without

charge.”

“That’s swell,” I said sarcastically. “But in the meantime I have been assaulted.”

He didn’t seem to think that was anything to worry about.

“No doubt you will adjust your fee to cover personal risks,” he said lightly. “After all, I

suppose a job like yours does involve risks.”

I shrugged. The fee, I told myself, would certainly be jacked up to the ceiling.

“All right,” I said. “Then I can go ahead?”

He began to pace about the room, his hands behind him, his head bent, frowning at the

carpet.

“Oh, yes. I want you to go ahead.”

“There are some questions I’d like to ask,” I said, lighting another cigarette. “When did you

last see Maureen Crosby?”

“At Janet’s funeral. I haven’t seen her since. Her affairs are quite straightforward. Any

papers that need her signature are sent to her through the mail. I have had no occasion to see

her.”

“You haven’t heard she is ill?”

He shook his head. No, he had no idea she was ill.

“Are you satisfied Macdonald Crosby’s death was an accident?” I shot at him.

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