Lay Her Among The Lilies

Headquarters. “This guy Salzer seems in the habit of making his nurses vanish. You note the

date? May 15th: the day Janet died. No one’s going to convince me her disappearance doesn’t

somehow tie up with Janet’s death.”

Paula studied me.

“You think Janet was murdered, don’t you?”

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I lit a cigarette and put the match carefully in the ashtray before replying.

“I think it’s possible. The motive’s there: all that money. She certainly didn’t die of heart

failure. Arsenic poisoning, among other poisons, produces heart failure. An old goat like

Bewley might easily have been deceived.”

“But you don’t know! “Paula said. “Surely you don’t think Maureen murdered her sister?”

“The incentive is pretty strong. Besides collecting a fortune of two million dollars there’s

also the little insurance item. I don’t say she did it, but that kind of money is a big temptation,

especially if you are in the hands of a blackmailer. And another thing, I’m not entirely

satisfied that Crosby himself wasn’t murdered. If there had been nothing wrong about the

shooting why didn’t Salzer call in someone like Bewley to sign the death certificate? Why

sign it himself? He had to square Lessways, the coroner, and probably Brandon. It was either

suicide or murder. I’m willing to bet it wasn’t an accident. And as Willet pointed out, if a

man owns a revolver he isn’t likely to shoot himself with a shot-gun: so that leaves murder.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Paula said sharply. “That’s your big failing, Vic. You’re

always making wild guesses.”

I winked at her.

“But how I do enjoy myself.”

III

As a form of relaxation I do jig-saw puzzles. Paula gets them for me from a legless hero she

goes along and talks to on her afternoon off. This guy spends all his time cutting jig-saws

from railway posters Paula gets for him. They make terrific puzzles and one takes me about a

month to do. Then I pass it on to a hospital and get another off Paula’s pal.

From long experience in doing these puzzles I have found the apparently small and

unimportant-looking piece is very often the key to the whole picture, and I’m always on the

look-out for such a piece. In the same way, when I’m on a job I’m always on the look-out for

some insignificant trifle that appears to have no bearing on the case, but very often has.

I had been sitting in my office for the past hour, brooding. The time was a few minutes past

seven. The office was closed for the night. Only the whisky bottle remained.

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I had jotted down a number of notes that looked impressive, but didn’t add up to much.

And on reading through the list of likely clues I paused at Douglas Sherrill’s name. Why, I

asked myself, had Janet suddenly broken off the engagement a week before Macdonald

Crosby’s death? This fact didn’t appear to have any bearing on the case, but it might have. I

couldn’t be sure until I found out just why the engagement had been broken off. Who could

tell me? Douglas Sherrill, obviously, but I couldn’t go to him without tipping my hand, and I

wasn’t ready to do that at the moment. Then who else was there? I consulted my notes. John

Stevens, Crosby’s butler, was a possibility. I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to see what

kind of a guy Stevens was. If he looked as if he could be trusted it might pay me to take him

into my confidence. Martha Bendix had said he now worked for Gregory Wainwright.

No time like the present, I thought, and turned Wainwright up in the book. I put through the

call, and after the second or third ring a stately voice said, “This is Mr. Wainwright’s

residence.”

“Is that Mr. John Stevens?” I asked.

There was a pause, the voice said cautiously, “Stevens speaking. Who is that, please?”

“My name is Malloy. Mr. Stevens, I would like to talk to you about an important and

private matter. It has to do with the Crosbys. Can you meet me some time tonight?”

Again that pause.

“I don’t understand.” It was an old man’s voice, gentle, and perhaps a little dull-witted.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

“Maybe you have heard of Universal Services.”

Yes, he had heard of Universal Services.

“I run it,” I said. “It is important to me to talk to you about the Crosbys.”

“I don’t think I have any right to discuss my last employer with you,” he said distantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“It won’t hurt you to hear what I have to say. After I have explained the position you may

feel inclined to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t there’re no bones broken.”

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The pause was longer this time.

“Well, I might meet you, but I can’t promise …”

“That’s all right, Mr. Stevens. At the corner of Jefferson and Felman there’s a cafe. We

might meet there. What time would suit you?”

He said he would be there at nine.

“I’ll be the guy wearing a hat and reading the Evening Herald,” I told him.

He said he would look out for me and hung up.

I had nearly two hours to wait before I met him, and decided to pass the time at Finnegan’s.