Lay Her Among The Lilies

I picked a table away from the door and sat down, opened the Evening Herald and spread it

on the table. Then I lit a cigarette and wondered about the Wop. Was he another of Salzer’s

playmates or was he a new angle in this business? He was tailing me all right, and making a

very bad job of it. Either that or he didn’t care if I knew he was after me. I had taken a note of

his car licence number. Another little job for Mifflin, I thought, and that reminded me. I

turned to the sports pages and checked the races. Crab Apple had won her race. Well, that

was all right. Mifflin wouldn’t mind checking the car number now he had made a little

money.

On the stroke of nine the double glass doors pushed open and a tall old man came in. I

knew he was Stevens the moment I saw him. He looked like an Archbishop on vacation. He

came towards me with that stately walk butlers have when they come in to announce dinner is

served. The expression on his face was slightly forbidding, and there was a cautious, distant

look in his eyes.

I stood up.

“Mr. Stevens?”

He nodded.

“I’m Malloy. Sit down, will you? Have a coffee?” He put his bowler hat on one of the

chairs and sat down. Yes, he would have a coffee.

To save time I went to the counter, ordered two coffees and carried them over. The Bobbysoxer

was staring at Stevens and giggling with the bad manners of the very young. She said

something to her boy, a fresh-faced youth in a striped jersey and a college cap at the back of

his head. He looked over at Stevens and grinned. Maybe they thought it was funny for an

Archbishop to come to a Help-Yourself Cafe or maybe the bowler hat amused them. I put the

two cups on the table.

“Nice of you to come, Mr. Stevens,” I said, and offered him a cigarette. While he was

lighting it I studied him. He was all right. The faithful family retainer who could keep his

mouth shut. He could be trusted, but the trouble would be to get him to talk. “What I have to

say is in strict confidence,” I went on, sitting down. “I’ve been hired to investigate Miss Janet

Crosby’s death. A certain party isn’t entirely satisfied she died of heart failure.”

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LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

He stiffened and sat bolt upright.

“Who is the certain party?” he asked. “Surely it is a little late for an investigation?”

“I’d rather not say at the moment,” I told him. “I agree it is late, but only within the past

few days have certain facts come to light that make an investigation necessary. Do you think

Janet Crosby died of heart failure?”

He hesitated.

“It’s not my business,” he said reluctantly. “Since you ask me, I admit it was a great shock

to me. She seemed such an active young person. But Dr. Salzer assured me that in her case a

sudden stoppage of an artery would cause heart failure without previous symptoms. All the

same I found it hard to believe.”

“I wonder if you have any idea why Miss Crosby broke off her engagement with Douglas

Sherrill?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you that without knowing who is making this investigation,” he

said primly. “I have heard of your organization and I believe it is well spoken of, but I am not

prepared to gossip about my late employer unless I know who I am dealing with.”

That was as far as we ever got.

There was a sudden frozen stillness in the cafe that made me look up sharply.

The double glass doors swung open, and four men walked in. Two of them carried

Thompson sub-machine-guns, the other two had Colt automatics in their hands. Four dark-skinned Wops: one of them was my pal with the dirty shirt cuffs. The two with the

Thompsons fanned out and stood either side of the room where they had a clear field of fire.

The Wop with the dirty cuffs and a little dago with red-rimmed eyes marched across the room

towards my table.

Stevens gave a kind of strangled grunt and started to his feet, but I grabbed him and shoved

him back on his chair.

“Take it easy,” I hissed at him.

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LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

“All right, hold it!” one of the Wops with the Thompson said. His voice cut through the

silent room like a bullet through a ton of ice-cream. “Sit still, and keep your yaps shut or

we’ll put the blast on the lot of you!”

Everyone sat or stood as still as death. The scene looked like a stage set in a waxworks

show. There was a bartender with his hand frozen on the soda pump, his eyes goggling. One

of the elderly men’s fingers rested on his Queen as he was moving it to checkmate his friend.

His face was tight with horror. The thin, pinched-looking girl sat with her eyes tight closed

and her hands across her mouth. The Bobbysoxer leaned forward, her pretty, painted mouth

hanging open and a shrill scream in her eyes.

As the Wop passed her, the scream popped out of her mouth. It made a shrill, jarring sound

in the silent room, and cursing, the Wop hit her savagely with his gun barrel across her cute,

silly little hat. He hit very hard, and the barrel made an ugly sound as it thudded on the straw

of the hat, crushing it into her skull. She fell out of the chair, and blood began to run from her