Lay Her Among The Lilies

“Put him in that cupboard,” Paula said. “I’ll watch him.” She was pale, but quite unruffled.

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It took a lot to rattle her.

I dragged him across the cabin and into the cupboard. I had to squash him in, and I got the

door shut only by leaning my weight against it.

“Phew!” I said, and wiped off my face. “He’ll be all right in there if he doesn’t suffocate.

It’s like a furnace in here.”

“It’s worrying me. Even the floor’s hot. Do you think there’s a fire somewhere?”

I put my hand on the carpet. It was hot all right: too hot. I opened the cabin door and put

my hand on the planks of the deck. They were so hot they nearly raised a blister.

“Good grief!” I exclaimed. “You’re right. The damned ship is on fire somewhere below.” I

caught her arm and pulled her out on to the deck. “You’re not staying in there. Come on, kid,

keep behind me. We’ll take a quick look and then get up on the top deck.” I checked my

wrist-watch. It was five minutes to nine. “Jack’ll be out in five minutes.”

As we moved along the deck, Paula said, “Shouldn’t we raise the alarm? The ship’s full of

people, Vic.”

“Not yet. Later,” I said.

At the far end of the deck was a door set in the bulkhead. I paused outside to listen, turned

the handle and eased the door open.

It was hotter than an oven in full blast in there, and oil in the paint on the walls was

beginning to run. It was a nice room : big, airy and well-furnished: half-office, half-lounge.

Big windows on either side of the room commanded views of Orchid City beach and the

Pacific. A solitary desk-light threw a pool of light on the desk and part of the carpet. The rest

of the room was in darkness. Overhead came the sounds of dance music and the soft swish of

moving feet.

I entered the room, my gun pushed forward. Paula came in after me and closed the door.

There was a smell of burning and smoke, and as I moved to the desk I saw the carpet was

smouldering and smoke was coming in little wisps from under the wainscoting.

“The fire’s right below us,” I said. “Keep by the door. The floor mightn’t be safe. This

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looks like Sherrill’s office.”

I went through the desk drawers, not knowing what I was looking for, but looking. In one

of the bottom drawers I found a square-shaped envelope. One glance told me it was Anona

Freedlander’s missing dossier. I folded it and shoved it into my hip pocket.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Paula said in a small voice, “Vic! What’s that—behind the desk?”

I peered over the back of the desk. Something was there: something white: something that

could have been a man. I shifted the desk-lamp so the light fell directly on it.

I heard Paula gasp.

It was Sherrill. He lay flat on his back, his teeth bared in a mirthless grin. His clothes were

smouldering, and his hands, lying on the burning carpet, had a burned-up, scorched look. He

had been shot through the head at close range. One side of his skull had been smashed in.

Even as I leaned forward to stare at him, there was a sudden whoosing sound, and two long

tongues of flame spurted out from the floor and licked across his dead face.

II

The little Wop stood in the doorway, grinning at us. The blunt-nosed automatic in his

small, brown fist centred on my chest. The dark, ugly little face was shiny with sweat, and the

dark little eyes were shiny with hate. He had come silently from nowhere.

“Give me that,” he said, and held out his hand. “What you put in your pocket—quick!”

I was holding my gun down by my side. I knew I couldn’t get it up and shoot at him before

he got me. I pulled the dossier out of my hip pocket with my left hand. As I did so I saw the

sudden change of expression in his eyes: hatred to viciousness. The trigger-finger turned

white as he took up the slack. I saw all this in a split second, knowing he was going to shoot.

Paula threw a chair forward to crash on the floor between the Wop and me. His eyes shifted

and so did his aim. The gun went off; the slug missed me by about two feet. I was firing at

him before he had time to get his eyes off the chair and on to me again. The three bullets cut

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across his chest like sledge hammers. He was hurled back against the wall; the automatic

falling from his hand; his face twisting hideously.

“Out!” I said to Paula.

She bent and snatched up the Wop’s automatic, and jumped for the door. As I ran across

the floor I felt it give under me. There was a sudden loud cracking of breaking timber. Heat

came up at me as if I were running across red-hot boiler plates. The floor sagged and gave.

For one horrible moment I thought I was going down with the floor, but the fitted carpet held

just long enough for me to reach the door and the deck.

There was a terrific crash inside Sherrill’s office. I caught one brief glimpse of the furniture

sliding into a red, roaring furnace, then Paula caught hold of my arm, and together we raced

down the deck.

Tar was oozing out of the hot planks, and smoke was mounting.