Some Buried Caesar

"Don't mention it." I waved airily. He elevated the load of straw, a big one, about one-fourth of the entire pile, above his shoulder with an expert twist, and departed.

"You said salve, didn't you?" Jimmy Pratt sounded resent- ful. "How the hell could I know you're Robin Hood? After what you said about salve, wasn't it natural to take you for a chiseler?" He turned to Nancy. "He knows all about Broa- son and the paper Clyde signed, anyway, since he was there when you told Wolfe. As far as your father hearing about our being together is concerned…"

I was extremely glad he had shifted to Nancy, because it gave me an opportunity I was badly in need of. I grant that I have aplomb, but I'm not constructed of wood, and it still surprises me that nothing on my face gave them alarm. What I had seen was something that had been uncovered by the removal of a portion of the straw. Making a movement, my toe had touched some object that wasn't straw, and a down- ward glance had shown me what it was. It was a brown custom made oxford perched on its heel, an inch of brown sock, and the cuff of one leg of a pair of Crawnley trousers.

So, as I say, I was glad Jimmy had shifted to Nancy, for it gave me an opportunity to kick at the straw capriciously and thereby get the shoe and sock and trouser cuff out of sight again. Nothing was left visible but straw.

Nancy was talking to me: "Perhaps I shouldn't, after Mr. Wolfe said he would help me, but I met Jimmy this morning and we… we had a talk… and I told him about that paper and Bronson still having it… and he thought he could do something about it and I was sure he shouldn't try it with- out seeing Mr. Wolfe first… and we arranged to meet here at 2 o'clock and discuss it…"

I had unobtrusively got myself moved around to where I could reach the pitchfork handle which was protruding erect from the center of the pile of straw. With my eyes respectfully attending to Nancy, my hand idly played with the straw, which is nice to touch, and without much effort it found the spot where the handle of the fork joined the tines. Two of my fingers-feeling with the ends of their nails, which don't leave prints-explored downward along a tine, but not far, not more than a couple of inches, before they were stopped by something that was neither tine nor straw. I kept the fin- gers there half a minute, feeling, and then slowly withdrew my hand.