Tell It To The Birds

The woman has moved out of the district where she used to live and is keeping out of sight. He telephones her, warning her of the crash. Then later, her sister puts in a claim for the money showing proof supplied by the boy friend that the woman, her sister, was on the plane." She paused, took a sip of her drink, then looked at him. "Of course the details have to be worked out, but that's the general idea ... do you think she would get away with it?" During the twelve years he had been an insurance agent, Anson had become familiar with the tricks and dodges dreamed up by people ambitious to swindle insurance companies. Every week, he received a printed bulletin from Head Office setting out in detail the various swindles attempted. This bulletin came from the Claims Department run by Maddox who was considered to be the best Claims man in the business.

For the past three months, when money had become so desperately short, Anson had thought of ways and means by which he himself might swindle his company. But for all his shrewdness and experience, he realized he could never succeed unless he had someone on whom he could rely to help him. Even then, there was always Maddox who was said to have a supernatural instinct that told him a claim was a phoney the moment it was laid on his desk.

"It's a nice idea," Anson said. "It might even be believable as fiction, but it would never work in real life." She looked enquiringly at him. "But why not?"

"The sum involved is too large. Any claim over fifteen thousand dollars is examined very closely. Suppose this woman insured with my company. The policy would go immediately to the Claims department. The head of this department is a man who has been in the racket for twenty years. During this time, he has had something like five to eight thousand phoney claims to deal with. He has so much experience he can smell a bad claim the way you can smell a dead rat. So what does he do when he gets this policy? He asks himself why a woman should be insuring her life for such a big sum. Who will benefit? Her sister? Why? Is there a boy friend around? He has twenty experienced investigators who work for him. He'll turn two of them onto this woman. In a few days he will know as much about her as she knows about herself. His men will have unearthed the boy friend at the air terminal.

Once they have dug him up, then God help them both if she is supposed to have died in the air crash. No, it wouldn't work in real life. Make no mistake about that ... not with Maddox around." Meg made a face, then shrugged.

"Oh well! I thought I was onto a good gimmick. I'm disappointed." She drank some of the whisky, then reaching forward, she picked up the poker and stirred the fire into a blaze. "Then it is very difficult to swindle an insurance company?" she asked without looking at him.

Again, Anson felt an intense prickle of excitement run through him.

"Yes ... unless ..."

She was staring into the fire, a little flushed by the heat, her eyes reflecting the red of the flames. "Unless ... ?"

"It could be done, but it needs two people to do it. One couldn't do it."

She twisted around to look at him.

"That makes me think that you have thought about it," she said. "If you do get an idea would you share it with me? I'd write the story and we could go fifty-fifty if I sold it."

He finished his drink, set down the glass and reluctantly got to his feet.

"If I think of anything, I'll call you." She stood up. They faced each other; again Anson's eyes moved over her body.

"If you do think of something, you could come out hers, couldn't you? It's not far from Brent, is it? We could talk over the whole thing and I could get the idea down on paper."

He hesitated, then said what was in his mind: "I guess your husband won't want me around after a day's work." She nodded.

"You're right. Phil isn't sociable and he hasn't much patience with my writing, but on Monday and Thursday nights he is always at Lambsville. He takes night school there and he stays the night with a friend of his."

Anson's hands suddenly turned damp. "Does he? Well..."

"So if you get an idea, you'll always find me alone here on those two nights. Don't forget, will you?"

She moved to the door and opened it. Picking up his document case, Anson followed her to the front door. As she opened the doer, he said, "By the way, does your husband carry any life insurance?" "No. He doesn't believe in insurance."

They looked at each other and Anson quickly shifted his gaze.

She went on: "I'm afraid there is no hope for you in, that direction. Other salesmen have tried to sell him insurance. He just doesn't believe in it."

Anson stepped out into the rain.

"Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Barlowe. If I get an idea for you, I'll call you."

"Thanks. I'm sorry about the jewellery." She gave him a quick smile as she closed the door.

Scarcely feeling the rain on his face, Anson walked down the drive towards his car.