Lay Her Among The Lilies

by James Hadley Chase

  The man who had cursed Dexter cursed him again. His voice sounded close, then a door slammed and I was left alone.

  I waited, listening, but heard nothing. After a while I decided it would be safe to break out. I tapped the chisel into one of the plank joints, levered the plank back. It took me less than a minute to get out of the case. I found myself in inky darkness. There was a smell like the smell in Dexter's warehouse, and I guessed I was in the ship's hold.

  I rook out my flashlight and shone the beam around the vast cellar. It was full of stores, liquor and harrels of beer, and empty silence. At the far end of the cellar was a door. I went to it, slid it hack a couple of inches and peered out into a narrow, well-lighted corridor.

  I held the Sten gun by my side. I didn't want to be bothered with it, but Kerman had insisted. He said with a Sten gun I could argue with half the crew. I doubted it, and took it along more for his peace of mind than mine.

  I began to edge along the corridor to a perpendicular steel ladder I could see at the far end, and which. I guessed, led to the upper deck. Half-way down the corridor I came to an abrupt halt. A pair of feet, then legs in white drill trousers appeared on the ladder. A second later a sailor stood gaping at me.

  He was a big guy: nearly as big as I was, and tough-looking. I pushed the Sten gun at him and showed him my teeth. His hands went up so fast he took the skin off his knuckles against the low ceiling.

  "Open your trap and I'll rip you in half," I snarled at him.

  He stood motionless, staring at the Sten gun, his jaw hanging loose.

  "Turn around," I said.

  He turned and I hit him with the butt of the gun on the back of his head.

  As he fell I grabbed hold of his shirt and lowered him gently to the floor.

  I was sweating and worried. I had to get him out of sight before anyone else showed up.

  Right by me was a door. I took a chance, turned the handle and looked into an empty cabin. Probably it was his cabin, and he had been going to it.

  I caught him up under his arm-pits and dragged him into the cabin, shut and bolted the door.

  Working fast, I stripped him, took off my clothes and put on his.

  His peaked yachting-cap was a little big for me, but it hid my face.

  I gagged him, rolled him in a sheet and tied the sheet with his belt and a length of cord I found in a cabin. Then I hauled him on to the bunk, left the Sten gun beside him, shoved my .38 down the front of my pants and went to the door.

  I listened, heard nothing, opened the door a crack and peered out. The corridor was as empty as a dead man's mind, and as quiet. I turned off the light, slid out of the cabin and locked the door after me.

  I looked at my watch. It was twenty-five minutes past eight. I had only thirty-five minutes before Kerman showed up.

  Chapter VI

  I

  I stood in the shadow of a ventilator and looked along the boat-deck. Overhead a cream and red awning flapped in the stiff breeze. The whole length of the deck was covered with a heavy red pile carpet, and green and red lights make a string of glittering beads along the rail.

  Beyond the bridge-deck I could see two immaculately dressed sailors standing under arc lights at the head of the gangway. A girl in evening-dress and two men in tuxedos had just come aboard. The sailors saluted them as they crossed the deck to disappear into the brilliantly-lit restaurant, built between the bridge and the f'cle-decks. Through the big, oblong-shaped windows I could see couples dancing to the strains of muted saxophones and the throb of drums.

  Above me on the bridge-deck three white-clad figures hung over the rail, watching the steady flow of arrivals. It was dark up there, but I saw one of them was smoking.

  No one paid me any attention, and after a quick look to right and left I slid from the shadow of the ventilator across the pile of the carpet to a lifeboat; paused, listened, looked to right and left again, and then made a silent dart to the shadows immediately beneath the bridge-deck.

  "They keep coming," a voice drawled above me. "Going to be another good night."

  "Yeah," said another voice. "Look at that dame in the red dress. Look at the shape she's wearing. I bet she . . ."

  But I didn't wait to hear what he bet. I was scared they might look down and see me. Right by me was a door. I slid it back a couple of inches and looked down a ladder to the lower deck. Not far off a girl laughed: a loud, harsh sound that made me glance over my shoulder.

  "Tight as a tick," one of the men on the bridge-deck said. "That's how I like my women."

  Three girls and three men had just come aboard. One of the girls was so drunk she could scarcely walk. As they crossed to the restaurant I slid down the ladder to the lower deck.

  It was dark and silent down there. I moved away from the ladder. The moonlight, coming from behind a thin haze of cloud, was just bright enough for me to see the deck was deserted.

  One solitary light came from a distant port-hole as conspicuous as a soup stain on a bridal gown.

  I made my way towards it, moving cautiously and making no sound. Half-way along the deck, I paused. Ahead of me appeared a white figure, coming towards me. There was nowhere to hide. The deck was as bare of cover as the back of my hand. My fingers closed over the butt of my gun as I moved over to the deck-rail and leaned against it.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man in a singlet and white ducks came into the light from the porthole, moved out of it towards me. He went past, humming under his breath, without even looking at me, and climbed the ladder to the upper deck.

  I breathed heavily through my nose, and headed for the port-hole again, paused beside it, and took a quick look inside. I very nearly let out a cheer.

  Paula was sitting in an armchair, facing me. She was reading a magazine, a worried little frown on her face. She looked very lovely and lonely. I had hoped to find her on this deck. I couldn't think where else they could hide her, but I hadn't expected to find her so quickly.

  I examined the door of the cabin. There was a bolt on the outside and it was pushed home. I slid it back, turned the handle and pushed. The door opened and I went in. It was like walking into a glass-house in mid-summer.

  Paula started up out of her chair at the sight of me. For a moment she didn't recognize me in the white ducks and the cap, then she flopped limply back in the chair and tried to smile. The look of relief in her eyes was a good enough reward for that trip I had made in the packing-case.

  "How are you getting on?" I said, and grinned. If she hadn't been so damned self-controlled I would have kissed her.

  "All right. Did you have any trouble getting here?" She tried to sound casual, but there was a shake in her voice.

  "I managed. At least they don't know I'm here yet. Jack and Mike will be out around nine. We may have to swim."

  She drew in a deep breath and got to her feet.

  "I knew you'd come, Vic." Then just when I thought she was going to let her hair down, she went on, "But you shouldn't have come alone. Why didn't you bring the police?"

  "I didn't think they would come," I said. "Where's Anona?"

  "I don't know. I don't think she's here."

  The heat in the cabin made me sweat.

  "What happened? Let's have it quick."

  "The bell rang and I went to the door," she told me. "I thought it was you. Four Wops crowded me back into the lobby. Two of them went into the bedroom and I heard Anona scream. The other two said they were taking me to the ship. One of them threatened me with a knife. I had an idea he would use it if I gave him the slightest chance." She made a little grimace. "They took me down in the elevator out into the street. All the time one of them pressed the knife into my side. There was a car waiting. They bundled me in and drove off. As we were driving away I caught sight of a big. black Rolls pulling up outside the apartment. One of the Wops came out with Anona in his arms. This was in broad daylight. People just stared, but didn't do anything. They put her in the Rolls and I lost sight of her. I was brought
here and locked in. They said if I made a noise they'd cut my throat. They're dreadful little men, Vic."

  "I know," I said grimly. "I've met them. That Rolls belongs to Maureen Crosby. Maybe they've taken Anona to her house on the cliffs." I thought for a moment, asked, "Has anyone been near you?"

  She shook her head.

  "I want to take a look around the ship before we go. Maureen may be on board. Think it'll be safe for you to come with me?"

  "If they find me gone they'll raise the alarm. Perhaps I'd better stay here until you're ready to go. You'll be careful, won't you, Vic?"

  I hesitated, not knowing whether to try and get off the ship now I had found Paula or make sure first Anona and Maureen weren't on board.

  "If they aren't on this deck I'll leave it," I said, and mopped my face with my handkerchief. "Am I feverish or is this cabin overheated?"

  "It's the cabin. It's been getting hotter and hotter for the past hour."

  "Feels like they've put on the steam heating. Stick it out for ten minutes, kid. I'll be back by then."

  "Be careful."

  I gave her a little pat on her-arm, grinned at her and slid out on to the deck. I shot the bolt: began to move aft.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing up here?" a voice demanded out of the darkness.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  A short, thickset man, wearing a yachting-cap, had appeared from nowhere. Neither of us could see the other's face. We peered at each other.

  "How many times do I have to tell you guys to keep clear of this deck?" he growled, and edged closer.

  He nearly had me. I saw his arm flash up and I ducked. The sap glanced off my shoulder. I slammed a punch into his belly with everything I had. He caught his breath in a gasp of agony, bent forward, trying to breathe. I hung one on his jaw that nearly smashed my hand.

  He went down on hands and knees and straightened out on his back. I leaned over him, grabbed his ears and cracked his skull on the deck.

  All this happened in the matter of seconds. I ran back to Paula's cabin, unbolted the door, threw it open, whipped around and dragged the unconscious man in and dropped him on the floor.

  "I walked right into him," I panted as I bent over him. I lifted an eyelid. He was out all right, and by the pulpy softness at the back of his head he would be out for some time.

  "Put him in that cupboard," Paula said. "I'll watch him." She was pale, but quite unruffled.

  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 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 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.

  Out of the darkness, half-way down the deck, someone took a shot at us. The slug crashed through the wooden partition behind me and ruined a mirror in one of the cabins with a crash of breaking glass.

  I shoved Paula behind me, conscious that my white clothes made me look like a phantom out for a night's haunting.

  More gunfire. I felt a slug zip past my face. The gun-flash came from around a lifeboat. I thought I could see a shadowy figure crouching against the rails. I fired twice. The second shot nailed him. He came staggering out from behind the boat and flattened out on the hot deck.

  "Keep going," I said.

  We ran on. The deck was so hot now it burned through our shoes. Somehow we reached the ladder leading to the upper deck. Above the roar of the flames we could hear
yells and screams and the crash of breaking glass.

  We scrambled on to the upper deck. The deck-rail was packed with men and women in evening-dress, yelling their heads off. Smoke made a black pall over the ship, and it was almost as hot up there as on the lower deck.

  I could see three or four of the ship's officers trying to get the panic under control. They might just as well have tried to slam a revolving door.

  "Jack must be somewhere around by now," I shouted to Paula. "Keep near me, and let's get to the rail."