Avvie had finished now. He leaned over the table and took a cigarette from Doctor Alcazar’s pack, lit it, and said through smoke:
“Now make with the questions.” “Avvie,” said Doctor Alcazar, “I don’t have a one! You’ve really covered the ground. But covered it!”
Avvie smiled, a trifle grimly. “It’s your turn, brother,” he said.
Doctor Alcazar had been smiling, but now his face was set and somber. He said, “We came down here to try and horn in on a five grand reward for finding who killed Lily Morton...”
He said, “Well, I’ve found that out. But I’ve found out some more too. The same guy’s going to kill somebody else. He didn’t want to kill Lily Morton. But he had to. Because Lily Morton had tumbled onto something which might have stopped him getting away with the murder he was really trying for...”
He said, “This guy’s been working on this other woman for a couple of years — sending her presents. She doesn’t think they come from him; she thinks they come from somebody who used to have a yen for her when she was ace-high on Broadway...”
He said, “The guy’s established the present-sender. The woman’s even made up a name for him. She feels quite safe with anything ‘George’ sends her — especially candy!...”
He said, “But some day, Avvie, she won’t be safe with that candy. Some day that candy’ll be the death of her...”
Doctor Alcazar paused and Avvie looked at him and said, “Aw! Quit talkin’ in riddles, will ya! So the dame’s the de Vries dame—”
“And,” said Doctor Alcazar, “the guy’s the de Vries guy!”
Avvie stared. Avvie shook his head. “Couldn’ta been,” Avvie said. “He was up to Big Bear like I told you.”
Doctor Alcazar regarded him with displeasure. “He couldn’t have been. Because he was around that vacant lot at night, killing Lily Morton. It’s easy. He starts in the morning — and then stashes his car — and lies low — and when it’s dark hangs around that dead-end and waits for Lily. He knows the way she always comes in. And after he’s killed her, off he goes to the mountains, and wakes up in Big Bear in the morning.”
Avvie wriggled in his chair. “How come you’re so surea yourself?” His lip curled. “Get it outa the crystal, did ya?”
“I got it,” said Doctor Alcazar, “from Lily Morton herself. About two hours, I figure, before she was killed.” He stubbed out his cigarette, and lit another.
Avvie stared at him. “How’s that again?” he said.
Doctor Alcazar said, “Lily Morton wanted some advice, Avvie. She knew a woman—” now a very fair replica of the dead woman’s voice came from his mouth — “ ‘whose ’usband was deceivin’ ’er like — on’y what ’e was doin’ to deceive ’er was mykin’ ’er ’appy’... And Lily Morton was the ‘on’y person what knew’... And Lily Morton was ‘fair bewildered-like tryin’ to think what she oughter do’ — tell the woman, or leave well alone...”
Doctor Alcazar said, “She tried to tell me the woman was her sister — but she slipped up at the beginning and started to say ‘my mistress,’ which is what maids in England call the women they work for.”
He paused, and Avvie said, “Doc, you’re reachin’!” and shook his head.
Doctor Alcazar frowned. He said, “No. Listen to this: in her purse, Lily Morton had a peculiar piece of violet-colored wrapping-paper — new — tied up with a bit of peculiar string, green-and-gold. I sprung this on her — and her reaction was worried, maybe frightened. Now, what do I find this afternoon, with Druce? I work on the paper and string because it’s the only real lead I’ve got — and pretty soon I get the whole story of ‘George,’ because this peculiar paper and string is the same as the kind he always uses on the presents...”
He said, “And that’s not all. I found out the paper and string were the only things missing from Lily’s purse when they found her!”
Avvie wasn’t scornful any more. “Goes somep’n like this, huh? ‘George’ must be Clint; when Lily found out he was, Clint blotted her. Which means he must be gonna use ‘George’ to blot the missus — else he wouldn’ta gone to them lengths.”
He looked at Doctor Alcazar, his small brown eyes bright like a bird’s.
Doctor Alcazar beamed. “Terse,” he said. “And concise. And absolutely right. You’ve got a grasp, Avvie — definitely a grasp.”
Avvie drank some coffee in silence. Then he said, “Trouble is, you got nothin’ to pin on Clint. This Lily knew he was ‘George’ — but she ain’t talkin’! You got no proof!”
“Avvie,” said Doctor Alcazar, “you get better and better.”
“And from where I sit,” said Avvie, “we’re looking worse an’ worse.” He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out silver and some crumpled bills, looked at them, and shook his head.
“Lay off,” said Doctor Alcazar reprovingly. “What are you getting at? We couldn’t quit if we wanted to. In the first place, there’s the paramount question of cabbage. We’re surrounded by it, my boy — and we have to pick some... And what about the little Druce? You know, there’s something about her, Avvie.”
“So whatta we do?” Avvie was belligerent. “Pick us a park bench and sit around gettin’ corns; waitin’ for ‘George’ to make up his mind it’s time to send the old lady a strychnine-flavored Popsicle!”
“No,” said Doctor Alcazar slowly. “No. That’s not my idea at all...”
Whatever this idea may have been, it worked so well in its preliminary stages (which were conducted by telephone the next afternoon) that within twenty-four hours Doctor Alcazar was dining at Number 347 Fairbanks Drive, the only guest of Mr. and Mrs. Clinton de Vries.
Mrs. de Vries, who had no idea she had been jockeyed into the position, was plainly delighted to be Doctor Alcazar’s hostess again. And Mr. de Vries, though he made no secret of the fact that he was skeptical of his wife’s attempt to “trail a killer with spooks,” was nevertheless a bland and genial host who, despite the fact that he seemed himself a trifle on the jumpy side, obviously did his charming best to put his visitor at ease.
Mr. de Vries was much younger-seeming than his forty-odd years might have been thought to warrant. He had a fine figure, excellent clothes, a pleasing and forthright manner — and a Rhodes’ Scholar’s charming, amorphic accent. He had drunk, with no visible effect, an astonishing quantity of martinis before dinner, and at the meal was constantly having his wineglass refilled. Towards his wife his manner was courteous and comradely — and (thought Doctor Alcazar) rather carefully rehearsed.
Dinner was nearly over before Mrs. de Vries said, suddenly and with emphasis, “I can’t stand all this chattery! I want to talk about Lily!” She looked across the table at her husband. “Clintoh, I can’t help it if you think it’s silly: all I ask is that you don’t try and be funny!” She looked at Doctor Alcazar. “Doctor,” she said, “I can’t wait any longer. You sounded so excited on the phone, I have to know what’s happened!”
Doctor Alcazar smiled blandly at her and then glanced at his host.
“Perhaps Mr. de Vries,” began Doctor Alcazar, and was stopped by a snort from his hostess.
“If Clinton doesn’t like it,” she said, “he can go talk to a horse!” She smiled her wide smile suddenly at her husband. “Sorry, Clint,” she said. “But I did sort of mean it...”
“My dear Gloria,” said Mr. de Vries, “go ahead. Talk about anything you like. Do anything you like.” He smiled at Doctor Alcazar — the merest trifle too friendly a smile. He said, “You understand, Doctor, I’m sure.” He raised his glass to his mouth but went on looking at Doctor Alcazar over its rim — the merest trifle too steadily. “You’ve met plenty of skeptics in your time, I’m sure.” He laughed — the merest trifle too loudly.