But I was thinking.
What if Doc should come in, now, I thought. What if the door should open and…
The door did open.
A silver-backed hair brush stood on edge on the coffee table, mirroring the opening door. Mirroring Doc.
And, then, as gently as it had opened it closed again.
It closed; and cautiously the screen door opened and closed.
Seconds later I heard the quiet purr of a distant motor. Distant, then more distant.
Doc, the insanely jealous, had seen this-this!-and driven away.
It all had taken place in seconds, not more than a minute. Too swiftly for shock and fear to follow. And Lila Luther hadn't seen or heard.
I sat up. Shock was gripping me at last. A cold, weak feeling spread up through my chest and throat, and cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
"Darling!" She sat up, also, anxiety and hunger blending on her face. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know," I said. "Felt sick, all of a sudden."
She whispered, "Maybe you'd better go," and I went.
I wanted to tell her, to explain, and reason that had become unreason held me silent. Perhaps she shouldn't know. Perhaps it would precipitate a crisis if she did. Why and how I didn't know, but I sensed the danger. She couldn't be trusted. She'd lied about the car. She'd lied figuratively, ever since I'd come to this house. She knew what was going on, and I didn't, and if I told her this…
I didn't know. I didn't know what might happen. But I wasn't going to tell her and find out.
16
The sign on the pebble-glassed door read:
E.A. Eggleston
Investigations
The office was in an old five-story building down near the public market.
He couldn't be too good, I'd thought, being in that location. He didn't have to be good, to know what I wanted to, and I didn't want anyone that would be really sharp, that would get ideas and follow them up.
He was tall, and thin-faced and drowsy looking. His scuffed crepe-soled shoes were up on his desk when I went in, and his big bony hands were folded across his stomach. A crumpled gray hat was pulled low on his forehead.
He didn't shift the hat or his position during the half hour or so that I was there.
"Cosgrove," he said in a soft, deep voice. "What do you do, Cosgrove?"
"Do you have to know that?" I said.
"Got to know whether you're worth killing. Whether you're in a business, say, which would suffer from your permanent absence."
"I'm not."
"Heavy on the cuff to anyone? Anyone out real dough if you kick off?"
"No."
"No dependent nor close relatives? No wife?"
"No."
"But you think you may have been insured without your knowledge?"
"I-yes."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't actually think that I am," I said. "I just thought that I might be."
He didn't say anything for a minute or more. Finally, when I was beginning to think he'd dozed off, he spoke:
"Went to a dentist one time to get a tooth pulled. Knew the one that needed pulling would hurt like hell, so I pointed out another one to him. Looks like you're about as smart as I was."
I laughed. "I'm not deliberately lying to you, Eggleston. There are people who would be hurt pretty badly if they knew I'd made an inquiry like this. I can't let them know that I have."
"So?"
"About a month ago a certain party did me a very expensive favor. Since then I've received several others. I'd never met this party before, and I can't think of any way I could provide a return on the investment. Unless I've been insured."
"Ask this party why he or she had done said favors?"
"Not a straight question. The implication was that they were pure philanthropy. That doesn't fit in with what I know about this party."
He sat motionless, silent, staring down at his hands.
"I thought there might be some sort of underwriters' bureau that could give you the information," I said. "Without, of course, letting this party know that I'd asked."
"Um," he said. "It'll cost you twenty dollars, Mr. Cosgrove."
"That's reasonable," I said, and I took out a twenty and laid it on the desk.
He lifted a foot slightly and dragged the bill under his heel.
"You're not insured, Mr. Cosgrove. Anything else?"
"Now, look," I said. "I paid for certain information-"
"Which you received, on very good authority. I've done a great deal of insurance work. No one has taken out a policy on you- providing you've told me the truth."
"I've told it, but-"
"For one party to insure another, he must have what is known as an insurable interest. He must present reasonably good evidence that he has little or nothing more to gain by the insured's demise than he has by his continued existence. The insured's death must represent a sentimental loss, as in the case of husband and wife, a monetary one, or both. No one, it would appear, has an insurable interest in you…
Apparently he had little to do but sleep, and insurance was a hobby of his. He continued to talk for almost fifteen minutes, scarcely moving or altering the deep, soft monotone; covering every phase of the business that might possibly concern me.
At last he stopped, and I stood up.
"By the way, Mr. Cosgrove..
"Yes?"
"Anyone with the education which you ostensibly have should have known he wasn't insured. Anyone who gets around at all would know it."
"Maybe I don't get around very much," I said.
"My own thought."
"From what I knew," I said, "I was pretty sure I wasn't insured, but I thought things might have changed recently."
"Not that recently, Mr. Cosgrove. You're still a young man. You couldn't have been out of circulation very long."
"Good-bye," I said.
"Known the party about a month," he droned. "Did you a very great favor. And you're suspicious. Why don't you remove yourself from this party's vicinity? From the state, for that matter?"
I stopped and turned. He nodded drowsily.
"You can't leave, can you? So. Yes. You can't leave. I'm beginning to think you might have excellent grounds for your suspicions. Another twenty, please?"
I went back to the desk and laid a second bill on it. He raked it under his heel.
"How long were you in, Mr. Cosgrove?"
"Fifteen years of ten to life."
"And you were unacquainted with the party who got your parole-bought it, shall we say?"
"That's right."
"So are you, Mr. Cosgrove. You have good reason for alarm. A pardon could have been obtained as cheaply and easily. With a pardon you could have gone away-far out of your benefactor's periphery. He is not a philanthropist."