Some Buried Caesar (7 page)

“Okay.” I resumed with the suitcase, and laid out a fresh shirt for him. “But darned if I’ll lug that shotgun around. I’ll take that up with McMillan. Incidentally, I’ve accepted a commission too. For the firm. Not a very lucrative one. The fee has already been paid, two bucks, but it’ll be eaten up by expenses. The client is Miss Caroline Pratt.”

Wolfe muttered, “Jabber.”

“Not at all. She paid me two bucks to save her
brother from a fate worse than death. Boy, is it fun being a detective! Up half the night chaperoning a bull, only to be laid waste by a blonde the next day at lunch. Look, we’ll have to send a telegram to Fritz; here’s a button off.”

I
didn’t get to share any secrets with any stars. Clouds had started to gather at sundown, and by half past eight it was pitch-dark. Armed with a flashlight, and my belt surrounding a good dinner—not of course up to Fritz Brenner’s standard, but far and away above anything I had ever speared at a pratteria—I left the others while they were still monkeying with coffee and went out to take over my shift. Cutting across through the orchard, I found Dave sitting on an upended keg over by the fence, clutching the shotgun.

“All right,” I told him, cutting off the light to save juice. “You must be about ready for some chow.”

“Naw,” he said, “I couldn’t eat late at night like this. I had some meat and potatoes and stuff at six o’clock. My main meal’s breakfast. It’s my stommick that wakes me up, I git so derned hungry I can’t sleep.”

“That’s interesting. Where’s the bull?”

“I ain’t seen him for a half hour. Last I saw he was down yonder, yon side of the big walnut. Why the
name of common sense they don’t tie him up’s beyond me.”

“Pratt says he was tied the first night and bellowed all night and nobody could sleep.”

Dave snorted. “Let him beller. Anybody that can’t sleep for a bull’s bellerin’ had better keep woonies instead.”

“What’s woonies?”

He had started off in the dark, and I heard him stop. “Woonies is bulls with their tails at the front end.” He cackled. “Got you that time, mister! Good night!”

I decided to take a look, and anyhow moving was better than standing still, so I went along the fence in the direction of the gate we had driven through in our rescue of Wolfe. It sure was a black night. After making some thirty yards I played the flashlight around the pasture again, but couldn’t find him. I kept on to the other side of the gate, and that time I picked him up. He wasn’t lying down as I supposed he would be, but standing there looking at the light. He loomed up like an elephant. I told him out loud, “All right, honey darling, it’s only Archie, I don’t want you to get upset,” and turned back the way I had come.

It looked to me as if there was about as much chance of anyone kidnapping that bull as there was of the bull giving milk, but in any event I was elected to stay outdoors until one o’clock, and I might as well stay in the best place in case someone was fool enough to try. If he was taken out at all it would certainly have to be through a gate, and the one on the other side was a good deal more likely than this one. So I kept going, hugging the fence. It occurred to me that it would be a lot simpler to go through the middle of
the pasture, and as dark as it was there was no danger of Caesar starting another game of tag, or very little danger at least … probably not any, really …

I went on around the fence. Through the orchard I could see the lighted windows of the house, a couple of hundred yards away. Soon I reached the corner of the fence and turned left and, before I knew it, was in a patch of briars. Ten minutes later I had rounded the bend in the road and was passing our sedan still nestled up against the tree. There was the gate. I climbed up and sat on the fence and played the light around, but it wasn’t powerful enough to pick up the bull at that distance. I switched it off.

I suppose if you live in the country long enough you get familiar with all the little noises at night, but naturally you feel curious about them when you don’t know what they are. The crickets and katydids are all right, but something scuttling through the grass makes you wonder what it could be. Then there was something in a tree across the road. I could hear it move around among the leaves, then for a long while it would be quiet, and then it would move again. Maybe an owl, or maybe some little harmless animal. I couldn’t find it with the light.

I had been there I suppose half an hour, when a new noise came from the direction of the car. It sounded like something heavy bumping against it. I turned the light that way, and at first saw nothing because I was looking too close to the ground, and then saw quite plainly, edging out from the front fender, a fold of material that looked like part of a coat, maybe a sleeve. I opened my mouth to sing out, but abruptly shut it again and turned off the light and
slid from the fence and sidestepped. It was just barely possible that the Guernsey League had one or two tough guys on the roll, or even that Clyde Osgood himself was tough or thought he was. I stepped along the grass to the back of the car, moved around it keeping close to the side, reached over the front fender for what was huddled there, grabbed, and got a shoulder.

There was a squeal and a wiggle, and a protest: “Say! That hurts!” I flashed the light and then turned loose and stepped back.

“For God’s sake,” I grumbled, “don’t tell me you’re sentimental about that bull too.”

Lily Rowan stood up, a dark wrap covering the dress she had worn at dinner, and rubbed at her shoulder. “If I hadn’t stumbled against the fender,” she declared, “I’d have got right up against you before you knew I was there, and I’d have scared you half to death.”

“Goody. What for?”

“Darn it, you hurt my shoulder.”

“I’m a brute. How did you get here?”

“Walked. I came out for a walk. I didn’t realize it was so dark; I thought my eyes would get used to it. I have eyes like a cat, but I don’t think I ever saw it so dark. Is that your face? Hold still.”

She put a hand out, her fingers on my cheek. For a second I thought she was going to claw, but the touch was soft, and when I realized it was going to linger I stepped back a pace and told her, “Don’t do that, I’m ticklish.”

She laughed. “I was just making sure it was your face. Are you going to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“You are?” She sounded surprised.

“Sure. That is, you can have lunch with me. Why not? I think you’re amusing. You’ll do fine to pass away some time, just a pretty toy to be enjoyed for an idle moment and then tossed away. That’s all any woman can ever mean to me, because all the serious side of me is concentrated on my career. I want to be a policeman.”

“Goodness. I suppose we ought to be grateful that you’re willing to bother with us at all. Let’s get in your car and sit down and be comfortable.”

“It’s locked and I haven’t got the key. Anyhow, if I sat down I might go to sleep and I mustn’t because I’m guarding the bull. You’d better run along. I promised to be on the alert.”

“Nonsense.” She moved around the fender, brushing against me, and planted herself on the running board. “Come here and give me a cigarette. Clyde Osgood lost his head and made a fool of himself. How could anyone possibly do anything about that bull, with only the two gates, and one of them on the side towards the house and the other one right there? And you can’t do any work on your career, here on a lonely road at night. Come and play with one of your toys.”

I flashed the light on the gate, a hundred feet away, then switched it off and turned to join her on the running board. Stepping on an uneven spot, I got off balance and plumped down right against her. She jerked away.

“Don’t sit so close,” she said in an entirely new tone. “It gives me the shivers.”

I reached for cigarettes, grinning in the dark. “That had the element of surprise,” I said, getting out
the matches, “but it’s only fair to warn you that tactics bore me, and any you would be apt to know about would be too obvious. Besides, it was bad timing. The dangle-it-then-jerk-it-away is no good until after you’re positive you’ve got the right lure, and you have by no means reached that point …”

I stopped because she was on her feet and moving off. I told the dark, where her form was dim, “The lunch is off. I doubt if you have anything new to contribute.”

She came back, sat down again on the running board about a foot from me, and ran the tips of her fingers down my sleeve from shoulder to elbow. “Give me a cigarette, Escamillo.” I lit for her and she inhaled. “Thanks. Let’s get acquainted, shall we? Tell me something.”

“For instance.”

“Oh … tell me about your first woman.”

“With pleasure.” I took a draw and exhaled. “I was going up the Amazon in a canoe. I was alone because I had fed all our provisions to the alligators in a spirit of fun and my natives, whom I called boys, had fled into the jungle. For two months I had had nothing to eat but fish, then an enormous tarpon had gone off with my tackle and I was helpless. Doggedly I kept on up the river, and had resigned myself to the pangs of starvation when, on the fifth day, I came to a small but beautiful island with a woman standing on it about eight feet tall. She was an Amazon. I beached the canoe and she picked me up and carried me into a sort of bower she had, saying that what I needed was a woman’s care. However, there did not appear to be anything on the island to eat, and she looked as if she wouldn’t need to eat again for weeks. So I adopted the
only course that was left to me, laid my plans and set a trap, and by sundown I had her stewing merrily in an enormous iron pot which she had apparently been using for making lemon butter. She was delicious. As well as I can remember, that was my first woman. Of course since then—”

She stopped me at that point and asked me to tell her about something else. Her wrap had fallen open in front, and she drew it to her again. We sat there for two more cigarettes, and might have finished the rest of my shift there on the running board, if it hadn’t been for a noise I heard from the pasture. It sounded like a dull thud, very faint through the concert of the crickets and katydids, and there was no reason to suppose it was anything alarming, but it served to remind me that the nearby gate wasn’t the only possible entry to the pasture, and I decided to take a look. I stood up and said I was going to do a patrol around to the other side. Lily protested that it was all foolishness, but I started off and she came too. The bull wasn’t within range of my light.

She hung onto my arm to keep from stumbling, she said, though it didn’t appear she had done any to speak of when she had been sneaking up on me. I forgot about the briar patch along the stretch at the far end, and she got entangled and I had to work her loose. After we turned the next corner we were in the orchard, fairly close to the house, and I told her she might as well scoot, but she said she was enjoying it. I hadn’t found the bull, but he had seemed to have a preference for the other end anyhow. We kept on along the fence, left the orchard, and reached the other gate, and still no bull. I stood still and listened, and heard a noise, or thought I did, like someone
dragging something, and then went ahead, with Lily trotting along behind, flashing the light into the pasture. The noise, I suppose it was, had made me uneasy, and I was relieved when I saw the bull on ahead, only ten yards or so from the fence. Then I saw he was standing on his head, at least that was what it looked like at that distance in the dim ray of light. I broke into a jog. When I stopped again to direct the light over the top of the fence, I could see he was fussing with something on the ground, with his horns. I went on until I was even with him, and aimed the light at him again, and after one look I felt my wrist going limp and had to stiffen it by clamping my fingers tight on the cylinder of the flash. I heard Lily’s gasp behind me and then her hoarse whisper:

“It’s a … it’s for God’s sake make him stop!”

I supposed there was a chance he was still alive, and if so there was no time to go hunt somebody who knew how to handle a bull. I climbed the fence, slid off inside the pasture, switched the light to my left hand and with my right pulled my automatic from the holster, and slowly advanced. I figured that if he made a sudden rush it would be for the light, so I held my left arm extended full length to the side, keeping the light spotted on his face. He didn’t rush. When I was ten feet off he lifted his head and blinked at the light, and I jerked up the pistol to aim at the sky and let fly with three shots. The bull tossed his head and pivoted like lightning, and danced off sideways, shaking the ground. He didn’t stop. I took three strides and aimed the light at the thing on the ground. One glance was plenty. Alive hell, I thought. I felt something inside of me start to turn, and tightened the muscles there. I was sorry I had aimed at the sky, and lifted the light
to look for the bull, gripping the butt of the pistol, then I realized there was no sense in making a fool of myself, and walked over and leaned on the fence. Lily was making half hysterical requests for information, and I growled, “It’s Clyde Osgood. Dead. Very dead. Beat it or shut up or something.” Then I heard shouts from the direction of the house and headed the light that way and yelled:

“This way! Down beyond the pit!”

More shouts, and in a few seconds a couple of flashlights showed, one dancing on the lawn and one coming along the fence. Within three minutes after I had fired the pistol four of them were on the scene: Pratt, Jimmy, Caroline and McMillan. I didn’t have much explaining to do, since they had lights and there it was on the ground. After one look Caroline turned her back and stood there. Pratt pushed his chest against the fence and pulled at his lower lip, looking. Jimmy climbed up on the fence and then climbed down again.

Pratt said, “Get him out. We have to get him out of there. Where’s Bert? Where the hell is Bert?”

McMillan had walked over to the remains to inspect, and now came back and asked me, “What did you shoot at? Did you shoot at Caesar? Where is he?” I said I didn’t know. Bert came trotting up with a big electric lantern. Dave appeared out of the darkness, with overalls on top of a nightshirt, carrying the shotgun. McMillan came back from somewhere and said the bull was up along the fence and should be tied up before the rest of us entered the pasture, and he couldn’t find the tie-rope that had been left hanging on the fence and had I seen it or anyone else. We said no, and McMillan said any strong rope would do, and
Dave volunteered to bring one. I climbed up on the fence and sat there, and Caroline asked me something, I don’t know what, and I shook my head at her.