Pardon My Body by Dale Bogard Page B

thick and not all the artifice of a skilled masseuse could hide the little telltale sagging under the once-square chin. I thought Mr. Lucius Canting was not the kind of man who would be invited to address a meeting of the Women’s Purity League.
    He lit a long flat cigarette clothed in rose-pink rice paper. The aroma started warring with the incense and I relit my pipe in self-defense. I continued to say nothing. The ball, I thought, could properly be left at Mr. Canting’s pedicured feet.
    â€œMr. Bogard,” he said at length, “you have answered my invitation because we are both interested in a certain subject.”
    â€œI didn’t say so,” I told him.
    He sighed. “Let us not bandy empty words. I am aware that since your coincidental presence at the Golden Peacock Inn last night you have interested yourself in the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Mr. Grierson and Mr. Banningham—both of whom, I may say, are old acquaintances of mine.”
    â€œYou mean you’ve put a tail on me?”
    â€œI have, shall we say, reliable sources of information? I assure you they are impeccably accurate.” He leaned forward slightly over the glass ocean. “I would like you, Mr. Bogard, to cease taking such aninterest in affairs which cannot remotely be said to concern you.”
    â€œYou would?”
    Mr. Canting sighed again. “You are being absurdly difficult, my friend. Or is it supposed to be astuteness on your part—such as waiting for the appropriate offer?”
    â€œIt could be that,” I said.
    â€œIn that case…”
    â€œâ€”but it isn’t,” I finished. “Look, Mr. Canting, I didn’t ask to come here, I don’t like it now I am here, and I don’t like you personally. Do I make myself clear?”
    â€œPainfully.”
    I went on, “I don’t pretend to know what your connection is with the deaths of Banningham and Grierson, but…”
    Mr. Canting cut in on me. “My dear Mr. Bogard, I have explained that these gentlemen were both well known to me. I have the well-being of their families very much at heart and I do not wish to see anything done which may wound them. Because your peculiar interest in the matter seems to have led to some rather unorthodox inquiries I decided to ask you to bear with me and not to proceed further.”
    â€œYou mean you think I may have uncovered something you’d prefer to see left decently interred?”
    â€œHow admirably you express it! That is the general idea.” He leaned back, getting ready to purr again. “I should naturally wish to reimburse you generously for any trouble you have taken so far. But, first, let me offer you a cocktail.”
    He touched one of a small battery of colored brass knobs on the table immediately in front of him.
    â€œI don’t want a drink,” I said shortly.
    â€œOh come—let us not be churlish.”
    â€œHow much?” I asked bluntly.
    â€œI think we can sign an expenses and ex gratia chit for five thousand dollars,” said Canting levelly.
    The thing was becoming fabulous. All I had to do was to go home, forget the whole business and winter in Florida on five grand while I looked around for a new plot. And I like money. But not on those kind of terms. I could have laid off jobs for a cash deal when I was a reporter but I never did. I like to earn my bucks the hard way. Which is probably why I never have many to toss around. But that’s how it’s always been. And if ever I fell, Mr. Lucius Canting wouldn’t be the successful tempter.
    Just the same, it would be an idea to string Mr. Canting along for a little way.
    â€œHow do I know I get out of here with…” I broke off because another sliding door opened and I was getting a fresh line on Mr. Canting. A girl was bringing in a tray of drinks. She was about twenty years old and as near beautiful as makes no difference, and barely