Tell Them Katy Did by Victor J. Banis Page B

looked blank. “I hear of no one,” he said.
    He had begun to unbutton his neat white tunic, supposing that his services would be required, as they were most evenings, but Delbert was not in the mood. That business at the graveyard bothered him. He knew that Chi Seng spoke several languages, and he ordered him to go to the cemetery and find out who was being buried.
    The boy was back in half an hour, and he brought the caretaker of the cemetery with him. The caretaker had obviously been roused from his sleep. His hair was tousled and his shirt mis-buttoned, and he was drenched from the rain. He looked nervous, as well he might, to be summoned to the home of the town’s most prominent citizen this late in the evening.
    “I want to know whose graveside service that was,” Delbert said when the man was brought in, but the man only looked at him stupidly.
    “There’s no service tonight,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly midnight, sir.”
    Delbert was about to curse him. “Damn it, I was there,” was on the tip of his tongue, but he saw the caretaker and the houseboy exchange glances with one another.
    He wondered if some mischief were afoot. He was no fool, you didn’t get to where he was without making an enemy or two, and although he thought the houseboy was loyal to him, you could never be altogether sure with foreigners.
    “All right. Get out of here, both of you,” he said aloud with an imperious wave of his hand.
    When they were gone, he fixed himself a Scotch and soda. He was sweating. He wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Maybe he’d had a hallucination, he thought. But no, damn it, he had seen the hearse with his own eyes, and the casket inside, and the open grave waiting, with that funny old-fashioned lantern flickering beside it.
    He looked at the clock. It was not quite midnight. Rain or no rain, on a Saturday night the bar at the country club would still be busy. He rang for his driver and ordered the car brought around again. When they drove past the cemetery, he looked long and hard in that direction. The gates were closed. The water streaming over the windows made it difficult to see, but it appeared that the cars were gone, and there was no hint of light in the direction where he thought he had seen the lantern and the open grave.
    There were several people he knew at the club. He had a drink at the bar and chatted briefly. He was tempted to mention the odd scene at the cemetery, but something induced him to keep quiet about it.
    He was restless, however, and he found his usual companions oddly boring, and after a single drink, he went back to his car and started for home, but when they neared the cemetery, he leaned forward in his seat.
    “Stop here,” he told the driver. You couldn’t have the same hallucination twice, could you? They might have put the coffin in the grave by now, but even if they had filled in the hole, you couldn’t mistake a new grave. And if he found one, by God he’d rouse the caretaker again and take him to see for himself. Let him deny it then.
    He got out and tried the gates, but they were locked. The caretaker’s house was just inside the gates and there was a bell. He thought about ringing. The rain had slackened a bit but now it began to pelt him angrily. He felt all at once utterly exhausted. He decided after all he wanted nothing more than to go home, and when a short time later he got into bed, he fell at once into a deep sleep.
    Sometime later, he woke with a start. He had dreamed of the open grave and those two men standing on either side of the hearse, as if they were waiting for someone. He was sure now that he had seen them, that it had been no hallucination. The wind had come up, and his window suddenly rattled noisily.
    He was seized with an unthinking terror. He had no idea why. He jumped from the bed and went to the window. The rain had turned to hail, hard pellets of ice flinging themselves at the glass. They sounded like fingers