“I believe you’ve got something,” he said. “Suppose you drive the car up to the crypt while I go on and test the key.”
She got into the Cadillac and began to back it down the lane. He had to come back and help her with the flash, as she ran off the lane once or twice. They got back to the mausoleum at last and Duffy tried the key. The lock turned all right with some heavy pressure from Duffy, and he forced the door back. The air was bad down there, and he stepped away from the open door.
“That guy’s going to have good company,” was all he said.
He went to the back of the car and wrestled with the straps that held the trunk. Annabel stood, holding the flash steady. He got the straps off and then levered the trunk to the ground. It was heavy, but he managed to get it down without making any noise. Then he stood up and wiped off his palms with his handkerchief.
“I guess I could do with a drink,” he said heavily.
“There’s a pint flask in the driving-pocket.”
Duffy slipped round to the door pretty quick. He belted that pint hard. He thought it would be safer not to give Annabel any of it. Whisky seemed to take her in the wrong way. He didn’t like to think of turning her down again.
“I guess I can tackle anything now,” he said, putting the flask in his hip pocket.
He took off his coat and undid his collar, pulling his tie loose. Then he walked over to the trunk and dragged it into the mausoleum. Annabel stood just outside the door, shining the flash. The beam jerked about. Her hand was shaking like a barman at work.
Duffy got the trunk inside and then paused.