Lay Her Among The Lilies

shooting had to be hushed up. I was wrong about Dr. Salzer signing Crosby’s certificate. He

didn’t sign it. Mrs. Salzer signed it. According to her she is a qualified doctor, and a friend of

the family. One of the girls called her and she came around and fixed things. Lessways, who

isn’t the type to make things awkward for the wealthy, accepted the yarn that Crosby was

cleaning his gun and shot himself accidentally. He took their word for it. So did Brandon.”

Willet lit a cigarette. He looked like a hungry man who’s been given a pie and finds

nothing inside it.

“Go on,” he said, and sat back.

“For some reason or other, a nurse named Anona Freedlander was in the house at the time

of the shooting, and she saw the accident. Mrs. Salzer wasn’t taking any chances. She locked

the nurse up to make sure she wouldn’t talk. She’s been in a padded cell at Salzer’s

sanatorium ever since.”

“You mean—against her will?”

“Not only against her will, but for two years they have been pumping drugs into her.”

“You’re not suggesting Maureen Crosby is aware of this?”

“I don’t know.”

Willet was breathing heavily now. The thought that a client as wealthy as Maureen Crosby

might be charged with kidnapping seemed to shock him, although Anona Freedlander’s

predicament hadn’t made him turn a hair.

“Incidentally, in case you’re working up some sympathy for her,” I said, “we got Anona

out of the sanatorium last night.”

“Oh?” He looked disconcerted. “Is she likely to make trouble?”

I grinned unpleasantly.

“I should think it’s more than likely. Wouldn’t you want to start something after being kept

locked up for two years just because some rich people are shy of appearing in the

newspapers?”

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He fingered his chin and did some heavy thinking.

“Perhaps we could give her a little compensation,” he said at last, but he didn’t look very

happy. “I’d better see her.”

“No one sees her until she’s ready to see anyone. Right now, she doesn’t seem to know

whether she’s coming or going.” I crushed out the cigarette and lit one of my own. “This

kidnapping should be reported to the police. If it is, then the whole sordid story will hit the

headlines. It will be your job then to hand over the Crosby millions to the Research Centre.

They may or may not want you to handle the account: probably not.”

“All the more reason why I should have a talk with her,” he said. “These things can usually

be arranged.”

“Don’t be too sure about that. Then there’s this little incident that happened to me,” I said

mildly. “I was also kidnapped and held prisoner for five days, and also had a certain amount

of drug pumped into me. That’s another little thing that should he reported to the police.”

“Why talk yourself out of a good job?” he returned, and for the first time since I had been

in the room he allowed himself a slight grin. “I was about to suggest an extra retainer: say

another five hundred dollars.”

That made my new hat a certainty.

“That tempts me. We might call it an insurance against risks,” I said. “But it would have to

be over and above the fee you will pay for the work we are doing.”

“That’s all right.”

“Well, perhaps we might leave Anona Freedlander for the moment and go on with the

story,” I said. “There’s quite a bit more; it gets better as it goes along.”

He pushed back his chair and got up. I watched him cross to a cellaret against the opposite

wall and return with a bottle of Haigh & Haigh and two small glasses.

“Do you use this stuff?” he asked as he sat down again.

I said I used it whenever I could.

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He poured two drinks, pushed one across the desk towards me, tossed the other down his

throat and immediately refilled his glass. He put the bottle midway between us.

“Help yourself,” he said.

I drank a little of the Scotch. It was very good: quite the best liquor I had had in months. I

thought it was wonderful how a big-shot lawyer could unbend when he sees trouble coming

towards him with his name on it.

“According to Maureen, Crosby’s death preyed on Janet’s mind,” I told him. “Maybe it did,

but she certainly had an odd way of showing it. I should have thought she wouldn’t have felt

like playing tennis or running around at a time like that, but apparently she did. Anyway, also

according to Maureen, Janet committed suicide about six or seven weeks after the shooting.

She took arsenic.”

A tiny drop of Scotch wobbled out of Willet’s glass on to his blotter. He said, “Good God!”

under his breath.

“That was hushed up, too. As it happened Mrs. Salzer was away at the time, so Maureen

and Dr. Salzer called in Dr. Bewley, a harmless old goat, and told him Janet was suffering

from malignant endocarditis, and he obligingly issued the death certificate. Janet had a

personal maid, Eudora Drew, who possibly overheard Salzer and Maureen cooking up this

yarn. She put on the bite, and they paid her. I got a line on her and went to see her. She was

smart enough to fob me off and get on to Salzer, telling him I was offering five hundred