Lay Her Among The Lilies

by James Hadley Chase

  I nearly hit the ceiling.

  "What! In that drawer there?"

  "That's right. No one's supposed to know, but I saw Bland take if out once when he lost his key."

  I judged the distance between the foot of my bed and the chest of drawers. It was closer to me than to Hopper. If I was held by the ankle I imagined I could reach it. It would be a stretch, but I reckoned I could just do it. But handcuffed as I was by the wrist made it impossible.

  "How is it you're fastened by the leg and I by the wrist?" I asked.

  "They fastened me by the wrist at first," Hopper said indifferently, and pushed his tray aside. "But I found it awkward to read so Bland changed it. If you ask him he'll change yours. You don't mind not talking any more, do you? I want to get on with this book."

  No, I didn't mind. I didn't mind at all. I was excited. If I could persuade Bland to unfasten my wrist, I might reach the key. It was a thought that occupied me for the next hour.

  Bland came in a few minutes to eleven o'clock carrying an enormous vase of gladioli sprays. He set it down on top of the chest of drawers and drew back to admire it.

  "Pretty nice, ugh?" he said, beaming. "That's for the councilmen. It's a funny thing how these guys go for flowers. The last bunch never even looked at the patients. All they did was to stand around and yap about the flowers."

  He collected the breakfast-trays and took them away, and returned almost immediately. He

  surveyed us critically, straightened Hopper's sheet, came over and smoothed out my pillow.

  "Now keep just as you are," he said. "For Pete's sake, don't get yourselves untidy. Haven't you a book?" he asked me.

  "You haven't given me one."

  "Must have a book. That's another of these punks' fads. They like to see a patient reading."

  He charged out of the room and returned a little breathlessly carrying a heavy volume which he slapped down on my knees.

  "Get stuck into that, baby. I'll find you something with a little more zip in it when they've gone."

  "How do I turn the pages with only one hand?" I asked, looking at the book. It was entitled Gynecology for Advanced Students.

  "Glad you reminded me, baby." He took out his key. "We keep the cuffs out of sight. These punks are softhearted."

  I watched him transfer the handcuff to my ankle, scarcely believing my good luck. It was quite a moment in my life.

  "Okay, baby, mind you behave," he went on, as he re-tidied the bed. "If they ask you how you like it here, tell them we're looking after you. Don't let's have any back answers. They won't believe anything you say, and you'll have to talk to me after they have gone."

  I opened the book. The first page I came to made me blink.

  "I don't know if I'm old enough to look at this," I said, and showed him the page.

  He stared, sucked in his breath sharply, snatched the book away from me and gaped at the title.

  "For crying out loud! Is that what it means?" and he went shooting out of the room with it, returning breathlessly with a copy of the parallel translation of Dante's Inferno. I wished I had kept my mouth shut.

  "That'll impress them," he said with satisfaction. "Not that the punks can read, anyway."

  A few minutes past eleven o'clock the sound of voices came down the corridor, and in through the half-open door.

  Bland, who had been waiting by the window, straightened his jacket and smoothed down his hair.

  Hopper scowled and closed his book.

  "Here they come."

  Four men came into the room. The first was obviously Dr. Jonathan Salzer: the most distinguished looking of the four; a tall, thin man with a Paderewski mop of hair, as white as a dove's back. His tanned face was set in cold, serene lines; his eyes were deep-set and thoughtful. A man, I imagined, on the wrong side of fifty, still powerful, his body as straight and as upright as a cadet's on passing-out parade. He was dressed in a black morning-coat, striped trousers and was as immaculate as a tailor's dummy. After you had got over the shock of the mop of hair, the next thing you noticed about him was his hands. They were quite beautiful hands; long and narrow, with tapering fingers: a surgeon's hands or a murderer's hands: they could be good at either job.

  Coroner Lessways followed him in. I recognized him from the occasional photographs I had seen of him in the press: a short, thickset man with a ball-like head, small eyes and a fussy, mean, little mouth. He looked what he was: a shyster who had spent all his life pulling fast ones.

  His companion was another of the same breed, over-fed and tricky.

  The fourth man hovered outside the door as if he wasn't sure whether to come in or not. I didn't bother to look his way. My attention was riveted on Salzer.

  "Good morning, gentlemen," Salzer said in a deep, rich voice. "I hope I find you well. Coroner Lessways, Councilman Linkheimer and Mr. Strang, the well-known writer, have come to see you. They are here to ask you a few questions." He glanced at Lessways. "Would you care to have a word with Mr. Hopper?"

  While Lessways was gaping owlishly at Hopper and keeping at a safe distance, I turned to look at the fourth man whom Salzer had introduced as Strang.

  For a moment I thought I really had gone crazy, for standing in the doorway with a nonchalant look of boredom on his face was Jack Kerman. He was wearing a tropical white suit, horn spectacles, and out of his breast pocket a yellow and red silk handkerchief flopped in the best traditions of the dandy.

  I gave a start that nearly upset the bed. Luckily Salzer was busying himself with my medical chart and didn't notice. Kerman looked woodenly at me, lifted one eyebrow and said to Salzer, "Who is this man, Doctor? He looks well enough."

  "This is Edmund Seabright," Salzer told him. His cold face lit up with a smile and he reminded me of Santa Claus about to hand out a toy to a good child. "He has only recently come to us." He handed the medical chart to Kerman. "Perhaps you would be interested to see this. It speaks for itself."

  Kerman adjusted his horn spectacles and squinted at the chart. I had an idea he couldn't see well in them, and knowing him, guessed he had borrowed them from someone.

  "Oh, yes," he said, pursing his lips. "Interesting. I suppose it's all right to have a word with him?"

  "Why, certainly," Salzer said, and moved to my bed.

  Kerman joined him and they both stared at me. I stared back, concentrating on Salzer, knowing if I looked at Kerman I would probably let the cat out of the bag.

  "This is Mr. Strang," Salzer said to me. "He writes books on nervous diseases." He smiled at Kerman. "Mr. Seabright imagines he is a famous detective. Don't you, Mr. Seabright?"

  "Sure," I said. "I am a detective. I've discovered Anona Freedlander is right here on this floor, and Nurse Gurney is dead and her hotly has been hidden somewhere in the desert by your wife. How's that for detection?"

  Salzer's kind, sad smile embraced Kerman.

  "He runs true to type as you can see," he murmured. "Both the women he has mentioned disappeared; one about two years ago, the other recently. The cases were reported in the newspapers. For some odd reason they prey on his mind."

  "Quite so," Kerman said seriously. He studied me, and behind the thick glasses his eyes seemed to squint.

  "And there's another thing you should know." I half sat up and whispered, "I have a handcuff on my leg."

  Lessways and Linkheimer had joined Salzer and were staring at me.

  Kerman raised his eyebrows languidly.

  "Is that true?" he asked Salzer.

  Salzer inclined his head. His smile was for the whole of suffering humanity.

  "Sometimes he is a little troublesome," he said regretfully. "You understand?"

  "Quite so," Kerman said, and looked pained. He did it so well I wanted to kick him.

  Bland came away from the window and stood at the head of my bed.

  "Take it easy, baby," he said softly.

  "I don't like this place," I said, addressing Lessways. "I object to being drugged every night. I don't lik
e the locked door at the end of the corridor, nor the mesh-grill over the window at the other end of the corridor. This is not a sanatorium. It's a prison."

  "Mv dear chap," Salzer said smoothly before Lessways could think of anything to say, "you get well and you shall go home. We don't want to keep you here unless we have to."

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bland slowly clench his list as a warning for me to be careful what I said. There were a lot of things I could have said, but now Kerman knew I was here I decided not to take any chances.

  "Well, let's get on," Lessways said. "All this looks very good." He beamed at Kerman. "Have you seen all you want to see, Mr. Strang? Don't let us hurry you."

  "Oh , yes," Kerman said languidly. "If Dr. Salzer wouldn't object, I might like to call again."

  "I'm afraid that would be against the rules," Salzer said. "Too many visits might excite our friends. I'm sure you will understand?"

  Kerman looked at me thoughtfully.

  "You're quite right. I hadn't thought of that," he said, and drifted towards the door.

  There was a stately exodus, Salzer being the last to leave.

  I heard Kerman say, "Is there no one else on this floor?"

  "Not at the moment," Salzer said. "We have had several interesting cures recently. Perhaps you would like to see our files?"

  The voices drifted away, and Bland closed the door. He grinned at me.

  "Didn't work, did it, baby? I told you : just a nut along with a lotta other nuts."

  It wasn't easy to look like a disappointed man, but I somehow managed it.

  V

  Salzer was talking sense when he had said visitors excited his patients. The effect on Hopper was obvious, although it wasn't until Bland brought in the lunch-trays that he showed sighs of blowing up.

  When Salzer and the visitors had gone. Hopper lay still, staring up at the ceiling, a heavy scowl on his face. He remained like that until lunch-time, and paid no attention to any remark I made, so I left him alone. I had plenty to think about anyway, and I wasn't pining for his society. But when Bland set the tray on the night table, he suddenly lashed out, sending the tray flying across the room to land with a crash and a mess on the floor.

  He sat up, and the look of him brought me out in goose pimples. His face altered so I scarcely recognized him. It grew thinner, older and lined. There was a ferocious, trapped look in his eyes you see in the eves of the fiercer beasts in the zoo. And the way Bland skipped out of his reach was as quick as the hop of a frog.

  "Take it easy, baby," Bland said, more from force of habit than to mean anything.

  Hopper crouched down in the bed and stared at him as if willing him to come within reach, but Bland wasn't to be tempted.

  "Just my goddamn luck," he said savagely. "He has to chuck an ing-bing when I'm going off duty."

  Laboriously he cleared up the broken crockery, piled the bits on the tray. By the time he was through he seemed to have decided to ignore Hopper, who continued to watch him with mad, glittering eyes.

  "I'm going anyway, see?" he said to me. "I gotta date, and I'm not going to bust it. You'll be okay. He can't reach you, and maybe he'll snap out of it. He does, sometimes. If he starts trying to walk up the wall, ring the bell. Quell's on duty, but don't ring unless you have to. Okay?"

  "Well, I don't know," I said doubtfully. I didn't like the look of Hopper. "How long do I get left alone?"

  "Quell will be in every so often. You won't see me 'til to-morrow." Bland said impatiently. "If I don't beat it now, Salzer will make me stay and watch the punk. I'm the only one who can do anything with him."

  An idea jumped into my mind. I didn't like being left with Hopper. It gave me the shakes just to look at him, but with Bland out of the way and the handcuff key within reach, there was a chance to start something.

  "So long as someone's within call," I said, settling back on my pillow. "But I'd just as soon go with you. How about it?"

  He grinned.

  "My frill is screwy enough without you being around."

  He took Hopper's wrecked meal away while I tried to eat, but Hopper's heavy breathing and the way he glared at the opposite wall, his face working, turned my stomach. After a couple of attempts to get the food down, I pushed the tray away. What I wanted was a cigarette. I wanted that more than anything in the world.

  Bland came back after a while. He had changed out of his white uniform, and now looked so smart I scarcely recognized him. His hand-painted tie nearly made me colour blind.

  "What's up?" he said, looking at my tray. "Think it's poisoned ?"

  "Just not hungry."

  He glanced at Hopper who had again crouched down in the bed as soon as he saw him and was glaring at him murderously.

  "Well, he won't put me off my fun," he said with a grin. "Just take it easy, baby. Don't bear down on it."

  "I want a cigarette," I said, "and if I don't get one I'll raise the alarm before you get out of the house."

  "You can't have a cigarette," Bland said. "You nuts aren't safe with matches."

  "I don't want a match; I want a cigarette. Light it for me and leave me a couple more. I'll chain smoke. If I don't have a smoke I'll flip my lid. You don't want two of us on your hands, do you?"

  He parted with the cigarettes reluctantly, lit one for me and edged to the door.

  "Tell Quell to keep away from him." he said at the door. "Maybe he'll settle down when I've gone. Whatever he does, don't ring that bell for five minutes. Give me time to get clear."

  Hopper made a sudden grab at him. hut he was too far away to do more than disturb the air around Bland, but the way Bland skipped through the door told me he was scared of Hopper. And so was I.

  The afternoon was the longest I have ever lived through. I didn't dare attempt to get the handcuff key in the chest of drawers. I had no idea when Quell was likely to make an appearance, and then there was the problem of Hopper. I didn't know if he was likely to start something if I got out of bed. I knew I had only one chance to get at the key, and if I fluffed it, I wouldn't get another. I decided the attempt would have to be made at night, when Hopper was asleep and Quell in bed. That meant I had to avoid being drugged, and I hadn't an idea how that was to be done.

  As soon as Bland had gone, Hopper quieted down. He ignored me, and lay staring at the opposite wall, muttering to himself, and running his fingers through his thick, fair hair. I tried to catch what he was saying, but the words came to me only as a jumble of discordant sound.

  I was careful not to make any sudden movement to attract his attention and lay smoking, and when I could get my mind away from him, I wondered what Kerman was doing.

  How he had persuaded Lessways that he was a writer on mental diseases foxed me, and I suspected Paula had something to do with that. At least they knew the set-up now. They knew Anona Freedlander was in the building. They knew about the door at the end of the corridor, and the mesh-grill over the window. One or the other had to be overcome before they could rescue me; and I hadn't a doubt that they would rescue me. But how they were going to do it was a problem.

  Around four-thirty the door pushed open and a young fellow in a white uniform, similar to the one Bland wore, came in, carrying tea-trays. He was slimly built, overgrown and weedy. His long, thin face had the serious, concentrated expression of a horse running a race. He wasn't unlike a horse. He had a long upper lip and big teeth that gave him a horsey look. It wouldn't have surprised me if he had neighed at me. He didn't. He smiled instead.

  "I'm Quell," he said, setting the tray on the night table. "You are Mr. Seabright, aren't you?"

  "No," I said. "I am Sherlock Holmes. And if you take my tip I wouldn't go near Watson. He's in one of his moods."

  He gave me a long, sad, worried stare. From the look of him I guessed he hadn't been mixed up with lunatics for very long.

  "But that's Mr. Hopper," he said patiently, as if talking to a child.

  Hopper was sitting up now, clenching and unclenching his
fists, and snarling at Quell.

  Quell may have only been in the racket a short time, but he was smart enough to see Hopper wasn't in the mood to play pat-a-cake. He eyed Hopper as you might eye a tiger that's suddenly walked into your sitting-room.

  "I don't think Mr. Hopper wants to be bothered with tea," I said. "And if you take my tip you'll keep away until Bland returns."

  "I can't do that," he said dubiously. "Dr. Salzer is out, and Bland isn't likely to be back until after midnight. He really shouldn't have gone."