He began to look vague again, and his fingers went yearningly towards the dahlia. I could see he wanted to be left alone, to let his brain sleep in the peaceful contemplation of his flowers, not to be worried by a husky like me who was taking up his time for nothing.
“He runs one of those crank sanatoriums, right next door to the Crosby estate,” he said finally. “He’s a friend of the family. His position is such he couldn’t ethically issue a certificate. He is not a qualified practitioner. I was very flattered they asked for my help.”
I could imagine that. I wondered what they paid him.
“Look, doc,” I said. “I’d like to get this straight. I’ve tried to see Maureen Crosby, but she isn’t well. I’m going away, but before I go I want to get a picture of this thing. All I’ve heard is that Janet died suddenly. You say it was heart trouble. What happened? Were you there when she died?”
“Why, no,” he said, and alarm again flickered in the dim eyes. “I arrived about half an hour after she was dead. She had died in her sleep. The symptoms were unmistakable. Dr. Salzer told me she had been suffering from the disease for some months. He had been treating her. There was nothing much one can do with such cases except rest. I can’t understand why you’re asking so many questions.” He looked hopefully towards the house to see if his wife wanted him. She didn’t.
“It’s only that I want to satisfy myself,” I said, and smiled again. “You arrived at the house, and Salzer was there. Is that it?”
He nodded, getting more worried every second.
“Was there anyone else there?”
“Miss Crosby. The younger one. She was there.”
“Maureen?”