Brett Halliday - Dividend on Death

He met no one as he padded back to the library. The entire incident had not delayed him more than ten minutes. This time he did not hesitate before the door.

Four men were seated in the library when he went in. Dr. Joel Pedique, who had visited him that afternoon; Dr. Hilliard, a tall, ascetic man with eyeglasses fastened to a wide black ribbon, whom he knew; and two others who he guessed were Mr. Montrose and Clarence Brighton.

“The maid told me I was expected,” Shayne said as he stepped into the room.

Dr. Pedique rose and bowed from the hips. “We have been waiting for you, Mr. Shayne.”

Shayne smiled and said, “Hello, Hilliard.”

“Good evening, Shayne.” Dr. Hilliard didn’t get up, but smiled courteously.

“Mr. Montrose, Mr. Shayne,” said Dr. Pedique.

Mr. Montrose was a wispy little man, bald and cleanshaven. His clothes seemed too large for him, and his face was a pasty-white. He stood up and bowed, and Shayne nodded curtly.

“And this is Clarence Brighton,” Dr. Pedique went on, his voice becoming more effusive.

The youth crossed his ankles in front of him, looked at Shayne in low-lidded indifference, and muttered something.

Shayne looked the boy over carefully as he took the chair Dr. Pedique offered him. About twenty, with a slender, well-knit body, slack mouth, and furtive hazel eyes. His hands were small, and the two first fingers of the left hand were heavily stained with nicotine. All in all, there was an obvious but ill-defined air of defiance about him.

Shayne said, “Well?” and let his gaze slide to Dr. Pedique as the latter resumed his seat.

“We were discussing you and some of your exploits,” Dr. Pedique told him. “Doctor Milliard has been kind enough to tell us something about your work.”

Shayne lit a cigarette and grinned amiably at Dr. Milliard. “Hope you didn’t tell them anything they shouldn’t know, doc. These people are my clients.”

“I assured them that you generally get results,” he answered seriously. Dr. Milliard was one of the most respected members of his profession in Miami, an officer of the local Medical Association, and prominent in civic affairs.

“That’s all right. So long as you didn’t tell them how I go about getting results.” Shayne then turned to Pedique. “I’m here on business. Everything’s all right so far, I judge,” he said casually.

“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. Mrs. Brighton went to her room immediately after dinner and is resting from the trip. She asked me to bring you to meet her before you go away. The-ah-patient is resting quietly, also.”

“That’s great,” said Shayne. “Now, have you worked out any definite plan of action?”

“That, I should think, would be for you to decide.” Dr. Pedique cocked his head, nodded with pursed lips. “With all the facts in hand, you may proceed as you see fit.”

Shayne nodded and turned again to Dr. Milliard. “How about it, doc? Is Pedique having a pipe dream or is there any danger of the girl harming her mother? How do you see the setup?”

Dr. Milliard brought the tips of his fingers together in front of his chest. “I can’t venture a prediction, having no more intimate knowledge of the case than a somewhat cursory observation has given me. I do approve, however, of taking all possible precautions.”

“Christ!” Shayne complained, “it’s as hard to get a definite opinion out of one of you birds as a lawyer.”

Dr. Milliard smiled suavely. “Mental cases require careful study and observation over a long period,” he told Shayne. “I haven’t,” he added, “been consulted on Miss Brighton’s case.”

Shayne shot a look at Dr. Pedique. “You’ve kept her to yourself, huh?”

Dr. Pedique smiled thinly. “I felt perfectly capable of coping with her case. With Mr. Brighton I did consider that a consultant was necessary.”

“See here,” Shayne said abruptly, “how does the girl’s name come to be Brighton? I understood she wasn’t his daughter.”

“He adopted her at the time of his marriage,” Mr. Montrose explained. “It was his desire that she be legally regarded as his daughter.”

Shayne watched Clarence as Mr. Montrose ended. The boy’s lips poked out sulkily. He uncrossed and recrossed his ankles.

“You’d better let me have a talk with Mrs. Brighton and see if I can arrange a sensible method of going about this,” Shayne said. He stood up, and Dr. Pedique arose hurriedly. “By the way,” Shayne added, “how does she take this? Mrs. Brighton, I mean.”

“She was much relieved when I outlined the arrangement,” Dr. Pedique said. “She is greatly concerned about the girl, of course, but she admitted to me that she had felt cause for alarm on previous occasions.” He slid through the door and held it for Shayne who passed through with a nod of his head toward the three men remaining in the library.

“This way.” Dr. Pedique led him down the hall in the direction the maid had brought him, and on to the wide stairway. They went up the stairs silently, and at the top were met by the blond nurse whom Shayne had seen before. She carried a folded towel on her arm and was about to pass them when Dr. Pedique held out his hand and said, “Ah, Charlotte, how is the patient?”

“He’s resting, doctor.” Her voice was low and huskily vibrant. Her eyes slipped past the doctor’s face and rested with approval on the towering figure of the detective.

“That’s fine,” said Dr. Pedique. The nurse went on down the hall, followed by Shayne’s speculative gaze.

“This way.” Dr. Pedique led him to the same door which Phyllis had taken him to. The room was dark. Dr. Pedique knocked softly. There was no response. He knocked louder and listened, then said, “I wonder-” and tried the knob. The door swung inward and he called softly, “Mrs. Brighton.”

When there was no response, he switched on the light. Shayne stood directly behind him and watched his body stiffen as he looked toward the bed. He crossed the room swiftly and bent over her. Shayne strode in after him, hard-eyed and watchful.

The face which Dr. Pedique raised to Shayne was contorted with horror-and with some other emotion which it was impossible to diagnose at the moment. He shuddered and averted his eyes from the chalk-white face of the woman on the bed. His face was greenish-pale even in the warm light from the floor lamp.

“Looks as if you won’t be needing me now,” Shayne said.

The dapper little physician rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “This is terrible, terrible,” he groaned.

“It’s not nice,” Shayne admitted.

Dr. Pedique risked a second glance at the body and said, more firmly, “It’s-that girl! We thought she had gone to bed. She must have slipped in here and-God! I’ve been a fool. I should have had a nurse watching her every minute.” His suave, dapper manner deserted him completely, and he covered his face with his hands.

The spectacle began to irk Shayne. “Looks like a case for the police. For Christ’s sake, pull yourself together.”

Dr. Pedique made an effort to recapture his professional manner. “I feel wholly responsible,” he said. “Had I used better judgment, I should have sent the girl to an asylum instead of exposing her mother to this danger.”

“Afterthoughts aren’t worth a damn,” observed Shayne. “Let’s call the police and the others, and then get hold of the girl before she bumps somebody else off.”

“It is the strictest necessity,” Dr. Pedique readily agreed. He slid past Shayne and ran to the top of the stairs to call the news downstairs and ask that the police be notified. Then he came back to Shayne, his mouth twitching.

“The girl’s room. We’ll see if she’s there.”