Free Flowers For the Judge by Margery Allingham

you, Doctor,’ she said. ‘Won’t you sit down? That’ll do, Mrs Austin.’
    That good lady left the room, making it plain that she did so against her better judgment. Doctor Roe remained upon his feet. His professional personality inclined to heartiness and was seen at its best astride a hearthrug.
    ‘Well, now, Mrs Brande,’ he said, ‘what’s the trouble? Not sleeping, eh? Well, of course, that’s not to be wondered at, but you can help yourself much better than anyone else can, you know. You need courage, young lady, great courage. Any other symptoms? Eating well?’
    Gina leant forward, her small white hands clasped together, her elbows resting on her knees.
    ‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘what’s happened about my husband?’
    The little medical man stiffened, and something that was half alarm, half resentment flickered in his eyes.
    ‘I came here to discuss your health, Mrs Brande,’ he said warningly.
    ‘Oh, Doctor…’ – the soft New England accent slurred the words – ‘… I don’t mean to offend you. I don’t understand professional etiquette and that sort of thing, but can’t you see that the thing that’s making me ill is not knowing what’s going to happen – what is happening. What are the police doing? Why was the inquest on Tuesday adjourned for seven days? What do they expect to learn from the post-mortem?’
    ‘My dear lady …’ Doctor Roe’s voice conveyed that his sense of decorum was outraged … ‘I’m a medical practitioner. I’m not a detective. You sent for me to ask advice about your health, and I’m prepared to give it to you. I can see you want sleep and I can prescribe something that will see to that. But I don’t know anything about your other trouble, and if I did I couldn’t discuss it. It would be most improper.’
    ‘But even if you’re a doctor, you’re human.’ The girl’s voice was quivering. ‘Don’t you see you’re the only person who knows what the police are thinking? Just imagine my position … My husband disappeared ten days ago. Four days later he was found dead. Without any warning, without any explanation, the police arrived. My husband’s body was taken away. I was summoned to appear at an inquest the next day. It lasted five minutes at the outside. My cousin-in-law gave evidence of identification, and the Coroner adjourned for seven days. I’ve been subpoenaed for the second part of the inquest, and of course I shall go. Yet when I went out yesterday I was followed.’
    She paused, and the nervous tension behind her eyes was vivid and painful.
    ‘If only they said
something
!’ she said. ‘If only they told me! It’s being kept in the dark that’s getting on my nerves. Why are they watching me? Why should they think that I might run away? What’s happening?’
    Doctor Roe was not entirely impervious to the appeal of a very pretty woman, but there is perhaps no professional man who must protect himself more carefully than the physician.
    ‘I’m very sorry for you,’ he said quite genuinely, ‘but I can’t tell you anything about the police. They have their own methods and go about their affairs in their own mysterious way.’
    He frowned and looked slightly uncomfortable. Doubtless the recollection of his unpleasant morning’s work with the police surgeon in the mortuary had returned to him. But he pocketed his sympathy. Some things were safe, others were not. He attempted to be consoling and at the same time non-committal.
    ‘I shouldn’t worry,’ he said. ‘You have yourself to think of now, you know, and we mustn’t have your health letting you down. Let me have your wrist, please.’
    He felt her pulse and compared it with his watch.
    ‘A little excited,’ he announced, ‘but not seriously. I’ll send you round something to make you sleep. You’ll feel very much better in the morning. This period of suspense is very trying, I know, but you must try and pull yourself together. You’ve had a very great shock – a