The Flesh of The Orchid by James Hadley Chase

with a face like a squeezed lemon who calls himself Simon Hartman, has shown up at the Sanatorium. And the nurse tells me he’s half crazy with rage that Carol’s escaped. He sees the trusteeship going up in smoke and six million dollars sliding through his fat little paws.” He gave himself another drink. “And I’ll tell you something else. I don’t believe the girl is anything like as dangerous as they make out. I don’t believe she should have been certified. I think she’s been railroaded into that nut-house so old Hartman could collar the six million.”
    “Don’t talk such drivel,” Veda said sharply. “John Blandish had her put away . . . three or four years ago.”
    “Blandish knew nothing about her. He wasn’t interested in her. Hartman did it all. Hartman looked after Blandish’s affairs. The girl was put away because she went for a lug who was beating a dog. Wouldn’t you go for a lug who beat a dog?”
    Veda stared at him.
    “But she’s dangerous. Look what she did to that poor truck-driver.”
    Magarth waved that aside.
    “She was protecting her honour,” he said airily. “You wouldn’t know what that means, but let me tell you some girls take that sort of thing very seriously.”
    “All right,” Veda sighed. She didn’t feel like arguing. “Have it your own way. You haven’t found her yet.”
    Magarth tapped the side of his nose.
    “But I’m coming on. I’ve found where she’s been hiding these past days. I’ve just been there.”
    “For heaven’s sake,” Veda groaned; went on: “I think I’ll have a little whisky after all. My nerves are beginning to fray.”
    “Not a chance. I wouldn’t waste the stuff on you. Just relax and listen. I saw a couple of guys tonight in a big black Packard They were asking for Steve Larson, who has a fox farm up on Blue Mountain Summit.”
    “I’ve seen him,” Veda said enthusiastically. “He’s big and fair and cute and made my heart go pit-a-pat.”
    “Never mind how cute he is,” Magarth said sourly. “Your mother must have been frightened by a pair of trousers just before you were born. You have men on the brain. Let me get on, will you?”
    “Well, it. won’t kill me to listen,” Veda said, closed her eyes again.
    “These two were asking after Larson and I recognized them. I think they’re the Sullivan brothers—professional killers.”
    “What do you mean?” Veda asked, opening her eyes and staring.
    “If you wanted to get rid of anyone you’d get into touch with the Sullivan brothers, give ‘em some dough and they’d do the rest; and that’s no fairy tale,” Magarth said. “Anyway, I thought I’d sniff around and I went up to Larson’s place. It was deserted. The lights were on, the doors open, the Buick van was in the garage and the dog, scared silly, in its kennel. I went through the cabin and found this”—he dropped a handkerchief on the bed. “I bet that’s Carol Blandish’s property. See, it has her name in the corner. And another thing: I found the trench coat belonging to Doc Travers’s chauffeur; the one Carol took when she escaped from Glenview.”
    Veda looked intrigued.
    “But where does all this get you?”
    Magarth scratched his head.
    “I wish I knew,” he said, “but it’s a start. Larson has been hiding her up. These two—the Sullivans, if they are the Sullivans —have smoked them out into the open. That’s the point. They’re out in the open. Maybe the Sullivans are after them. I don’t know. If I can get to her before anyone else I’ll bring her here. No one would think of looking for her here. If I don’t find her, then I’m out of luck and our marriage is as far off as ever.”
    Veda pulled him down, slid her arms round his neck.
    “It needn’t be, Phil,” she said softly, nibbled at his ear. “I’ll give you all my money and then we can live happily ever after.”
    Magarth pushed her away, stood up.
    “I may be a rat, but even a rat has its pride,” he said, began