The Book of the Dead by Elizabeth Daly Read Free Book Online Page A

could receive no messages, and as a matter of fact he never regained consciousness again. This Miss Fisher—the name is Fisher?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWe have her name and address. She left them here last week. Will you kindly inform her that Mr. Crenshaw died this morning at eight, and that the remains are at Buckley’s? One of the best houses in the city. A first class undertaking firm. They are arranging to send the body up to Vermont early tomorrow, for burial there in the family plot. A little place called Stonehill.”
    â€œI’ll tell her.”
    â€œWe were instructed by Mr. Crenshaw himself; an unusual case, very unusual, but he was a most unusual man. I wish more were like him. Everything arranged beforehand, and paid for—down to the last penny. In cash. We have the itemized accounts, up to and including Buckley’s charge for shipping the remains to Unionboro. I understand that the Stonehill people take over then. We are forwarding the accounts, with a small cash residue, to Mr. Crenshaw’s bank, the Western Merchants; I understand that they have a branch, or are a branch of a bank in California. San Francisco. We notified them here at once, and San Francisco has no doubt been notified by this time.”
    â€œMr. Crenshaw’s body wasn’t cremated?”
    â€œNo, and that’s the only thing I can possibly criticize in the arrangements—or could, if I wished to criticize. It would have been simpler, in these days of difficult transportation; but Mr. Crenshaw said nothing about cremation.”
    â€œWho was his doctor?”
    â€œDr. Florian Billig. He has been associated with this hospital,” said the spectacled man, “much longer than I have. I’m night superintendent, by the way; Thompson. Billig’s a very good man,” continued Mr. Thompson without enthusiasm. “A St. Damian’s man all his professional life. General practitioner now, but at one time I believe he specialized in diagnosis.”
    â€œWhat did Mr. Crenshaw die of, Mr. Thompson?”
    â€œOh—I thought you knew. Leukemia, acute leukemia.”
    â€œReally…That’s quite incurable, isn’t it?”
    â€œAs yet. But you know,” said Mr. Thompson with a smile, “that medical science is never at a standstill. They’re working on leukemia.”
    â€œDr. Billig diagnosed the case as leukemia?”
    â€œYes, just over three weeks ago. I understand that Mr. Crenshaw and his man—valet, something—arrived at Mr. Crenshaw’s apartment on the afternoon of the sixth. Mr. Crenshaw had had a sudden attack of hemorrhage in Stonehill, where he was settling an estate. You know that hemorrhage is a symptom of the disease?”
    â€œI didn’t know.”
    â€œIt is. There was another attack when they reached New York, and the man was frightened; he rushed out and got the first doctor he could find—around the corner.”
    â€œMr. Crenshaw was lucky that he got such a good one.”
    â€œYes, indeed. Mr. Crenshaw refused treatment, wouldn’t consider hospitalization until last Wednesday, the twenty-first. It’s a curious disease; when he arrived here with Dr. Billig, in a cab, they tell me that he seemed quite well, except for general weakness. He settled all the affairs I mentioned, deposited the cash with us, and then—” Thompson raised his hands, and then lowered them, palms down, in a gesture of finality— “he seemed to give way. And when we did his first hemoglobin, Mr.—er—”
    â€œGamadge.”
    â€œâ€”Mr. Gamadge, we were only surprised that he had kept going so long. As I said, a strange disease.”
    â€œSo I have heard.”
    â€œSuch imperceptible degrees of decline, such quick collapse and death. But no two cases are alike.”
    â€œFrom what you said about taking a hemoglobin, I gather that Mr. Crenshaw did have treatments in