No Orchids for Miss Blandish

Chapter twenty-seven

Miss Blandish leaned against the wall, biting her knuckles because she couldn’t scream and because she wanted to. She stared in horror at Rocco as he lay on the ornate rug. From the many wounds inflicted on him, blood made snake-like bands across the floor.

Slim stood over him, breathing heavily, his bloodstained knife dangling between his slack fingers. He bent over Rocco and wiped his knife clean on the dead man’s coat.

“He won’t bother you again,” he said and grinned at Miss Blandish. “So long as I’m around, no one will ever bother you.”

He went over to the window and looked down in the street. The traffic was heavy and people were crowding the sidewalks, going home. He realized he couldn’t show himself with the girl on the streets. She could easily be recognized. He wondered how Ma would cope with this situation. He glanced over at Rocco, then an idea occurred to him. He was immediately pleased with himself. He’d show Ma she wasn’t the only one with brains.

He crossed to the closet, opened it and pulled out one of Rocco’s suits. He found a shirt and tie. He threw the clothes on the divan.

“Put those on,” he said to Miss Blandish. “I’ve got to get you home somehow. Go on, get into that rig.”

Miss Blandish shook her head and backed away. Impatiently, Slim pulled her to the divan.

“Do what I say!” he said, pinching her arm. “Put ’em on!”

Fearfully and reluctantly, she peeled the cheap cotton dress over her head and let it drop to the floor. Then she hurriedly reached for the shirt, aware that Slim was watching her.

They looked at each other. She read the message in his eyes, and clutching the shirt to her, she backed away.

“No... please...”

Slim shuffled over to her and snatched the shirt from her. His mouth was pursed, his breathing suddenly violent, his eyes blank.

Shuddering and unresisting, she let him lead her to the divan.

The clock on the mantel ticked busily. The minute hand crawled on across the ornate clock face. A large bluebottle fly buzzed excitedly over the bloodstain on Rocco’s coat. The traffic in the street below halted, moved on with a grinding of gears, then halted again.

Miss Blandish gave a sudden sharp cry.

As the minutes passed, the shadows in the room lengthened. Someone in the apartment below turned on a television set. An impersonal voice began to give loud instructions on how to bake a cake. The insistent, domineering voice woke Slim who slowly opened his eyes. He turned his head to look at Miss Blandish, lying flat on her back by his side. She was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

“That punk makes it sound like a cake is the most important thing in the world,” Slim said. He raised his head to look at the clock. The time was twenty minutes past eight. This surprised him. He hadn’t realized he had slept for so long. He got off the bed. The sounds of the traffic had died down. The rush hour home had passed.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “Ma’ll be wondering where we are. Come on, baby, get into that rig.”

The girl got off the bed, moving like a sleepwalker. She put on Rocco’s shirt and suit. She had trouble fixing the tie. Slim, sitting on the bed, watched her with childish amusement.

“Sort of different, isn’t it?” he said. “I used to have trouble with a tie. You get used to it. You look pretty good as a boy.” He glanced at Rocco’s dead body. “He was a jockey. I got no time for guys who fool around with horses.” He kicked Rocco gently. “He got what was coming to him.”

Miss Blandish was dressed now. Rocco’s suit fitted her quite well. Slim looked at her, nodding his approval.

“You make a fine boy,” he said. He stood up and went to the closet and found one of Rocco’s hats. “Put this on; hide your pretty hair. You could be my kid brother.”

She let him put the hat on her head, standing like a lifeless doll, but cringing a little every time his damp, hot fingers touched her skin.

“Come on,” Slim said, “let’s go.”

He led her into the bathroom, paused to look out of the window down into the yard below, satisfied himself there was no one about, then helped the girl through the window onto the escape.

They went down the escape, Slim holding her arm and pushing her down quickly. On the last stage, a man looked out of the window as they passed. He was fat, balding and elderly.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

Slim looked at him, his yellow eyes gleaming. The man stepped back hurriedly. Slim’s pale thin face, his loose mouth and gleaming eyes, his long, unkempt hair hanging from under his hat scared the man silly.

Slim had parked the Buick at the end of the alley. He hustled Miss Blandish to the car and pushed her in. He went around to the driver’s seat and got in. He paused to open the glove compartment and to take out the.45 that was always kept there. He put the gun under his right thigh, then he started the car and drove into the main street.

As he headed for the club, the wail of a police siren made him stiffen. He looked into the driving mirror. He saw the traffic behind him pulling over to the right, clearing a broad lane in the middle of the road. He too pulled to the right as he saw three police cars come storming up behind him. They flashed past him. Wondering uneasily where they were going, he followed on behind. After a few minutes, he suddenly realized they were slowing down to stop outside the entrance to the courtyard of the Paradise Club.

In sudden panic, he swung the Buick into a side street, cutting across an overtaking car that braked with a violent scream of tires. He pulled up and looked back in time to see a dozen policemen spill out of the cars and run across the courtyard to the club.

He felt sweat on his face. What was he to do? Where was he to go? He looked at Miss Blandish who was staring blankly through the windshield. He felt lost and scared without Ma and the steel door and shutters of the club. His sluggish mind tried to cope with the situation.

“Hey, you!”

He looked to his right. A cop was looking into the car, first at Slim and then at Miss Blandish. Slim recognized him. He was the patrolman of the district: a big, fiery-faced Mick who always pushed the Grisson gang around when he had the chance.

“I want you,” the cop said and his hand slid to his gun holster.

Slim’s hand dropped on the hidden.45, lifted it and fired in one quick fluent movement. The slug hit the cop in the middle of his chest, throwing him half across the sidewalk.

Miss Blandish screamed. Startled, Slim swung his hand in a backhand slap, hitting her across the mouth, jerking her hard back against the car seat.

Several passersby flattened themselves on the sidewalk.

Swearing, Slim dropped his gun onto the car seat, then started the car and pulled away, accelerating as a man yelled after him.

Slim was vicious in his fear. His one thought was to get onto the open road where he could use the vast speed of the car.

Fenner and Brennan were just leaving a newly arrived police car as Slim shot the cop. The sound of the gun going off made both men pause. They saw the Buick tearing down the street, scattering other cars.

Fenner ran to the dead cop while Brennan signaled to three motorcycle cops to go after the Buick. They went away with roaring exhausts. Then Brennan joined Fenner who shook his head.

“He’s gone,” he said. “Who could that have been?”

“One of the Grisson gang,” Brennan said grimly. “Come on, let’s get at the rest of them. That rat won’t get far.”

More police were arriving. The street was becoming congested with a gaping crowd.

Inside the club, Ma Grisson watched the activity going on outside through one of the peepholes in the steel shutter that covered her office window.

Flynn peered through another peephole. Woppy cowered against the wall. Doc Williams sat near Ma’s desk. He had a glass half full of neat whiskey in his hand: his face was shiny with sweat, his eyes glassy.

Ma turned slowly and looked first at Doc and then at Woppy. Flynn stepped back, looking at her.

“Well, here it is,” Ma said in a cold hard voice. “This is the end of the road. I don’t have to tell you what’s ahead of us.”

Flynn was cool. His small, flat eyes were restless, but he didn’t look afraid. Woppy seemed on the point of collapse. His eyes rolled with terror. Doc took a swig from his glass, shrugging his shoulders. He was too drunk to have any emotions.

Ma plodded across the room, opened a closet and took out a Thompson machine gun.

“You guys can please yourselves,” she said. “I know what I’m going to do. Those coppers won’t take me alive. I’ll get a hell of a bang taking a few of the bastards with me.”

Flynn joined her. He too took a machine gun from the closet.

“I’m with you, Ma,” he said. “Let’s make it quick and gory.”

There came a hammering on the steel door. Then a voice, magnified by a loudspeaker bawled, “Come on out, you in there! Come on out with your hands in the air!”

“They’ll take some time to bust in,” Ma said. She went to her desk and sat down. She put the Thompson on the desk, pointing towards the door. “Okay, boys, leave me. This is my room and this is where I want to die. You find your own holes. Go on... beat it.”

Doc said, “Why not let them in?” He finished his whiskey and set the glass down on the desk. “We have money, Ma. We can hire the best lawyers. We still have a chance.”

Ma smiled contemptuously.

“Do you think so? You poor old drunken fool! Go ahead if you feel that way about it. Find yourself a lawyer and see where he gets you. I know better. Just get out of here and leave me alone.”

Flynn had already gone. He ran through the dark restaurant to the stairs. The sound of hammering on the steel door made him pause in the lobby. He looked around, then he slid behind the counter guarding the stairs. He rested his Thompson on the counter and waited, his heart thumping, his thin lips screwed off his teeth in a vicious grin.

Woppy came charging out into the lobby. He looked like a rabbit hunted by a fox. As he started towards the front entrance, Flynn yelled at him, “Don’t do it or I’ll cut you to pieces!”

Woppy spun around and glared frantically at Flynn.

“I’ve got to get out of here!” he yammered. “I don’t want to get killed! I just want to get out of here!”

“You’ve got nowhere to go now,” Flynn said. “You have no future either. Come here.”

A gun banged behind Flynn. Woppy’s face suddenly became a crimson smear. He fell forward and rolled over, his hands clawing the air.

Crouching, Flynn spun around. Above him at the head of the stairs, two cops had appeared guns in hand.

As Flynn nipped back the trigger of the Thompson, he realized the cops had found a way into the club through the warehouse and this was indeed the end of the road.

The Thompson hammered out its message of death. The two cops seemed to dissolve under the hail of lead. Then another Thompson started up from somewhere above the stairs.

Flynn crouched down as a sheet of lead swept just above his head. He was sweating and grinning, thinking this was the way to die — hit and be hit.

He twisted around, lifted the barrel of his gun and peered around the edge of his cover. The Thompson above yammered out its deadly, roaring note. Four slugs took the top of Flynn’s head off. He was firing back as he slumped down onto the carpet in a mess of blood and brains.

Four cops moved cautiously into sight. They looked down into the lobby. Brennan joined them.

“That leaves Doc, the old woman and Slim,” Brennan said as Fenner came up.

“One of them got away in the Buick,” Fenner reminded him. “Could have been Slim.”

Brennan moved out into the open. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he bawled, “Hey, you! Come on out! You haven’t a chance! Come out with your hands in the air!”

Doc Williams pushed himself out of his chair.

“Well, Ma, as you said, this is the end of the road. I’m no fighting man. I’m going to give myself up.”

Seated behind her desk, her big hands on the machine gun, Ma grinned at him, showing her yellow teeth.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “They’ll send you away for life or they’ll even put you in the gas chamber. It would be better to go quick.”

“I’m no fighting man,” Doc repeated. “So long, Ma. It looked good, didn’t it? But you remember all along I said I didn’t like kidnapping. See what’s come of it.”

“Come, on out, you in there!” Brennan bawled. “This is the last time! Come on out or we’ll come on in!”

“So long, Doc,” Ma said. “Go out slow with your hands in the air. Those guys sound trigger happy.”

Doc turned and walked slowly to the door. He opened it and then paused.

“I’m coming,” he called. “Don’t shoot.”

Ma grinned contemptuously. She lifted the Thompson and aimed it at Doc’s back.

As Doc began to move out into the dimly lit restaurant, Ma squeezed the trigger. The gun fired one quick, violent burst and Doc was thrown forward. He slid to the ground, dead before he hit the carpet.

“You’ll be better off dead, you poor old fool,” Ma said and she got to her feet. Holding the machine gun in both hands, she moved silently and steadily to the door. At the door, she paused.

“Come and get me!” she yelled. “Come on, you yellow punks! Come and get me!”

Chapter twenty-eight

Gripping the steering wheel, Slim leaned forward, staring with fixed concentration as he drove the Buick at a furious speed down the main road out of the city. His loose mouth hung open; his pale dirty skin shone with sweat. He could hear the wailing sirens as the motorcycle cops chased him. In another mile he would be on the main highway and if he could once get there he was sure the souped-up engine of the Buick would outstrip anything coming after him.

A car came out fast from a side turning. A crash seemed inevitable. Miss Blandish cried out, shielding her face. Grinning, Slim stamped down on the gas pedal as the other driver frantically braked. The Buick swept past with inches to spare.

A hundred yards further on there was a main intersection and as the Buick roared towards the intersection the green lights flicked to red.

Slim put his hand down on the horn button. The motorcycle cops, seeing he wasn’t going to stop, opened up then-sirens to warn crossing traffic to get out of the way.

The Buick shot across the intersection as the traffic squealed to a standstill. One driver wasn’t quick enough. The Buick caught his wing a glancing blow, smashing his offside headlamp.

Slim, cursing, steadied the Buick with a twist of the wheel and kept on. Then suddenly he was on the freeway. He relaxed slightly, squeezing down on the gas pedal, feeling the big car surge forward.

The light was fading now. In a few minutes it would be dark. The wailing sound of the sirens irritated him. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t catch him now he could use his superior speed. He glanced in the driving mirror. About two hundred yards behind he could see two of the motorcycle cops, leaning over their handlebars, belting after him. The third cop had disappeared. He saw a sudden flash and then heard a bang. One of the cops was firing at him. Slim snarled to himself.

“Get down on the floor,” he said to Miss Blandish. “Go on — do what I say!”

Shaking, she slid off the seat and onto the floor. He flicked on his sidelights. At least the sirens behind him were keeping the road clear. Traffic coming into the city had slowed and was pulling to one side. One of the cops had fallen back, but the other kept after him.

Slim suddenly eased his foot on the gas pedal. The Buick lost speed. Watching in the mirror, Slim saw the lone cop surging up behind him. Slim waited, his face a vicious snarl. The cop drew alongside, yelling something which Slim couldn’t hear above the noise of the motorcycle engine. Grinning, Slim swerved the Buick violently. He felt the side of the car hit the motorcycle. He wrestled madly with the wheel, trying to keep out of a skid. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the motorcycle careening across the road. It hit the verge and disappeared in a cloud of dust.

Slim righted the Buick and shoved down the gas pedal. The car tore on into the gathering darkness. Without the distracting sound of the pursuing siren, Slim was able to consider what to do.

He was on the run, he told himself. He was out in the open. The girl was going to be poison from now on, but he didn’t for a moment consider getting rid of her.

He glanced at the gas gauge. He had plenty of gas. But where to go? He could think of no one who would hide him. He reached down and touched Miss Blandish on her shoulder.

“Come on up,” he said. “It’s okay now.”

Miss Blandish struggled back on the seat beside him. She crouched away from him, staring through the windshield at the long, wide road that stretched endlessly in front of them.

She had had no drugs now for fifteen hours and her mind was slowly clearing. She tried to remember what she was doing in this racing car. Dimly, at the back of her mind, she had a picture of a small, dark man with blood on his coat.

“They’ll come after us,” Slim said. “They’ll hunt us. You and me are in this together to the end. We’ve got nowhere to go.”

Miss Blandish didn’t understand what he was saying. She just felt a cold sick feeling of fear at the sound of his voice.

Slim shrugged. He was used to her silences, but he wished she would talk now. He wished she would help him. He knew before very long the cops would be setting up road blocks and the highway wouldn’t be safe. He would have to get off the highway and get lost in the country. He wished Ma was with him. She would know what to do.

A few miles further on he came to an intersection and he left the highway, driving along a secondary road for another few miles until he came to a dirt road. He swung the Buick off the secondary road and drove up the twisting hilly dirt road that led quickly to wooded country.

By now it was dark and Slim became aware he was hungry. After driving for several miles, he spotted ahead of him the lights of a farmhouse. He slowed down, then seeing the open farm gate, he swung the Buick up the rutted track leading to the farmhouse.

“I’m going to get some food,” he said. “You wait in the car.” He put his damp hot hand on Miss Blandish’s wrist.

“Don’t run away, baby. You and me have got to stick together now. You sit quiet.”

He stopped the car and got out. Taking his gun, he walked silently to the lighted window and peered in.

Three people sat at the table: a thickset man of around fifty in a checked shirt and blue jeans, a thin-faced woman who was probably his wife and a fair girl of about twenty, probably his daughter. They were eating and the sight of the meal spread out on the table made Slim’s mouth water.

He moved to the door, gently turned the handle and pushed. The door yielded.

The three at the table looked up as he pushed the door wide open. Slim grinned to see the sudden fear on their faces. He showed them the gun, his yellow eyes gleaming.

“Sit still and you won’t get hurt,” he said.

He moved into the room as the man half started up, only to sink back on his chair as Slim swung the gun in his direction.

“I’ll take this,” Slim said reaching out and picking up the remains of a meat pie from the table. “You got a phone?”

The man nodded his head to where a telephone stood on a table by the wall. Slim backed to it. He put down the pie and then jerked the cable of the telephone from its socket.

“You all relax,” he said. “Just forget you’ve seen me.” He looked at the girl, his eyes running over her figure. She was about Miss Blandish’s size. “You!” The gun pointed at her. “Gimme that dress you’ve got on. Hurry it up!”

The girl went white. She looked at her father.

“One of you want to get shot?” Slim snarled.

“Do it,” the man said.

The girl stood up, unzipped the dress and took it off. She was shaking so badly she could hardly stand.

“Throw it here,” Slim said.

The girl threw the dress at him. He caught it and tucked it under his arm.

“Just take it easy,” he said. He picked up the pie and backed into the darkness. He hurried to the Buick and got in.

Miss Blandish cringed away from him as he tossed the dress into her lap.

“Here’s something for you.” He set the pie down carefully between them, then started the car. “It’ll fit. When we get away from here, you put it on. I don’t like seeing you in that punk’s suit.”

He drove a mile or so up the road, then stopped the car. He looked back along the road, but could see no following lights nor did he hear anything to worry him.

“Come on: let’s eat,” he said. “It smells good.”

He scooped up some of the pie in his dirty fingers and began to eat. Miss Blandish sat huddled away from him.

“Come on,” he said impatiently. “It’s good.”

“No.”

He shrugged and went on wolfing the pie down. In five minutes he had finished it and he threw the empty pie dish into the darkness.

“That’s better.” He wiped his greasy fingers on his trousers’ leg. “You get into that dress. Go on... hurry it up!”

“I don’t want to.”

He caught hold of her by the back of her neck and shook her.

“Do what I tell you!” His voice became high pitched with sudden rage. “Get into it!”

He pushed her out of the car, still holding her by the back of her neck.

“You want me to strip those clothes off you?”

“No.”

He let go of her.

“Get on with it!”

In the light of the roof lamp of the Buick, he watched her struggle out of Rocco’s suit and put on the dress. He picked up the suit and tossed it into the back of the car. He pushed Miss Blandish back in her seat. She leaned forward, her head in her hands. She was shaking. Her body was now craving for the numbing bliss of the drug Doc gave her regularly. Misty pictures that had haunted her mind during the past four months were gradually coming into focus.

Slim looked uneasily at her. He guessed what was happening to her. He had seen junkies in prison blow their tops because they had been deprived of drugs. If only he could have a word with Ma. She would tell him what to do. Then a disturbing thought entered his head. What had happened to Ma? Had she got away? Had she been trapped in die club? All his life he had regarded her as indestructible. He couldn’t believe anything really bad could ever happen to her.

The dirt road abruptly ended at a secondary road and once again Slim found himself driving on a road with other traffic. This worried him. There wasn’t much traffic, but every now and then he overtook a truck or a car and he wondered if the Buick would be recognized.

A little later he came upon a small filling station standing at the junction of another dirt road that cut across the secondary road. He swung the car onto the dirt road, then pulled up. He looked back at the filling station. He could see a man sitting in the lighted office reading a newspaper. There would be a telephone in there, Slim thought. He had to get news of Ma. Who could he ask? He remembered Pete Cosmos. Cosmos and Eddie Schultz had always been good pals. Maybe Pete would know something.

“I’m going to telephone,” he said to Miss Blandish. “You wait here... understand? You wait here for me.”

She remained crouched forward, her head in her hands. He could feel the violence of her trembling. He could see in her present state she wasn’t capable of standing, let alone running away.

He got out of the car, pushed the.45 into the waistband of his trousers and walked quickly back to the filling station. He went to the office. The man, fat and beefy, glanced up as Slim pushed open the door. His face registered startled surprise when he saw Slim. He got to his feet.

“I want to use your phone, pal,” Slim said. “That okay with you?”

There was something about Slim that scared the man.

“Go ahead, “he said. “You want gas too?”

“No... just the telephone.” Slim crossed to the desk. “Give me some air, pal.”

The man left the office and stood by the pumps. He kept glancing uneasily through the window at Slim and then hopefully up and down the long dark road.

It took Slim several minutes to find the Cosmos Club in the book. He wasn’t used to handling a telephone book and he was swearing and sweating by the time he finally tracked down the number.

Pete answered the telephone himself.

“This is Grisson, Pete,” Slim said. “Give it to me fast. What’s cooking?”

“All hell’s broken loose,” Pete said as soon as he had got over his first shock of surprise to hear Slim’s voice. “Eddie’s been picked up. There was a hell of a battle at the club. Woppy, Flynn and Doc were knocked off during the fight.” Slim felt his insides contract. Cold sweat dripped from his face onto his hands.

“Never mind about those punks,” he snarled. “How about Ma?”

There was a pause on the line. Slim could hear violent swing music from the club band. He could hear Pete’s heavy breathing.

“Wake up!” he shouted. “What’s happened to Ma?”

“She’s gone, Slim. I’m sorry. You can be proud of her. She knocked off four cops before they got her. She fought it out like a goddamn man!”

Slim felt the bile rise in his mouth. His legs sagged. He let go of the receiver and it fell onto the floor.

Ma gone!

He couldn’t believe it. He felt suddenly defenseless, lost, trapped.

The sound of an approaching motorcycle engine made him stiffen. He looked quickly through the window. A State trooper, slowing down on his machine drifted past the filling station, heading towards the Buick.

Slim jumped to the door and opened it. The State trooper stopped by the Buick, got off his machine and leaned in through the Buick’s window.

Slim drew his gun.

The filling station attendant, who Slim had forgotten, suddenly let out a yell of warning as he saw the gun in Slim’s hand.

The State trooper straightened, looking around, his hand dropping onto his gun butt, but he didn’t have a chance.

Slim jerked up the.45 and squeezed the trigger. In the silence of the darkness, the bang of the gun was loud and violent. The State trooper went down, knocking over his motorcycle...

Slim spun around snarling, but there was no sign of the attendant. He hesitated, then ran to the Buick. He stepped over the State trooper’s body, got in the car as Miss Blandish opened the off side door and made to get out. Slim grabbed her arm and jerked her back. He reached across her and slammed the door shut.

“Stay quiet!” he shouted, his voice shaking with panic and rage. He started the car and then drove furiously up the dirt road, heading for the woods.

The filling-station attendant came out from behind an oil drum. He ran over to the State trooper, bent over him, then turning, he ran back to his office and grabbed up the telephone.

Chapter twenty-nine

Brennan and Fenner were bending over a large-scale map spread out on a desk in the Operations Room at Headquarters when a police officer came over.

“Mr. Blandish is asking for you, sir.”

Brennan made an impatient movement.

“I’ll handle him,” Fenner said, and leaving the room, he followed the officer to one of the waiting rooms.

John Blandish was standing by the window, looking out across the lights of the city. He turned as Fenner came in.

“I got your message,” he said curtly. His face was grey and drawn. “What’s happening?”

“We’re pretty sure your daughter is alive,” Fenner said, joining him at the window. “She has been kept at the Paradise Club these past three months. We broke in there not an hour ago. There’s evidence she was kept a prisoner there.”

Blandish’s face hardened.

“What evidence?”

“A suite of rooms; a locked door; women’s clothes.”

“Where is she then?”

“Grisson got her out of the club just before the raid. She was dressed in a man’s suit. Later we had a report that Grisson raided a farmhouse and took a woman’s dress. Since then we’ve lost them for a moment, but we know more or less which way he is heading. He can’t get away. Every road is sealed off. As soon as it is light enough we’ll have aircraft searching. It’s just a matter of time.”

Blandish turned away and stared out of the window.

“Alive... after all this time,” he murmured. “I had hoped for her sake she was dead.”

Fenner didn’t say anything. There was a long pause, then Blandish asked without turning, “Have you anything else to tell me?”

Fenner hesitated. Blandish turned: his eyes were bleak.

“Don’t keep anything from me,” he said harshly. “Have you anything else to tell me?”

“They have been drugging her,” Fenner said, “and Grisson has been living with her. He is a pathological case. She’ll need special care when we find her, Mr. Blandish. I’ve been talking to the M.O. He doesn’t want her exposed to any past contacts until he has had a chance to look at her. I’m putting this badly. Perhaps you’d better talk to him. He thinks you shouldn’t be there when we do get her. He thinks it would be better for you to wait at home and for us to bring her to you. She’ll need some hours to get over the shock of being free and it would be better for this to happen among strangers. Another thing: Grisson won’t surrender. We’ll have to kill him. It’s going to be a tricky business with her with him. You realize...”

“All right, all right,” Blandish said impatiently. “You’ve made your point. I’ll wait for her at home.” He started for the door, paused and went on, “I understand it was you who found the clue that started the hunt for this man. I’m not forgetting our bargain. When she is returned, you’ll get your money. I’ll be waiting at my house. Arrange to keep me informed how the hunt is going and when she is found.”

“I’ll fix that,” Fenner said.

Blandish nodded and went out.

Fenner shook his head, then waiting a few seconds to allow Blandish time to get clear, he returned to the Operations room.

He told Brennan what he had said to Blandish and the Chief nodded.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ve just had another lead on this punk.” He put his finger on the map. “Ten minutes ago he was here with the girl. He badly wounded a State trooper who spotted the girl and even spoke to her. They got away but we know which way they are heading. We’ve tightened the cordon. We’ve called on the Army to help. It can’t be long now. I’ve got the local radio and television network to interrupt their programs warning everyone in the district to look out for the car.”

Fenner sat on the edge of the desk. He was surprised that the prospects of making thirty thousand dollars wasn’t giving him the bang it should. He kept thinking of the Blandish girl and what she had suffered at the hands of Grisson.

“You’ve got a sweet job on your hands when you do finally corner this rat,” he said. “As she’ll be with him, you won’t be able to blast him out.”

“I’ll worry my head about that when we have cornered him,” Brennan said. He accepted a cup of coffee from a police officer.

“Are you still holding Anna Borg?” Fenner asked, taking a cup of coffee from the tray.

“Only until I’ve got Grisson, then I’m turning her loose. We’ve got nothing on her,” Brennan said. “We sure have made a clean sweep of the Grisson gang. Phew! That old woman! I’ll remember her as long as I live. I thought we’d never cut her down. Even with five slugs in her, she kept on shooting until the goddamn gun was empty. I’m glad Slim isn’t like her. It’s my bet once the pressure’s on, he’ll crack. I’m relying on that.”

Fenner sat down and put his feet up on the desk. “That girl haunts me,” he said, frowning. “She’s had a hell of a break. Imagine being locked up with that degenerate for four months.”

“Yeah.” Brennan finished his coffee. “But the drug they were giving her would turn her into a zombie. I’m more sorry for her right now. The effects of the drug must be wearing off. After an experience like this, I doubt if she’ll ever be a hundred percent normal.”

“Her old man thinks the same,” Fenner said. “I could tell by the way he spoke. She’d be better off dead.”

The two men continued to talk idly against the background of activity. Time passed. At twenty minutes past twelve, one of the police officers who had been listening to a continuous stream of information coming in over the short wave radio, suddenly scribbled on a pad and passed the message to Brennan.

“They’ve found Grisson’s car: he’s ditched it,” Brennan said. “They found it at Pine Hill. Looks like he’s taken to the woods.” He bent over the map and Fenner, snapping upright, joined him. They studied the map. “Yeah: woods all around here and a couple of farms.” He turned to one of his men. “See if you can find out if these two farms are on the telephone. If they are, call them and warn them Grisson might be heading their way.”

The police officer grabbed a telephone and dialed information.

After some delay, he reported, “Waite’s farm isn’t on the telephone: that’s the distant one. Hammond’s farm is.”

“Call Hammond and warn him.”

“Can’t we go out there now?” Fenner asked. “This sitting around is giving me the ants.”

“I have close to two hundred men out there,” Brennan said. “What good would we do? As soon as I know where he is holed up — then we’ll go.”

But it wasn’t until five o’clock in the morning as the sun was coming up that the call they were waiting for came through.

The police officer said, “Grisson has been located at Waite’s farm, sir,” he said, speaking rapidly. “Waite spotted Grisson leaving one of the barns for water ten minutes ago. There’s no doubt it’s Grisson.”

“How about the girl?” Brennan asked, coming over. “Here — give me the phone.” He took the receiver. “Chief Brennan here. Let’s have it.”

“Sergeant Donaghue this end,” a voice returned. “No sign of the girl yet, sir. We have the farm completely surrounded. He can’t break out. Do we move in and get him?”

“You wait for me,” Brennan said. “Kill him if he tries to break out, but otherwise, keep out of sight and wait for me. I’ll be with you in under an hour.” He slammed down the receiver, saying to the police officer, “Alert that helicopter. I’m on my way.” He glanced at Fenner. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I’d like to see you try to stop me,” Fenner said and he was first out of the room.

Chapter thirty

Slim woke with a start. His brain became instantly alert. His gun jumped into his hand as he half sat up, blinking in a pale beam of sunlight coming through one of the many chinks in the barn walls. For some moments he couldn’t imagine where he was, then he remembered the long walk in the darkness through the woods, seeing the lights of the farmhouse, entering the barn, too weary to go further. He had had trouble in forcing Miss Blandish into the barn. She had been in such an exhausted state she could scarcely walk. He had dragged her up in the loft and pushed her down on the straw covered floor, then he had closed the trap door and had dragged straw across it.

It had been some time before he had fallen asleep. Now as he half sat up, his bones aching from the hard floor, he felt hungry and thirsty. He looked at his watch: it was close to five o’clock. Maybe they would have to stay up in the loft all day. They would have to have water. He looked over at where Miss Blandish lay sleeping, then he pulled aside the straw, opened the trap door and slid quickly down the ladder into the main part of the barn. He went out the door, gun in hand and studied the farmhouse some fifty yards away.

There was no sign of life. Soiled net curtains shielded all the windows. He stood watching for several minutes, then satisfied there was no one up, he moved cautiously into the open.

Old man Waite and his two sons who had been watching from behind the net curtains all night, stiffened at the sight of the tall thin figure in the shabby black suit who came out of the barn, gun in hand.

“That’s him,” Waite said. “Call the police, Harry. Hurry it up!”

Slim made for the water tank, bucket in hand. He dipped the bucket into the tank, then turning, he hurried back to the barn, unaware that the alarm had gone out and that police cars, packed with armed men, were already on the move towards the isolated farm.

He carried the bucket up into the loft, replaced the trap and set the bucket down. He wished he had been able to get food. He was hungry. He drank some of the water. Then he lay down.

Staring up at the roof of the barn, he tried to make up his mind what he was to do. He was regretting that he had ditched the car, but at the time it seemed the sensible thing to do. Everyone would be on the lookout for the Buick by now. But the long five mile walk through the woods now underlined the fact that he must have a car. Maybe there would, be a car on the farm he could take. He wondered how many people lived in the farmhouse. Maybe, later, they would go out into the fields and give him a chance to steal the car. He closed his eyes. An hour crawled by, and as the minutes passed, the tiny spot of panic in his mind gradually grew. He kept wondering what it would be like to die. What would happen to him when he was dead? This was something he couldn’t understand. He couldn’t believe he just snuffed out: something must happen to him, he thought, but what?

He heard Miss Blandish stir and he raised himself up on his arm. The girl was muttering to herself as she slowly came awake.

The sound of a distant aircraft came to him only half consciously as he watched the girl open her eyes.

They looked at each other. He saw her eyes widen and she shrank back, her hand going to her mouth.

“Don’t make a noise!” he snarled. He had an instinctive feeling that she was about to scream. “Hear me? Don’t make a noise! I’m not coming near you... just stay quiet.”

She remained motionless, staring at him as the noise of the aircraft grew louder and louder and seemed finally to be immediately over the top of the barn.

Slim’s heart suddenly gave a lurch. He realized the significance of the sound. He scrambled to his feet, pulled aside the truss of straw and lifted the trap door.

He paused to motion to the girl to stay where she was, then he slid down the ladder, ran across to the door and peered out.

He was in time to see a helicopter with the white star of the Army painted on it, settling down in the field at the back of the farmhouse.

He knew immediately his hiding place had been discovered and his gun jumped into his hand. He closed the barn door and dropped the heavy bar into its slot. Through a chink in the door he peered out into the farmyard.

It wasn’t a well-kept farm and there was much litter, two old tractors, a farm car and a big truck cluttering up the place: all of which afforded good cover for anyone approaching the barn.

Suddenly he saw a policeman. The man made a quick, silent dash from the truck to one of the tractors. He moved so fast Slim had no time to get his gun up, but it told him as nothing else could that this was the end of his road.

From behind the shelter of the farmhouse, Brennan and Fenner climbed out of the helicopter. A big, rubbery-faced police sergeant and a tall, thin Army Lieutenant greeted them.

“He hasn’t broken cover yet, sir,” Sergeant Donaghue said. “We’ve got him trapped. The whole farm is surrounded. This is Lieutenant Hardy.”

Brennan shook hands with the Lieutenant.

“Just where is he holed up?” he asked.

“This way, Chief,” Donaghue said.

The four men walked across the field to the farmhouse. Brennan noted with approval the circle of armed men, well hidden, lying, rifles in hand, around the perimeter of the farm.

“Careful how you go here, sir,” Donaghue said, pausing at the corner of the house. He edged around the side of the house until they could see the farmyard. He pointed to the big barn some fifty yards away. “He’s in there.”

Brennan studied the ground. The first thirty yards offered excellent cover, but the last twenty yards were bare and open.

“No idea if he has a Thompson, sergeant?”

“No, sir.”

“He could do a hell of a lot of damage if he has. Still no sign of the girl?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll give him a hail. Got a loudspeaker truck here?”

“It’s coming up now, sir.”

The men moved back. A few minutes later the loudspeaker truck bumped over the field and pulled up near them. Brennan took the microphone.

“Can you get some of your men behind those two tractors and the truck, Lieutenant?”

“Sure,” Hardy said. “I would have got them there before but Donaghue said to wait.” He turned to his sergeant and issued orders.

“No shooting,” Brennan said. “If the girl’s in there we can’t take any chances.”

“I understand.”

Ten soldiers moved quietly out of the cover of the farmhouse. They dropped flat and began to crawl towards the tractors and the truck.

Shaking and sweating, Slim saw them as they crawled out into the open. The khaki uniforms, the steel helmets and the rifles turned him sick with panic. He lifted his gun and tried to get one of the soldiers in his sights, but the gun seemed to be jumping in his hand and snarling with frustrated fear and fury, he fired blindly. He saw the dust kick up about a yard from the nearest soldier who jumped up, bent double, and with two quick strides was behind the truck and out of sight. The other soldiers, also moving with speed, reached their objectives and vanished.

Brennan grunted.

“If he had a Thompson he would have used it,” he said to the Lieutenant. “It depends now on how many slugs he’s got left. I’ll give him a hail.” He lifted the microphone. “Grisson! You’re surrounded. Come on out with your hands in the air! Grisson! You haven’t a chance! Come on out!”

The loud metallic voice echoed in the fresh morning air. Slim listened, his loose mouth closed in a bunched-up mess of wet lips. He yearned for a Thompson gun. He cursed himself for getting trapped like this. He thought of Ma. Pete had said she had fought like a man. He would fight like a man too. He glanced at his gun. He had only five slugs left. Well, he’d take five of the punks with him. They would never get him alive.

Up in the loft, Miss Blandish first heard the shot, then the metallic voice. She realized the moment she had been dreading in a vague, half-conscious way for the past four months was approaching. In a little while she would be free, and the real misery and hell of her experience would begin.

She crawled to the open trap and looked down. She saw Slim standing with his back to her, peering through a chink in the barn door. His thin black back was tense. She saw the gun in his hand. She heard him muttering to himself. There was now silence outside. Her concentrated stare conveyed itself to him.

He turned slowly, and they looked at each other. He, standing by the door, sweating and shaking, and she, lying stretched on the floor, her head and shoulders framed by the trap, looking down at him. They stared at each other for a long time. His face was glistening in the dim light of the barn. His lips came off his teeth and he swore at her, calling her obscene names, hurling them at her in his panic and fear.

She listened, hoping he would eventually shoot her. With all the strength of her mind, she willed him to lift his gun and release a bullet into her, but he did nothing but curse her, glaring at her with his feverish, yellow eyes.

A sound outside made him jerk around. He saw a movement behind the farm cart and he fired. The bang of the gun echoed in the silence. He saw a puff of dust and white splinters of wood fly from the side of the cart.

Once more the loud metallic voice called to him to come out.

“Grisson! We’re waiting! You can’t get away! Come on out with your hands in the air!”

Panic now flooded his mind. His legs felt weak. His thin wolfish face began to crumple like a child’s before it weeps. He slid down on his knees, letting his gun fall to the ground.

Miss Blandish watched him. For a moment she thought he had been shot, but when he began to moan to himself, she drew back, hiding her face in her hands.

Brennan, anxious to get it over, was giving orders to his men. Several soldiers and two police officers got behind the farm cart. Using it as a shield, they began pushing it across the yard towards the barn door.

Slim saw the cart coming. He staggered to his feet, snatched up his gun. In a frenzy of panic and despair, he threw up the bar holding the door in place, dragged open the door and ran out. He fired blindly at the advancing cart, standing in the hot sunshine, his face ghastly with terror.

Two machine guns opened up. Blood suddenly appeared on his dirty white shirt. His gun fell from his hand. The guns stopped as abruptly as they had started.

Brennan and Fenner watched him slowly collapse. His thin legs thrashed for a long moment, jerkily and convulsively, the way a snake dies. His back arched; his hands clawed at the dry dust, then he stiffened and went limp.

The two men, guns in hand, moved across the yard.

Fenner knew before he reached Slim that he was dead. He paused by him for a brief moment. The yellow eyes looked sightlessly up at him. The thin, white, upturned face seemed defenseless and bewildered. The loose mouth hung open. Fenner turned away with a grunt of disgust.

“That’s the end of him,” Brennan said, “and good riddance.”

“Yeah,” Fenner said. He drew in a deep breath, then walked slowly towards the barn.

Chapter thirty-one

Miss Blandish had come down from the loft. The two short bursts of machine gun fire had told her that Grisson was dead. Now, hopelessly, she moved into the darkest part of the barn and sat down on an upturned barrel. She could hear men’s voices outside and she flinched from the sound. She dreaded the fast approaching moment when she would have to go out into the hot sunlight and face the curious, staring eyes of her rescuers.

For some moments Fenner didn’t see her. He stood in the barn doorway, looking around, and it wasn’t until his eyes became accustomed to the shadowy dimness that he did see her. He quickly realized by the tense way she was sitting, how bad this moment must be for her. He moved into the barn and paused when he was some yards from her.

“Hello,” he said casually and quietly, “I’m Dave Fenner. Your father asked me to take you home when you are ready to go. There’s no rush. You’re free now. You tell me what you want to do and I’ll fix it.”

He saw her relax slightly. He was careful not to approach closer. She reminded him of a cornered, frightened animal, ready to panic at the slightest unexpected movement.

“I thought it might be an idea,” he went on, “if I took you to a quiet hotel so you could rest for a while, get a change of clothes and then if you feel like it, to drive you home. I’ve fixed a room for you at a hotel not far from here. There won’t be any fuss. The press don’t know anything about this. You won’t be bothered. You can go in the back way of the hotel and straight to the room. Would you like to do that?”

She looked intently at him for some moments, then she said “Yes.”

“There’s a doctor outside,” Fenner went on. “He’s a nice guy. He wants to meet you. May I bring him in?”

She immediately stiffened, her eyes widening with panic.

“I don’t want a doctor!” she said wildly. “What do I want a doctor for? I don’t want to see anyone!”

“That’s okay,” Fenner said. “You don’t have to see anyone if you feel that way about it. Will you let me take you to the hotel?”

Again she stared intently at him, hesitating, then she nodded.

“I’ll get a car,” Fenner said. “You stay right here and don’t worry about a thing. You’re not going to see anyone. No one’s going to bother you.”

He turned and walked out of the barn to where Brennan waited. A crowd of soldiers and policemen were staring curiously towards the barn. Old man Waite and his two sons were gaping from the farmhouse door. Four soldiers were carrying Grisson’s body to a truck.

As Fenner approached Brennan, the Medical Officer came over. Behind him hovered a nurse.

“She’s jumpy,” Fenner said. “She doesn’t want to see anyone. She doesn’t want a doctor. She likes the idea of going to a hotel. She wants me to take her there.”

The Medical Officer shrugged his shoulders.

“That’s all right,” he said. “She must certainly be suffering from shock. It’s better to let her do what she wants. I’ll go on ahead and fix up a room at the Bonham Hotel. When she’s got used to the idea of being free, I’ll see her. How about taking the nurse with you?”

“I’d like to,” Fenner said, “but I don’t think she’d stand for it. She reacted badly when I suggested she should see you.”

“Well, all right. I’ll get off. I’ll have the nurse stand by just in case she’s needed. I’ll have everything fixed by the time you get her to the hotel. We’ve got to be sure the press don’t get at her. Once this leaks out, they’ll be around like a swarm of ants.”

“I’ll see they don’t get near her,” Brennan said grimly.

As the Medical Officer hurried away, Fenner said, “Will you get all these men out of the way and leave a car right outside the barn?”

“I’ll do it,” Brennan said. “You go in there and stay with her.”

Fenner waited long enough to see Brennan get rid of the soldiers and the police, then he returned to the barn.

Miss Blandish was still sitting on the upturned barrel. She looked up as he came over to her.

“It’s all fixed,” he said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. “You have nothing to worry about.” He offered a cigarette, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took one and accepted the light he held to the cigarette. “Your father thought it would be better to wait at home for you.” Fenner went on, lighting a cigarette for himself. “If you want him, I can get him.”

Again he saw the panic jump into her eyes.

“I don’t want him,” she said, not looking at him. “I want to be alone.”

“That’s okay,” Fenner said. “When you want him, he’ll be there.” He sat down on a bale of straw, some yards from her. “You’re probably wondering who I am,” he went on, absolutely sure she wasn’t wondering anything of the kind, but knowing the necessity of keeping the situation as normal as possible. “I earn a living as a private investigator. Your father came to me...” He went on talking easily and casually, watching, her, seeing at first no interest but as he told her about his life as a newspaperman, about Paula and about some of his cases he saw she was relaxing and after twenty minutes of continuous talking, he saw she was listening. Finally, he decided that the Medical Officer had had time to fix up a room at the hotel and he said, “Well, I don’t want to bore you too much about myself. I guess we can go now. You don’t have to worry. There’s no one outside. Are you ready to go?”

He saw panic once more jump into her eyes, but he got up and went over to the barn door and pulled it wide open. An Oldsmobile stood outside. There was no one in sight.

“It’s okay,” he said, not looking at her. “Let’s go.”

He opened the off side door of the car and left it open, then he got in under the driving wheel. He waited. After some minutes, Miss Blandish came slowly and hesitatingly to the barn door. Fenner didn’t look at her. She came to the car and got in, slamming the door shut.

Fenner drove down the uneven farm road and onto the dirt road. Miss Blandish sat away from him, staring with great blank eyes in front of her.

It took a little over forty minutes to reach the hotel at Pine Hill. Fenner, who knew the hotel, drove around to the back entrance. There was no one around. He pulled up and got out.

“Wait here. I won’t be two seconds,” he said and went quickly into the lobby where the Medical Officer was waiting.

“Room 860,” he told Fenner, giving him a key. “It’s on the top floor. The nurse has got some clothes for her. How is she?”

Fenner shrugged.

“She’s not saying much. She’s jumpy, but at least she seems to have accepted me. You get out of the way, Doc. I’ll take her up.”

“See if you can persuade her to see me,” the Medical Officer said. “It’s important I see her as soon as possible.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” Fenner said and went back to the car.

Miss Blandish was sitting motionless, looking down at her hands. She glanced up sharply as Fenner came to her. “All ready,” he said. “No one to bother you.” She got out of the car, and together, they walked into the lobby and entered the elevator.

As they shot to the top floor, she said abruptly, “I heard the shooting. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Startled, Fenner said, “Yes. You don’t have to think of him any more. That’s all behind you.”

Neither of them said anything further. He took her along the empty corridor to room 860, unlocked the door and stood aside. She went into the room. The Medical Officer had done a good job. The room was ladened with flowers; there was a wagon of cold food and drinks. The windows stood open and sunlight made patterns on the blue carpet.

Miss Blandish walked slowly over to a big vase of roses. She paused by them, touching the dark scarlet buds. Fenner closed the door.

“Doctor Heath would like to meet you,” he said. “Would you mind?”

She looked at him. He was relieved to see there was no panic in her eyes as she said, “I don’t want to see anyone yet. There’s nothing he can do for me.”

“You know what I’d do if I were you?” Fenner said quietly. “I’d take a shower and change out of those clothes. You’ll find others in the closet.” He opened the closet and took out the clothes the nurse had brought. He handed them to her. “You go ahead and have a shower. I’ll wait right here and see no one bothers you. Okay?”

She looked searchingly at him, a puzzled expression in her eyes.

“Do you always treat people like this?” she asked.

“I don’t have much chance,” Fenner said and smiled. “You go ahead.”

She went into the bathroom and shut and locked the door.

Shaking his head, Fenner went over to the window and looked down at the slow-moving traffic far below. The cars looked like toys. Immediately below, outside the entrance to the hotel, he saw a group of men, several with cameras and flashguns, arguing with three policemen who guarded the entrance. So the news had leaked out, he thought. Now there would be trouble. In a little while the town would be swarming with newspapermen.

He turned away from the window and went to the door, looking out into the passage. Three policemen lounged at the head of the stairs. Brennan had said he would keep the press away from the girl: he was carrying out his promise, but Fenner knew sooner or later when they took her from the hotel, the press would close in on her like a pack of jackals.

A quarter of an hour later, the bathroom door opened and Miss Blandish came out. She had changed into the flowered dress the nurse had bought and it suited her.

Fenner thought he had never seen a girl so beautiful.

“I bet you feel all the better for that, don’t you?” he said.

She moved to the window before he could stop her and looked out. She moved quickly back, turning to face him, her eyes frightened.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “You don’t have to worry. They won’t come up here. Look, sit down and relax. Don’t you want something to eat?”

“No.” She sat down, putting her hands to her face.

He watched her during a long, uneasy pause, then she said suddenly, her tone desperate, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t think about it now,” Fenner said gently. “You’ll find it will work out. People forget. It’ll be tough going for the first three or four days, then they’ll forget about you. Right now what you’ve gone through is in focus, but after a while, it’ll get out of focus and later on, even you’ll forget about it. You’re young. You have lots of things to look forward to.” He was talking for the sake of talking: feeling he had to say something. He didn’t believe what he was saying. He was sure she didn’t either.

“You said he was dead, but he isn’t.” She shivered. “He is with me now.” She made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know what my father will say. At first I thought it couldn’t have happened to me, but now I know it has. I just don’t know what I’m going to do!”

Fenner felt a cold sweat on his face. This was a complication he hadn’t expected nor even dreamed of: a situation he felt incompetent to handle.

“Wouldn’t it be an idea to send for your father?” he said uneasily. “You can’t cope with a thing like this on your own. Let me send for him.”

She shook her head.

“No.” She looked up. Her eyes were like holes cut in a white sheet. “He wouldn’t be able to help me. He would just be horribly embarrassed and upset. This is something I should be able to work out for myself, but the trouble is I’m not fitted to cope with any major crisis in my life. I have never had any reason to cope with anything. I have never had any sense of values. I’ve just enjoyed a good time all the time until this happened. I suppose it is a test for me, isn’t it? But instead of a test, I feel it is a trap. I don’t know if I’m capable of getting out of it. I’m ashamed of myself. I’m a person without any background, any character or any faith. Some people could cope with this because they believe in God. I haven’t believed in anything except having a good time.” She clenched and unclenched her fists, then she looked up; her fixed smile made Fenner feel bad. “Perhaps I had better see the doctor. He will give me something. Then, as you said, in a few days’ time, I’ll be able to face this thing.” She looked away and went on as if speaking to herself, “You see how weak I am. I have to have someone to lean on. I haven’t the equipment to rely on myself. It’s because I have been brought up to rely on other people, but it is my fault. I’m not blaming anyone but myself.”

“I’ll get him,” Fenner said. “You mustn’t be hard on yourself. You’ll get over it. You must expect to have to rely on someone at first after what you’ve gone through. You’re going to be all right. You’ve just got to hang on for the next few days.”

Her smile became a grimace.

“Would you hurry, please?” she said politely. “I must have something. He’ll know what to give me. I shall go to pieces if I don’t get something. I have been living on drugs now for months.”

“I’ll get him,” Fenner said and went quickly to the door. Leaving it open, he stepped into the passage and called to one of the policemen. “Hey, you! Get the Doc up here, will you, and fast?”

The door slammed behind him, making him spin around. He heard the lock snap to.

In a sudden panic, he rapped on the door, but Miss Blandish didn’t open the door. He drew back and drove his shoulder against the door panel, but the door didn’t give.

The two policemen ran up.

“Get it open!” Fenner shouted, feeling sweat on his face. “Hurry!”

As the two policemen’s combined weight smashed open the door, Fenner heard a thin, wailing scream. It sounded far away.

From the street below, he heard people shouting and the sound of traffic grinding to a stop.

He stood helplessly in the doorway and looked around the empty room.