The Flesh of the Orchid

Chapter Two

A week passed.

It was a bewildering week for Steve, kept hard at work running the farm, cooking the meals and nursing Carol. Roy made no effort to help him, and spent most of his time sitting on a high crag overlooking the mountain road and staring with fixed intensity into the empty valley.

Steve guessed that something or someone was terrifying his brother, and decided that Roy’s fear and jumpy nerves were partly responsible for his vicious mood. This conclusion seemed right, for after the third day of nothing happening Roy became less nervy and hostile and finally ceased to watch the road. By the end of the week he was almost friendly — at least, as friendly as his sneering, selfish nature would permit. But he was still determined that Steve shouldn’t leave Blue Mountain Summit while he was there, and Steve was forced to accept the situation.

Now that Carol had Steve’s room, the two brothers shared the only other bedroom, and Steve had further proof of his brother’s nervousness. Roy scarcely slept, tossing and turning through the night; and when he did doze off it was only to start up at the slightest sound.

Carol, however, was making rapid progress. She had been very ill for the first two days of her stay at the cabin, and Steve had to be constantly with her. But once the fever had left her, the wound began to heal, and she quickly gained strength.

But her mind remained a blank after the accident. She had no recollection of anything that had happened nor of Glenview nor who she was. She had complete and child-like faith in Steve, and as the days passed, the accepted conventions between man and woman swept aside by her helplessness, there grew up between them an odd and intimate relationship that bewildered Steve and awakened in Carol a deep feeling of affection for him which quickly turned to love.

Steve had always been shy with women. When Carol was ill and helpless he regarded her the way he would have regarded a sister (if he had had a sister), and attended to her needs impersonally and with no feeling except that of embarrassment. But when she was convalescing and showed so obviously that she was in love with him he did not know how to cope with the situation.

As soon as Carol was able to get up, she trailed rather helplessly after him wherever he went, and she was never happy unless she was with him. He was the pivot around which her life now revolved.

Not knowing of her mental history, Steve assumed that the head injury she had received had not only obliterated her memory but had, in some inexplicable way, broken down her adult reserve, giving her the mentality of a child. It would be out of the question, he argued to himself, to respond to her love for him or to take advantage of it, and he kept a tight rein on his feelings for her, refusing to believe that this love was anything more than an odd mental twist that would pass when her memory returned.

On the other hand, Roy was quick to realize that she might be easy prey, and she was seldom out of his mind. Although she paid him no attention, her mind being continually focussed on Steve, he was confident that, given the right opportunity, he would make her yield to him.

One morning, as he was lounging by the lake, he saw her coming down the path through the pine trees. Steve was busy in the cabin and out of sight, and seizing this opportunity of having her to himself, Roy stepped squarely in her path.

‘Hello,’ he said, eying her over. She looked radiant in the pale sunshine and her beauty quickened his blood. ‘Where have you been?’

‘To feed the foxes,’ she said, her voice flat and casual. ‘I want to find Steve,’ she went on; added, ‘You’re in my way.’

‘But I want to talk to you,’ Roy said, moving closer. ‘It’s time you and me got to know each other.’

‘I want to find Steve,’ she repeated; tried to step round him, but he prevented her.

‘Never mind Steve. Come on, be nice. I like you, kid. I could go for you in a big way.’ He caught hold of her, pulled her to him. She stood against him, unresisting, uninterested, her eyes still looking towards the cabin. His hands went round her back and he held her close, feeling her soft hair against his face. It was like holding a tailor’s dummy, but Roy was scarcely aware of her apathy. He had been without a woman for three weeks, and to Roy that was three weeks too long. He didn’t care how apathetic a woman was so long as he could have his hands on her body and she didn’t resist him.

‘Please let me go,’ Carol said seriously. ‘I want to find Steve.’

‘He won’t run away,’ Roy said thickly, swung her round, bending her back. He looked into her blank serene eyes, then crushed his mouth down on hers. Her lips were hard and tight under his, but her hands hung limply at her sides. She neither resisted nor complied.

Blood hammered inside his head as his hands slid over her, and he bent her further back, holding her close to him.

Then suddenly he was dragged round, and releasing Carol with an oath he caught a glimpse of Steve’s infuriated face. Before he had a chance to reach for his gun Steve’s fist crashed to his jaw and he fell heavily and lay on the pine needles, stunned.

‘Do that again and I’ll break your neck,’ Steve said evenly; put his arm round Carol, drew her away. ‘Come on,’ he said to her. ‘Let’s get back to the cabin.’

‘Why did you hit him?’ Carol asked, walking contentedly by Steve’s side. ‘I didn’t mind.’

‘I didn’t want him to frighten you,’ Steve returned, giving her a quick, puzzled glance.

‘I wasn’t frightened. But I don’t like him,’ Carol said. ‘If you don’t want him to do that to me again I won’t let him. I didn’t know if that’s what you wanted.’

‘No,’ Steve said, bewildered by this reasoning. ‘I don’t want him to do that again.’

Roy watched them go, then he got slowly to his feet. He was so elated that Carol hadn’t resisted him that he almost forgot that Steve had knocked him down. He had kissed her! It had been like taking candy from a kid. If Steve hadn’t shoved his oar in... why, she was a push-over!

That night, when Roy was in bed, Steve came into the bedroom after locking up. Roy had kept out of the way all day, but now, face to face once more with Steve, he decided to take the initiative before his brother slanged him.

‘You watch your fists, you big hick,’ he said, scowling. ‘The next time you start something like that you’ll pick lead out of your belly.’

‘Then keep your hands off the girl,’ Steve said, sitting on the edge of his bed. ‘Can’t you see she’s not normal? That bang on the head’s done something to her. She’s like a kid. So lay off, Roy. There can be no fun in fooling around with a girl in her mental state.’

‘Can’t there?’ Roy grinned. ‘All cats are grey in the dark whether they’re nuts or normal. She’s just a woman to me, and I like women.’

‘Lay off or we’ll have a show-down,’ Steve said, his face grim.

‘You’ve some hopes,’ Roy said. ‘What’s to stop me knocking you off? No one would find you here for months, and by that time I’d be miles away. You watch your step. I can do what I like here, and the sooner you realize it the better.’

Steve kicked off his shoes, began to undress.

‘I’m telling you. Keep your hands off Carol.’

‘She likes me. She let me kiss her, didn’t she? You can’t kid me a girl with her stack-up doesn’t like being kissed. If you hadn’t shoved your oar in we’d have got along fine together.’

‘I shan’t tell you again,’ Steve said quietly. ‘If I have to take you, I’ll take you, gun or no gun.’

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Roy’s eyes were the first to give ground.

‘Aw, nuts to you,’ he said, rolled over.

Steve got into bed.

‘What are you scared of?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Who’s after you?’

Roy whipped round, half sat up.

‘Shut your mouth. I’m not scared of anyone.’

‘But you are. You’re as jumpy as a flea. Who are you running away from — the police?’

Roy jerked up the ugly blunt-nosed automatic.

‘I’ll blast a hole in you if you don’t shut up,’ he snarled, his face white and twitching. ‘Why I haven’t knocked you off before—’

‘Because you’re afraid to be left alone,’ Steve said quietly. ‘You want me behind you when what you’re expecting to happen happens.’

Roy dropped back on his pillow, slid the gun out of sight.

‘You’re crazy,’ he said, turned off the light. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to sleep.’

But he didn’t. He lay awake for hours, listening to Steve’s heavy breathing, seeing the moonlight on the big pine trees through the open window.

The night was quiet and still. A soft breeze rustled in the trees and the water swirled gently round the jetty.

Roy thought of Carol, wondered if he could leave the room without waking his brother. If he could get into Carol’s room, the rest would be easy; he was sure of that. The idea of holding Carol once more in his arms suddenly galvanized him into action. He half raised himself, looked across at Steve. As he did so a movement outside the cabin caught his eye. His desires drained from him and he sat up, his heart racing.

A shadow crossed the open window: a gliding, silent shadow that had come and gone before his eyes had scarcely time to register it.

Fear gripped him and he lay transfixed in bed, staring at the window.

A light step sounded on the verandah, then another. A board creaked. The sound came nearer.

Roy grabbed hold of Steve, shook him violently.

Steve woke instantly, sat up, feeling Roy’s frenzied fingers digging into his arm. He stared at Roy’s white face, sensed immediately that something was wrong.

‘What’s up?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.

‘Someone’s outside,’ Roy said. His voice was shaking. ‘Listen.’

Somewhere down by the lake Spot began to howl mournfully.

Steve swung his legs out of bed, paused as he saw the shadow once more at the window. He leaned forward.

‘It’s Carol, you fool,’ he said. ‘Pull yourself together.’

The breath whistled through Roy’s clenched teeth.

‘Carol? What’s she doing out there? You sure?’

‘I can see her,’ Steve said, crept to the window.

After a moment’s hesitation Roy joined him. Carol was pacing up and down the verandah. She had on Steve’s cut-down pyjamas and her feet were bare.

‘Damn her,’ Roy said softly. ‘She scared the pants off me. What’s she doing?’

‘Quiet,’ Steve whispered. ‘Maybe she’s walking in her sleep.’

Roy grunted. Now he had recovered from his fright the picture Carol made, bare-footed, in the white silk pyjamas, her red hair loose on her shoulders, fired his blood.

‘She’s a looker, isn’t she?’ he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘What a shape she’s got!’

Steve made an impatient movement. He was puzzled, wondering what the girl was doing, pacing up and down out there.

Suddenly Carol paused, looked in their direction as if sensing she was being watched. The moonlight fell directly on her face, and both men saw a change in her expression that startled them. The muscles in her face seemed to tighten, the lines contort, giving her a sly look of animal cunning. There was a nervous tic at the side of her mouth and her eyes were like pieces of glass and as soulless. Steve scarcely recognized her.

Spot howled miserably from his hiding-place across the yard, and Carol turned swiftly to look in that direction. Her whole bearing was as quick and lithe as the movements of a jungle cat, and as dangerous. Then, as Spot howled again, she disappeared through the open window of her room.

‘What the hell do you make of that?’ Roy asked uneasily. ‘Did you see the way she looked? Did you see that expression?’

‘Yes,’ Steve said, worried. ‘I’d better find out what she’s doing.’

‘Take care she doesn’t scratch your eyes out,’ Roy said with an uneasy laugh. ‘She could do anything the way she looked just now.’

Steve pulled on a dressing-gown, took an electric torch and went down the passage to Carol’s room. He opened the door quietly.

Carol was in bed, her eyes closed, the moonlight on her face. She looked as lovely and as serene as she always did, and when Steve called to her, she didn’t move.

He stood for a moment watching her, then quietly shut the door and returned to his room.

He slept as badly as Roy that night.

Sam Garland and Joe were cleaning an ambulance in the big garage at the rear of Glenview Mental Sanatorium.

‘Don’t look now,’ Sam said, polishing away, ‘but that news hawk’s heading this way.’

Joe showed his two gold teeth.

‘I like that guy. He’s persistent. Think we could bite his ear for a few potatoes?’

‘Idea,’ Sam said, stood back to admire the glittering chromium headlamps.

Phil Magarth, lean, tall, carelessly dressed, sauntered up to them. He had been around for the past week trying to get some worthwhile information about the patient who had escaped from the sanatorium, but apart from a short, useless statement from Dr. Travers and a curt ‘Get the hell out of here’ from Sheriff Kamp, he had got nowhere.

Magarth, the local reporter for the district as well as a special correspondent for a number of Mid-West newspapers, had an instinct for news, and he was sure there was a big story behind the escape if he could get at it. Having tried every other avenue for further information without success, he decided to see what he could learn from Garland and Joe.

‘Hello, boys,’ he said, draping himself over the hood of the ambulance. ‘Found that loony yet?’

‘No use asking us,’ Garland said, resuming his polishing. ‘We’re just hired helps, ain’t we, Joe?’

‘That’s right,’ Joe said, winked at Magarth.

‘I was reckoning you boys knew something,’ Magarth said, jingling his loose change suggestively. ‘Who the dame is, for instance. My expense account is fat with inactivity, if that interests you.’

Both Garland and Joe lost their indifferent expressions.

‘How fat would it be?’ Garland asked cautiously.

‘Well, maybe “fat’s” the wrong word. I should have said bloated. If you know anything don’t be scared to open your little mouths.’

‘We won’t,’ Garland said, looked cautiously over his shoulder. ‘A hundred bucks would buy it, wouldn’t it, Joe?’

‘Just about,’ Joe said, rubbing his hands. ‘A hundred each.’

Magarth winced.

‘I guess I’ll try that blonde nurse. By the circles under her eyes she’d give herself away as well as information for two hundred bucks.’

Garland’s face fell.

‘He’s right,’ he said to Joe.

‘But you’d never be the same guy again,’ Joe said seriously. ‘I’ve tried her. It’s like wrestling with a bear-trap.’

‘I like ’em that way,’ Magarth said simply. ‘Ever since I was knee-high to an ant I’ve been handling energetic women. You don’t have to worry about me.’ He tilted his hat over his nose, squinted at Garland. ‘Of course, if you’d like to make it a hundred bucks I’d play along with you. I’m the self-sacrificing type.’

Garland and Joe exchanged glances.

‘O.K.,’ Garland said. ‘It’s a deal.’

‘It’ll have to be good for the dough,’ Magarth reminded him.

‘It’s better than good — it’s sensational,’ Garland said. ‘Front page stuff in six-inch type.’

‘Bigger than Pearl Harbour,’ Joe said.

‘Bigger than the Atom Bomb,’ Garland added, not to be outdone.

Magarth produced a roll of notes, peeled off five twenty-dollar bills.

‘I came heeled guessing you two would sing,’ he said, dangling the bills. ‘Let’s hear.’

‘John Blandish’s heiress,’ Sam said, grabbed the notes. ‘How do you like that?’

Magarth took a step forward.

‘What do you mean?’ he said, a rasp in his voice. ‘What kind of fluff’s this?’

‘What I say,’ Sam said. ‘Ain’t you heard of John Blandish? Well, this guy had a daughter and she was kidnapped...’

Steve and Carol breakfasted alone together the next morning. Roy had gone out early after trout.

‘Did you sleep all right last night?’ Steve asked casually as he poured coffee.

‘I dreamed,’ she returned. ‘I always dream.’

‘But did you get up in the night?’ Steve smiled at her. ‘I thought I heard someone moving about in the cabin. Maybe I was dreaming, too.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said, touched her temples with slim fingers. ‘But something did happen. I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. It frightens me.’ She reached across the table for his hand. ‘I don’t know what I should do without you. I feel so safe with you.’

Steve grinned uncomfortably, patted her hand.

‘You’d be all right,’ he said. ‘What do you dream about, Carol?’

‘I don’t really remember. I seem to dream the same dream ever and over again. It’s something to do with a nurse. I don’t know what she does, but it’s always the same nurse. She has a horrible look in her eyes and she stands over me. I am so frightened in my dreams, and I wake up frightened, my heart beating, and the dark frightens me.’

Steve worried about her all day, and he was still worrying when Roy returned after dark.

Roy was silent and surly until bedtime, his eyes continually on Carol.

He was already in bed when Steve came in after locking up, and he pretended to be asleep.

Steve glanced at him, shrugged, got into bed. He was tired of his brother’s surly behaviour, longed to be rid of him.

Later in the night Roy sat up, called softly, and when Steve made no reply he cautiously pushed off his blanket. He was trembling with excitement and desire. All day he had brooded about Carol, working himself up, determined that tonight when Steve was asleep he’d go to her. She had let him kiss her: showed no fight. It should be easy so long as he could get out of the room without waking Steve. Quietly he slid out of bed.

Steve stirred in his sleep and Roy waited, tense, ready to slip back to bed, but Steve slept on. Moving softly, Roy left the room, closed the door, stood listening.

Carol’s room was at the end of the passage. There was no sound but the wind rustling in the trees and the lake water swirling against the jetty.

Roy crept down the passage, listened at Carol’s door, heard nothing, turned the handle and went in.

He could see Carol lying in the bed, her arms uncovered, her hair like a, red halo on the pillow. She looked very beautiful with the moonlight falling directly on her face, and as he came in she opened her eyes. She didn’t seem alarmed. Her eyes were wide but serene.

‘Hello, kid,’ Roy said. His tongue felt a little too big for his mouth and his skin was feverish. ‘I’ve come to keep you company.’

She didn’t say anything but watched him cross the room, her eyes on his.

‘You’re not scared of me, are you?’ he asked. Her beauty made him shiver.

‘Oh, no,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought you would come tonight. I’ve been dreaming about you.’

Roy started.

‘You mean you wanted me to come?’ he asked, sitting on the bed by her side.

She looked gravely up at him.

‘I felt your eyes on me all this evening. Wherever I went you watched me. I felt you’d come tonight.’

Roy grinned.

‘And I’ve thought about you all day, too,’ he said, put his hand on hers. Her hand was warm and limp, unresisting. ‘I wanted to kiss you again.’

‘Steve doesn’t want you to do that.’

‘Steve won’t know. He’s asleep. You liked it, didn’t you?’

His face was close to hers now and his hand touched her breasts. She didn’t flinch, but stared at him abstractedly. ‘Undo that,’ he went on, touching the buttons on the silk jacket. ‘Come on, Carol, come on. I’m not going to hurt you.’

The girl mechanically, to his astonishment, undid the pyjama buttons, and he touched her bare skin.

‘You’re beautiful, kid,’ he said, not knowing quite what he was saying. ‘You’re lovely,’ and his hands covered her breasts.

There was a blank fixed look in her eyes and she seemed to listen only vaguely to what he said.

His hands moved round her back and he lifted her. And then suddenly she gave a soft metallic little laugh that startled him.

‘What’s so funny in this?’ he asked, angry, and hungrily crushed his mouth down on hers.

For a brief moment she lay motionless in his arms, then her arms, like steel bands, slid round his neck and gripped the back of his neck and shoulders and her teeth sank into his lips.

In the other room Steve woke suddenly. One moment he was asleep, the next wide awake and sitting up, staring round the room, a startled, puzzled expression on his face.

‘What woke me like that?’ he wondered, looked across at Roy’s bed, which was in the darkest part of the room. He thought he could make out Roy’s outline, looked at the window. Was Carol out there again? Was that why he had awakened so suddenly?

He got out of bed, went to the window. There was no one on the verandah. He could see Spot down by the outhouses. The dog was looking towards the cabin, but it made no sound.

Steve shook his head, yawned, turned back to bed.

‘Guess I was dreaming,’ he thought, then something prompted him to go over to Roy’s bed: it was empty. Instantly he thought of Carol, ran to the door.

A wild, agonized scream rang through the cabin. There was a moment’s silence, then a sobbing, croaking voice yelled: ‘Steve! Quick! Help me!’

The hair on Steve’s neck bristled at the sound of Roy’s voice, and he flung open the door, stepped into the passage.

Roy was coming towards him, bent double, his hands hiding his face. Blood ran between his fingers, dripped on to the floor.

‘What’s happened?’ Steve gasped, standing frozen.

‘It’s my eyes!’ Roy sobbed. ‘She’s blinded me! Help me! For God’s sake, do something!’

Steve caught hold of him.

‘What have you done to her?’ he cried, pushed the groaning man aside and ran into Carol’s room. The room was empty. He ran to the window and came to an abrupt stop.

Carol was standing on the top verandah step looking towards him. She was naked to the waist, and her eyes glowed like cat’s eyes in the moonlight.

He stood transfixed. He had never seen a wilder, more beautiful creature as the one he looked at now. Her red hair, gleaming like beaten bronze in the white light of the moon; the satin-white lustre of her skin, cold-looking against the dark shadows of the cabin wall; the curve of her breasts; her tense, dangerous attitude like a jungle cat, and the way she held her hands before her like two claws, startled him, and yet strangely excited him.

Then she turned and ran down the steps and across the yard.

‘Carol!’ Steve cried, starting forward. ‘Carol, come back!’

But she had already vanished into the pine wood. She had moved with incredible swiftness.

Not knowing what to do, Steve stood hesitating, then the sound of his brother’s groans made him return to the passage.

‘Pull yourself together,’ he said impatiently. ‘You can’t be so badly hurt.’

‘She’s blinded me, damn you!’ Roy screamed frantically, and took his hands from his eyes.

Steve stepped back, sick and cold.

Roy’s eyes swam in blood. Cruel long nail-marks ran down his forehead, across his eyelids, down his cheeks. He was on the point of collapse and sagged against the wall, moaning, his body shivering.

‘Save my eyes,’ he begged. ‘Don’t let me go blind. Don’t leave me, Steve. She’ll come back. She’s mad... a killer... look what she’s done to me.’

Steve took hold of him, half carried, half dragged him into the bedroom.

‘Take it easy,’ he said curtly as he laid the sobbing wreck on the bed. ‘I’ll fix you up. Just take it easy.’ He ran from the room for his medical chest, snatched up a kettle from the stove.

‘Don’t leave me!’ Roy wailed. ‘I can’t see! She’ll come back!’

‘All right, all right,’ Steve shouted from the kitchen, unnerved himself. He returned to the bedroom. ‘I’m here now. Let me bathe your eyes. I think it’s only because they’re bleeding so badly you can’t see.’

‘I’m blind! I know I’m blind,’ Roy groaned. ‘Stick by me, Steve. They’re after me... they’ll kill me if they ever find me. I’m helpless now. I can’t save myself.’

‘Who’re after you?’ Steve asked sharply as he poured the warm water into a bowl.

‘The Sullivans,’ Roy said, his hand groping vainly for Steve’s. ‘They mean nothing to you. No one knows them. They work secretly... professional killers. Little Bernie’s hired them to get me.’

‘They won’t get you here,’ Steve said shortly. ‘You’re safe here. Lie still. I’m going to bathe your eyes. It may hurt.’

‘Don’t touch me!’ Roy cried, cowering back. ‘I can’t stand any more pain.’

Steve waited.

‘What did you do to her?’ he asked when Roy had calmed down a little.

‘Nothing!’ Roy groaned. ‘She wanted me to come to her. She said so. She let me kiss her. Then I couldn’t get away from her. She’s strong. She had me round the neck. She bit my mouth. It was hell... her eyes were like lamps. I fought her off, and as I got away she slashed me. It was like a tiger striking. She’s mad... a wild beast.’

‘She was frightened,’ Steve said, chilled. ‘I warned you to leave her alone.’

‘If the Sullivans come now... what shall I do? Steve! You won’t let them kill me?’ Roy sat up, groped wildly under his pillow. ‘Here, take the gun. You must shoot at sight... you can’t mistake them...’

‘Take it easy,’ Steve said impatiently. ‘You’re safe here...’

‘You don’t know them. They’re professional killers. They never let up once they’re hired to kill. They go on and on. Little Bernie’s paid them well. They’ll find me. I know they’ll find me.’

‘But why?’ Steve demanded. ‘Why should they want to kill you?’

Roy caught hold of his coat.

‘Bernie and I pulled a big bank robbery. I skipped with the dough. Bernie had been cheating me, and I wanted to get even. Twenty thousand dollars, and I’ve salted it away, but Bernie went to the Sullivans. He knew they’d fix me, and they will!’

‘They won’t find you here,’ Steve repeated.

‘They’ll find me,’ Roy groaned. ‘Keep the gun handy. Shoot at sight... they’re like two black crows... that’s what they look like... two black crows...’

‘Lie down. I’m going to bathe this blood away,’ Steve said, forced his brother back on the pillow. ‘Lie still.’

Roy screamed when the wet cotton-wool touched his eyes.

Two black crows.

The description fitted the Sullivans. They were a sinister-looking couple in their black, tight-fitting overcoats, black slouch hats, black concertina-shaped trousers and black-pointed shoes. Knotted round each short thick throat was a black silk scarf.

A few years ago they had been the star act of a small travelling circus, and they had been billed as the famous Sullivan brothers. But they were not brothers: their real names were Max Geza and Frank Kurt. By profession they were knife-throwers and trick marksmen. The finale of their act was to throw phosphorus-painted knives at a girl who stood against a black velvet-covered board. The stage was in darkness and the audience could see only the flying knives, which gradually outlined the figure of the girl as the knives slammed into the board an inch from her shivering skin. It was a sensational act and might have gone on for years, only the Sullivans got bored with the circus and with the girl.

It was the girl really that made them want to break up the act. She was a nice little thing and willing enough, but she just didn’t understand the Sullivans’ technique after business hours; besides, she fell in love with a clown, and that added to her difficulties, too.

The Sullivans tried to get another girl, but for the money they paid they couldn’t find a girl willing to risk the flying knives and also be accommodating after business hours. So they got fed up with the circus and told the manager they wanted to quit, but the manager refused to release them from their contract. Their act, he reckoned, kept the show together — and it did.

So one night Max solved all their problems by throwing a knife with deliberate aim and it pinned the girl through her throat to the board, and that finished the act, got rid of the girl and broke the contract. Max couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thought of the solution, which was simple enough, before.

It was Max’s idea for them to become professional killers. Death interested him. Taking human life seemed to him to be God-like, and he liked to regard himself as a man set above and apart from other men. Besides, he wanted big money; he was tired of the peanut stuff they were making in the circus.

There were hundreds of men and women wishing to get rid of someone, he reasoned. A professional killer would be a benefit to Society. Since no motive could be proved, the killer had an excellent chance of avoiding detection, and if the killing was carefully planned and executed there was no reason why they should ever be caught. Frank welcomed the idea. Frank was never strong on ideas himself, but he was a natural enthusiast. Max knew he couldn’t wish for a better partner. So these two passed the word round that they would undertake any killing for the fee of three thousand dollars and a hundred dollars a week expenses. Even the Sullivans were surprised how quickly the idea caught on in certain circles, and how many commissions came their way.

They travelled all over the country in a big black Packard Clipper: two black crows who brought death silently and secretly and were never detected. The police didn’t know about them, for their victims feared the police and couldn’t go to them for protection. There were times when word would reach the intended victim that the Sullivans were after him and he’d go into hiding. It was a matter of complete indifference to the Sullivans whether they had to hunt out their victim or whether they had merely to drive up to his house and shoot him as he opened the door. All they required was a photograph of the victim, his name and last address: finding him was part of their service. They were men of few needs. The hundred dollars they charged for their weekly expenses amply sufficed. The three-thousand-dollar fee was never touched, but salted away against the time when they should retire. Both Max and Frank were passionately fond of birds, and they planned to buy themselves a bird business when they had saved sufficient capital to set up in a big way.

Little Bernie got in touch with them a day after Roy had gypped him out of the proceeds of the bank robbery. The Sullivans undertook to murder Roy for five thousand dollars. They felt that as Little Bernie was a big shot and had plenty of hired help to do his own killing he wouldn’t come to them unless he anticipated the job would be long and difficult. To be on the safe side they jacked up the fee.

The difficulty, of course, was to find Roy. He had been warned that the Sullivans were after him and had immediately vanished from his usual haunts. Enquiries showed that he had left New York and had covered his tracks so well that his trail ended at the Pennsylvania station: the task of picking up the trail again appeared to be a hopeless one.

But not to the Sullivans. They were expert man-hunters. To find your victim quickly, they reasoned, you must know his habits, where his relations are, whether he has a girl friend, and if so, where she is. Once you have that data all you have to do is to exercise a little patience: sooner or later you’ll find your man.

It was an easy matter for them to discover that Roy had a brother, who, a year ago, was an insurance salesman in Kansas City. They wasted time going to Kansas City, for there they learned that Steve Larson had quit the insurance business and was believed to be fox-farming somewhere, but where no one seemed to know.

A week passed while the Sullivans sat in their hotel bedroom and took it in turns to call every fox farm equipment store in the district and beyond, asking for the address of Steve Larson. They gave the name of a reputable firm of solicitors when making their call and stated that as Larson had come into a large sum of money they were anxious to get in touch with him. After making many calls their patience was finally rewarded. A firm in Bonner Springs had supplied Steve Larson with equipment and was delighted to give his address.

Three days later a big black Packard Clipper slid into Point Breese, a little valley town twenty miles or so from Blue Mountain Summit.

The Sullivans parked outside a saloon, left the Packard and entered the deserted bar. They had become so accustomed to their routine entrance into the circus ring that they unconsciously walked as one man, each taking the same short quick step, each swinging his arms the same length; one looking like the other’s shadow. In their black clothes, moving as they did, they immediately attracted attention, and people stared after them, conscious of a feeling of uneasiness, of being spooked, as if they had seen an apparition.

Because in their circus days they had been supposed to be brothers, they had endeavoured to look alike, and the habit stuck. They both wore pencilled-line black moustaches and their hair cut very close. But here the similiarity ended. Max was a couple of inches shorter than Frank. His face was small and white and he had tight lips. Frank was fat and soft. His nose was hooked, his mouth was loose, and he had a habit of moistening his tips with his tongue before he said anything. His eyes were as animated as glass marbles.

The Sullivans pulled up two high stools close to the bar and sat down, resting their gloved hands on the counter.

The barman eyed them over, thought they looked a dangerous, ugly pair, but he smiled because he was anxious to have no trouble.

‘Yes, gentlemen?’ he said, wiped the counter before them.

‘Two lemonades,’ Max said. His voice was high-pitched, soft.

The barman served them, his face expressionless; then as he moved away Max crooked a finger at him.

‘What goes on in this town?’ he asked, sipped his lemonade, stared at the barman with dead eyes. ‘Tell us the news. We’re strangers here.’

‘Right now there’s plenty of excitement in town,’ the barman said, quite eager to talk about the topic of the hour. ‘We’ll be on the front page of every newspaper in the country tomorrow. I’ve just heard it from a newspaper reporter.’

‘How come?’ Max asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘A mental patient escaped from Glenview Sanatorium,’ the barman explained. ‘It’s only just leaked out she’s the heiress to six million bucks.’

‘And where’s Glenview Sanatorium?’ Max asked.

‘Up the hill; five miles from here on the Oakville road,’ the barman told him. ‘This dame got a ride in a truck as far as here. They found the wrecked truck a mile or so up the road. They reckon she killed the driver.’

‘But did they find her?’ Frank asked, sipped his lemonade, then blotted his lips with the back of his glove.

‘I guess not. They’re still looking for her. We had the cops in here this morning. I’ve never seen so many cops.’

Max’s eyes flickered.

‘How come a nut has all that dough?’

‘She got it from John Blandish, the meat king. Maybe you remember the Blandish kidnapping? She’s his grand-daughter.’

‘I remember,’ Frank said. ‘Must be twenty years ago.’

‘That’s right,’ the barman said. ‘The kidnapper was the father. He was crazy in the head — so’s the daughter. If they don’t find her in fourteen days they won’t be able to take her back. That’s the law of the State. Then she’ll come into the dough and no one can control it. That’s why there’s all this uproar.’

The Sullivans finished their lemonade.

‘She’s a real nut — dangerous?’ Max asked.

The barman nodded his head vigorously.

‘You bet... a killer.’

‘Just in case we run into her, how does she look?’

‘They say she’s a redhead and a peach to look at. She’s got a scar on her left wrist.’

‘We’ll know her,’ Frank said. He put down a dollar bill on the counter. ‘Would there be a fox farm around here some place?’ he went on casually.

The barman gave him change.

‘Sure; Larson’s Silver Fox farm up on Blue Mountain Summit.’

‘Far?’

‘Best part of twenty miles.’

Max looked at his watch. It was 9.30 p.m.

‘We’re interested in foxes,’ he said carefully. ‘We thought we might look ’em over. Is he in the market?’

‘I guess so,’ the barman said, surprised. These two didn’t look like fur men.

They nodded, turned to the door, turned back again.

‘Is this fella up there alone?’ Max asked softly.

‘You mean does he run the farm alone? Sure, but there’s a guy staying with him now. I saw them go through a week ago.’

The Sullivans’ faces were wooden.

‘So long,’ Frank said, and together they walked out of the bar to the Packard Clipper.

Phil Magarth, lounging against a tree, watched them drive away. He pulled his long nose thoughtfully, tilted his hat further to the back of his head and wandered into the bar they had just left.

‘Hi, Tom,’ he said, dragging up a stool and folding himself down on it wearily. ‘Let’s start a famine in whisky.’

‘Hello, Mr. Magarth,’ the barman said, grinning. ‘Any more news of the nut?’

‘Not a sound,’ Magarth returned, helping himself from the black bottle the barman had set before him.

‘I was telling those two guys about your story. Did you see them? Two guys in black.’

‘Yeah.’

The barman hesitated, scratched his head.

‘Nasty-looking couple; said they were ha furs.’

‘Did they?’ Magarth looked interested. ‘Don’t look like fur men, do they? I’ve seen ’em before. In fact I’ve seen them three times over a period of a couple of years, and each time a guy died suddenly and violently. Make anything of that?’

The barman stared at him.

‘What do you mean, Mr. Magarth?’

‘I don’t know,’ Magarth said truthfully. ‘Only you wouldn’t forget a couple of guys like those two, would you? Ever heard of the Sullivan brothers?’

‘I guess not.’

‘Maybe they don’t exist, but there’s a story going round that the Sullivans are professional killers. They call on a guy anywhere in the country and he turns his toes up quick. I wonder if those two are the Sullivans.’ He was now talking his thoughts aloud. ‘What did they want?’

‘They were asking for Steve Larson,’ the barman said, worried. ‘Asked if he was alone.’

‘The fox farmer?’ Magarth asked. ‘Up on Blue Mountain Summit?’

‘Yeah, that’s the fella. Nice guy. Buys his whisky from me. I see him once a month. Saw him a week ago, but he didn’t look in. He was going through with another guy.’

‘He was? And these two were asking for him?’

The barman nodded.

‘You don’t think—’

‘I never think,’ Magarth said. ‘I find out; and when I’ve found out I sit at my typewriter and hammer out a lot of crap that you read at breakfast. Hell of a life, isn’t it?’ He turned to the door, turned back again. ‘Maybe you don’t read,’ added, ‘Keep this under your bonnet, Tom. No talk,’ and left the bar quickly.

Roy’s eyelids were so swollen that it was impossible to tell yet whether or not serious damage had been done. Steve had stopped the bleeding, and working quickly he made his brother as comfortable as he could.

‘I’m going after Carol,’ he said when he had finished. ‘I can’t—’

But Roy’s wail of protest cut him short.

‘No!’ Roy cried, starting up. ‘You can’t leave me like this. She may be hiding out there, waiting for you to come after her. That’s what she wants... she wants to finish me!’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Steve exclaimed savagely. ‘I’m going; so stop whining.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Steve,’ Roy gasped, reached out blindly. ‘She’s dangerous... she’ll kill you... claw you up the way she clawed me.’

Steve looked out into the moonlit night. He didn’t want to go out there in the dark, but he couldn’t let Carol roam around without making an effort to find her. He thought of the truck-driver’s lacerated eyes, remembered the sly animal cunning he had seen in Carol’s face as she paced the verandah the previous night, looked down at the sobbing wreck who whined not to be left alone, and a chill ran through him. Suppose she was dangerous... a lunatic? Suppose that bang on the head had done something to her? But that wasn’t possible. You were born a lunatic. Bangs on the head didn’t make you homicidal. She had been scared silly. That was the explanation. First the truck-driver had tried to assault her; then Roy. Well, they had got what was coming to them. She wouldn’t do that to him. So long as he didn’t frighten her it’d be all right.

‘I’m going, Roy,’ Steve said, and shoved the gun into his brother’s hand. ‘Hang on to that. If she does comes back, fire into the ceiling. I’m not going far.’

He struggled into his clothes, deaf to Roy’s protests.

‘You won’t come back,’ Roy moaned. ‘I know you won’t. She’ll lie in wait for you. You don’t know how strong she is. She’ll kill you, Steve, and then what’ll happen to me? I’m helpless! I can’t see!’ His voice rose and he sat up in bed. ‘I’m blind! Stay with me, Steve! Don’t leave me!’

‘Will you shut up?’ Steve exclaimed, exasperated. ‘You asked for it and you damn well got it. So stop squealing.’

He snatched up his electric torch, went out into the yard. All was quiet. The moon rode high above the pine trees, casting deep shadows.

There was no sign of Spot, and Steve felt unpleasantly alone. He walked down to the lake, stood at the water’s edge, listening, his eyes trying to pierce the thick darkness of the woods. ‘That’s the way she went,’ he thought uneasily. Was she hiding there, watching him?

He began to walk along the path by the lake. A sudden flurry in a near-by tree brought him to an abrupt stop. His heart began to thud against his ribs. A bird crashed through the branches of the pines, flew away across the lake. Steve drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t realized how strung up he was.

Ahead the path curved away from the lake and wound into the wood. It was dark there and he stopped again, hesitating to leave the moonlit path and enter the blackness that yawned before him.

‘Carol!’ he called sharply. ‘It’s Steve. Where are you, Carol?’

The faint echo of his voice floated across the lake.

Where are you, Carol?

It had a spooky sound, like a voice without a body, jeering at him.

He moved on and darkness closed in on him. He could see nothing now and he turned on his electric torch. The powerful beam lit up the narrow path. Overhead the branches of the pines seemed to be reaching down, threatening him. He kept on, pausing every now and then to listen. He became suddenly aware that he was not alone, that he was being watched, and turning quickly, he flashed the beam of the torch around, lighting up bushes and trees, but he could see no one.

‘Are you there, Carol?’ he called. His voice was a little shaky, ‘It’s Steve. I want you, Carol.’

Behind him a shadowy figure rose out of the bushes, crept silently upon him.

In front of him a dead branch snapped loudly. He swung the beam of his torch in that direction, caught his breath sharply. A man stood in the bright light of the torch: a man dressed in black; a heavy .45 revolver in his hand.

‘Reach up, Larson,’ Max said softly.

Two hands patted his pockets from behind. He glanced round, a chill crawling up his spine, saw a second man in black: Frank.

‘The two black crows: the Sullivans!’ Steve thought, and his mouth went dry.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded, keeping his voice steady with an effort.

‘Button up,’ Max said, shoving the barrel of the .45 into Steve’s ribs. ‘We’ll do the talking. Who’s Carol? And what are you doing out here?’

‘She’s a friend, staying with me,’ Steve said shortly. ‘I was looking for her.’

Max and Frank exchanged glances.

‘Roy up at the cabin?’ Max asked softly.

Steve hesitated. There was no point in lying. They had only to go up there and see for themselves.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘You watch this guy, Frank,’ Max said. ‘I’ll handle Roy.’

‘And the girl?’

‘If she doesn’t show up, it don’t matter. If she does, we’ll fix her,’ Max said. ‘Better bring him along.’

He walked away towards the cabin.

Frank pushed his gun into Steve.

‘Get moving,’ he said, ‘and don’t try any tricks. I know ’em all. And don’t shout when you get near the cabin. You’ll only be throwing your life away.’

Steve walked after Max. He was pretty sure that when these two had killed Roy, they’d kill him too. But he wasn’t worrying about himself. He was thinking of Carol. What would happen to her? He was surprised to find that he had a sudden tightness in his throat when he thought of her. Whatever happened, he decided, she mustn’t be allowed to fall into the hands of these two.

‘Can’t you fellows leave us alone?’ he said. ‘We’re not doing you any harm.’

‘Skip it,’ Frank said. ‘You don’t want to make it any harder for yourself. We ain’t worrying about you: it’s Roy we’re after.’

‘But what’s he done to you?’ Steve asked. ‘If it’s money you want, I’ve enough. You don’t have to kill him.’

‘We’ve got our dough,’ Frank returned. ‘Once we take a guy’s dough we give him satisfaction. That’s the way we do our business.’

There was a note of flat finality in his voice that told Steve it would be useless to plead for his brother. He walked on, a sick feeling in his stomach. It was like living through a realistic nightmare.

At the head of the road leading to the cabin he saw the big black Packard. It had been reversed up the road; its long hood pointing to the valley.

‘If I could reach that,’ he thought, ‘I might ditch these two, but there’s nothing I can do for Roy.’

There was nothing he could do for Roy. Max was already looking through the open french windows at Roy, who lay on the bed, his hand grasping the gun.

Max came up the verandah steps like a shadow, his rubber-soled shoes soundless on the wooden boards.

Roy had been listening all the time, his nerves tight, fear gripping his throat. He listened with an intentness that made his head ache, expecting any moment for Carol to come in out of the night and finish him. He didn’t think of the Sullivans. He was now sure he was safe from them, believed because they always worked so quickly that, as they hadn’t found him before, they would never find him.

He wondered how long Steve would be: whether he would return. The pain in his eyes had turned to a dull ache. He was sick with self-pity and fear.

Max moved silently into the room, saw the gun in Roy’s hand and grinned sourly. He crept across the room until he was by the bed. It would have been easy to have finished Roy now: too easy. Max was bored with easy death.

Roy groaned to himself, let go of the gun to hold his aching head between his hands. Max picked up the gun, shoved it into his hip-pocket. He waited, watching the blind man, wondering how he would react when he had found the gun gone.

After a moment or so Roy put his hand down on the exact spot where the gun had been. His fingers moved to the right and then to the left. Then he muttered under his breath, moved his hand further along the bed. His movements were at first controlled. He thought the gun had slipped along the blanket. But as he touched nothing but the bed-clothes he began to scrabble feverishly, then sat up, using both hands, sweat starting out on his face.

Max lifted a chair very gently, set it down soundlessly by the bed, lowered himself into it. It amused him to see Roy’s growing panic, to be so close to his victim knowing he was unaware of his presence.

‘Must have fallen on the floor,’ Roy muttered to himself, leaned over the side of the bed and groped blindly on the strip of carpet.

Max still sat, his gloved hands folded in his lap, his chin sunk into his black scarf, and he didn’t move, but waited, an interested, bland expression in his eyes.

Roy’s groping fingers touched Max’s pointed toe-cap, passed on, then paused. Back came the fingers, slowly now, hesitant. Again they touched the toe-cap, moved up, touched the frayed trouser-end. Then Roy shivered. His breath came through his clenched teeth like an escape of compressed steam.

Someone was sitting by his bed!

He snatched his hand away, wedged himself back against the wall.

‘Who’s there?’ he croaked. His voice sounded less human than a parrot’s.

‘The Sullivans,’ Max said softly.

For a long moment of time Roy crouched against the wall, scarcely breathing, his face livid, sweat soaking the bandage across his eyes.

Then:

‘Steve!’ he screamed wildly. ‘Quick, Steve! Save me!’

‘He can’t help you,’ Max said, crossing his legs. ‘Frank’s watching him. Nothing nor nobody can help you now. We’ve come to take care of you.’

‘You wouldn’t kill a blind man,’ Roy implored. ‘I’m blind! Look at me. I’m through... can’t you see I’m through? I’m no use to anyone.’

Max was staring at the bandage across Roy’s eyes.

‘Take that rag off,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe you’re blind.’

‘I am,’ Roy said, beating his clenched fists together. ‘I can’t take it off... my eyes will bleed.’

Max grinned, reached out, hooked his fingers under the bandage and jerked.

‘Then let ’em bleed,’ he said.

Roy screamed.

‘Enjoy yourself,’ Frank called from the verandah.

Max was gaping at the ruin of Roy’s eyes.

‘Hey, Frank,’ he said. ‘Look at this punk’s mug. He’s had his eyes scratched out.’

‘That’s fine,’ Frank said languidly. ‘Saves us doing it.’

‘You should see him,’ Max urged. ‘It’s a sight for sore eyes,’ and he laughed.

‘Can’t be bothered,’ Frank returned. ‘Me and my pal are comfortable out here.’

‘Well, he’s sure in a mess,’ Max said, tapped Roy’s shoulder. ‘How did it happen, ol’ man?’

Roy caught at the gloved hand, but Max shoved him off.

‘She did it. She’s crazy and... a lunatic.’

‘Who is?’ Max asked, his dead eyes coming to life.

‘The girl... Carol... we found her up on the hill. There’d been a truck smash... Steve nursed her... and she turned on me.’

Max leaned forward.

‘What’s she like to look at?’

‘A redhead,’ Roy gasped. His face was a shiny mask of blood: blood ran into his mouth, stained his teeth. He looked inhuman. When he spoke he sprayed blood into Max’s face.

Max gave a little sigh, wiped his face with the back of his glove, went out on to the verandah.

‘You’re taking your time, ain’t you?’ Frank asked, surprised.

‘That nut with the six million bucks,’ Max said tersely. ‘The one the barman told us about: she’s here.’

Frank gave a sharp giggle.

‘Don’t we get all the luck,’ he said, poked Steve with his gun. ‘Pal, if only you knew what lucky guys we are. Where is she? Where have you hidden her?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Steve said, bewildered.

‘Yes, you do. The redhead... Carol, isn’t that her name? Where is she?’

‘She’s run off. I was looking for her when you arrived.’

‘Did she scratch him up like that?’ Max asked.

Steve nodded.

‘But she’s not mad. She was scared...’

‘O.K., so she’s not mad,’ Max said, winked at Frank. ‘But we’d better find her.’ He looked across the lake at the distant mountains. ‘Six million dollars is a lot of do-ra-me to be roaming around those peaks.’

‘Yeah,’ Frank said, ‘but first things first. What about the punk?’

‘Sure; I haven’t forgotten him. We’ll fix him now. How shall we do it?’

‘Little Bernie wanted it nice and slow,’ Frank said. ‘Nothing fast and easy. We could drown him in the lake.’

Max shook his head.

‘You’ve got drowning on the brain,’ he said. ‘You always get wet when you drown anyone. When will you learn? Remember that twist we surprised in her bath? That was your idea: flooded the god-damn bathroom, spoilt a nice-looking ceiling and I got a cold. It hung around for weeks. No drowning for me.’

‘I forgot,’ Frank said apologetically. ‘Suppose we open his veins?’

‘Too easy for him; besides, it’s messy. I thought if we got rid of these two we might stay here for a few days. I like it up here. We don’t want to mess up the cabin.’

‘Keep the redhead until the fourteen days are up, is that what you mean?’ Frank asked.

‘That’s the idea. Then we could look after her — and her dough.’

Frank brooded for an inspiration.

‘We could shove his face in a bucket of molasses. He’d suffocate slow that way,’ he said at last, looked enquiringly at Steve. ‘Got any molasses, pal?’

Steve shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Roy creeping along the verandah.

‘Why don’t you give him a break?’ he demanded loudly. ‘What’s he done to you?’

Roy had stopped and was crouched against the cabin wall, his head turned in their direction. The Sullivans had their backs to him, but he didn’t know that.

‘We could make a bonfire of him,’ Max suggested, ignoring Steve.

‘Now that’s a swell idea,’ Frank said. ‘Saves us burying him, too.’

At that moment Roy made his bid for freedom. He crept across the verandah, swung his leg over the rail, dropped to the ground. Then he began to run blindly.

The Sullivans glanced round, saw him.

‘Keep to your left, Roy,’ Steve bawled, seeing his brother was running towards the lake.

Roy swerved, bounded towards the pine woods.

‘Now I wonder what he thinks he’s doing?’ Max asked, and laughed. He raised his gun.

Steve made a movement, but Frank’s gun rammed into his ribs, winding him.

There was a sharp crack and a flash and Roy pitched forward on his face. He lay there for a moment, then began to crawl over the ground, his left leg limp.

‘I’ll fix him now for good,’ Max said, and walked down the steps of the verandah, across the yard. He overtook Roy, kicked him savagely, walked on to where the Packard was parked.

‘You’re going to see something in a minute,’ Frank said to Steve. ‘He’s got brains, that boy; and style — you’ve never seen such style.’

Roy was still crawling desperately towards the lake. He left a thin trail of blood behind him on the sandy ground.

Max reached the Packard, took from the boot a can of gasoline, walked after Roy.

Roy heard him coming, cried out, tried to crawl faster, fell over on his side.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he moaned as Max came up. ‘Leave me alone... for God’s sake, leave me alone...!’

‘Little Bernie says he hopes you rot in hell,’ Max said, poured the gasoline over Roy’s shuddering body.

‘No!’ Roy screamed as the gasoline ran over his head. ‘You can’t do this to me! Steve! Help me! No... no... no...!’

Max fumbled in his pocket, found a match, struck it alight on his shoe.

‘Here it comes, ol’ man,’ he said, and laughed.

‘Ever seen a guy burn?’ Frank asked Steve. ‘Even when they’re dead they jump and twitch... like a chicken with its head chopped off. We burned a guy a couple of weeks ago. He went up like a firework and the crazy lug ran right back into his own house and set that on fire too... burned his wife and kids.’ Frank shook his head. ‘Take a look at that,’ he went on, suddenly excited. ‘That’s what I call a blaze. He’s cooking fine now, ain’t he? Now watch him run... they always run. There! Didn’t I tell you?... Watch him!’

Steve shut his eyes, put his hands over his ears.

Something happened inside Carol’s head. It was as if her brain had turned completely over with a deafening snap! and at once the shadowy dream world in which she had been living suddenly came to life. Things which a moment before had blurred edges, dim colours and faint sounds became sharp-etched and vivid: like a film out of focus on the screen that has been suddenly adjusted. It was like bursting up into fresh air after diving too deeply in green silent water.

Carol thought she must have been dreaming that she was out in the pine woods, but now she realized that she had walked there in her sleep; it seemed to her to be the only explanation. She was surprised she could accept the shock of awakening so calmly and looked around for a familiar landmark to lead her back to the cabin. She saw through the trees the lake glittering in the moonlight and she walked towards it.

As she walked she tried to remember what she had been dreaming about before awakening. She had a vague recollection she had dreamed that Roy had come into her room, but it was nothing more than a vague recollection. She thought it was when Roy had come into her room that she had heard the snap inside her head. She wasn’t sure about this, but she knew some time recently a shutter or something like that had fallen inside her head. It had happened in the past, but she could not remember exactly when. When she thought about it she had a vague recollection of a room with blue-quilted walls and an electric lamp high up in the ceiling which was covered by a wire basket. It must have been something that had occurred in a dream, because the nurse was there: the nurse with the horrible look in her eyes, who said nothing, did nothing, but stared and pointed at her. Carol knew she had many such dreams, although she couldn’t remember them clearly. They were a jumble of dissociated figures and faces and rooms.

She wondered why she had come out here into the pine woods, and realized, with dismay, that she was half naked. She wondered if Steve had missed her and was looking for her, and she became anxious to get back to the cabin and find her pyjama jacket that had so mysteriously disappeared. She experienced a strange confused feeling of tenderness and embarrassment at the thought of him finding her like this. She wanted to tell him about the noise inside her head. That worried her. He might know what had happened: might be able to explain it to her.

It was when she was walking up the path from the lake that she saw the Sullivans. They were standing by the lake, looking away from her, talking. In the moonlight she could only see their black sharp-etched outlines, but it was enough.

She had no idea who they were, but they frightened her — as they would have frightened anyone who came upon them suddenly in the dark. So she stepped behind a tree, her arms across her breasts, and watched them walk quickly and silently into the woods, past her, down the path along the lake.

She saw their white, hard faces: faces that looked as if they had been carved out of cold mutton fat, and she shivered, knowing instinctively that they were dangerous and evil. Her thoughts flew to Steve, and she felt weak, wondering if they had harmed him.

When they had gone, she ran towards the cabin, her heart beating so fast that the beat was like a hammer-stroke against her side.

As she crossed the yard she came upon what was left of Roy: something that twitched and was arched back from the heat; a burned up, shrivelled object that was human only in outline.

To her this scorched nameless thing was just another dream figment, and she scarcely looked at it, believing it existed only in her mind, and anxious only to reach the lighted cabin to make sure that Steve was safe.

She ran up the steps, stood in the doorway and looked into the lighted sitting-room.

Steve was lying on the floor, tied hand and foot. He tried to sit up when he saw her.

She came to an abrupt stop, forgetting she was half naked, staring at the cords that bound him, horror in her eyes.

Seeing her like that: wild, beautiful, her skin like the smooth lustre of a pearl, Steve realized how much he loved her: that he had loved her almost from the moment he had found her, lying in the wrecked track: that he wasn’t going to restrain his feelings for her any more: that she was the only woman he could ever love.

‘Carol!’ he said. ‘Quick, darling. Get me free.’

She ran to him, dropped on her knees beside him, her arms going round him.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, her face close to his. ‘Tell me you’re not hurt.’

‘It’s all right, but get me undone quickly. We’re in bad trouble, kid.’

‘Dear Steve,’ she said, her lips brushed his cheek. ‘I was so frightened.’

‘It’s all right,’ he assured her, ‘but get me undone.’

She pulled at the cords, but the knots were too tight and she ran to the kitchen, snatched up a knife. On her way back to the sitting-room she picked up Steve’s jacket, struggled into it, buttoned it across her.

‘Hurry, Carol,’ Steve called as she ran into the room. ‘They’ll be back.’

She slashed the cords and Steve struggled up, rubbed his wrists, smiled at her.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got to be quick...’

She went to him, her arms going round his neck.

‘I love you, Steve,’ she said. ‘I was so frightened when I saw those two. I thought... I don’t know what I’d do without you...’

He drew her to him and kissed her.

For a moment of time they stood close, their lips touching, then he gently pushed her away from him.

‘I’ve loved you all along, kid,’ he said. ‘But we mustn’t waste time. Come on, we’ve got to get away. Get your clothes on and be quick.’

She ran into her bedroom, and Steve went out on to the verandah, looked across the yard. There was no sign of the Sullivans. He stood there, waiting, and in a moment or so Carol joined him. She was wearing her wool dress and there was a serene trusting look in her eyes as she ran to him.

‘We’ve got to get their car,’ Steve said, slipping his arm round her. ‘Keep in the shadows and run...’

Together they ran down the verandah steps and across the yard. They could see the outline of the big Packard at the top of the road.

‘We’re going to do it,’ Steve said, slipped his arm round Carol and rushed her across the open ground into the moonlight.

The Sullivans, coming out of the wood at that moment, saw them.

Max shouted.

‘Quick, Carol!’ Steve panted. ‘Can you drive?’

‘Yes,’ she returned, ‘but we go together. I won’t leave you...’

‘I’m coming, but go ahead. I’ll try to stall them. Get the engine started. Run like hell, kid!’

‘Stop!’ Max shouted, a sharp threatening note in his voice.

Steve paused, turned to face them.

The Sullivans began to run towards him. He heard Carol start the Packard, and he spun on his heel, ran to the car.

Max shot from his hip.

Steve lurched, stumbled, reached the open door of the car as Max fired again.

‘I’m hit, kid!’ he gasped, pitched forward into the car, falling across Carol.

Blood from him ran across her hand.

Frantically she pushed him upright, saw the two Sullivans coming across the moonlit yard very fast. She roared the engine, released the clutch and the car swept forward.

Max stopped, raised his gun, but Frank grabbed his arm.

‘Have a heart,’ he said. ‘Not at her... not at six million bucks.’

‘But she’s getting away,’ Max said, lifting his shoulders in a disgusted shrug.

‘We’ll find her again,’ Frank returned. ‘We always find ’em. She’s worth a little trouble... she and her dough.’

They watched the tail light of the Packard flash down the mountain road to the valley.