The Flesh of the Orchid

Chapter Five

Excitement hung over Point Breese like a fine layer of dust. The Sullivans sensed it as they drove down the main street. It was not that there was anything to see. Point Breese was hidden under a blanket of darkness, and except for the saloon bars and the all-night café and the drug store, no lights showed. But the excitement was there: you could feel it seeping out of the dark houses; hanging in the cool night an.

The Sullivans wondered about it, but they didn’t say anything to each other: not quite sure that they weren’t imagining things.

They were very tired after the drive from the old plantation house. They had had no sleep worth speaking about for twenty-four hours, and although they didn’t need much sleep, they were now ready for a rest.

Frank, who was driving the Buick, swung the car off the main street, round to the jail and the hotel. He slowed to a crawl when he saw the little group of men standing outside the jail.

Max’s hand automatically went to his shoulder holster and his eyes grew watchful, but the men just glanced their way, tinned their heads again to stare up at the jail.

‘What’s up?’ Frank asked out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Nothing we should worry about,’ Max returned. ‘There must be a garage round the back. Get the car out of sight.’

They found the hotel garage, left the car and retraced their steps to the front entrance. They kept in the shadows, but the group of men were too intent watching the jail to notice them.

The clerk behind the reception desk was a pale little man with a moustache like a soot-mark on his upper hp. He gave Max a pen and pushed the register towards him.

‘A double room,’ he asked, ‘or two singles?’

‘Double,’ Max said, signed the book.

Frank took the pen, read the fictitious name Max had scrawled in the register, copied it.

‘Send up coffee and hot rolls at half past eight tomorrow morning,’ Max said, ‘and the newspapers.’

The clerk made a note on a sheet of paper, touched a bell.

The bell-hop was a scraggy man with bags under his eyes. The pill-box hat he wore made him look as if he was going to a fancy dress party. He took the Sullivans’ pig-skin bag, led the way to a small, hand-propelled elevator.

As they were being drawn creakily upwards, a muffled hammering sound jarred the silence of the hotel.

‘Fixing the scaffold,’ the bell-hop said, and his fishy eyes sparkled with sudden excitement.

‘What scaffold?’ Frank asked, although he knew.

‘For the hanging,’ the bell-hop returned, brought the elevator to rest, pushing back the grill. ‘Ain’t you heard?’

The Sullivans looked at him watchfully, moved out of the elevator into the corridor.

A girl in a silk wrap and sky-blue pyjamas, carrying a sponge bag and towel, passed them. In her lips, painted into a savage cupid bow, dangled a cigarette. She looked at the Sullivans and her eyes smiled.

Frank didn’t even notice her.

‘What hanging?’ he asked the bell-hop.

‘Where’s our room?’ Max broke in. ‘Come on, show us the room.’

The bell-hop led them down the corridor, unlocked a door, pushed it open, turned on the lights. It was the usual sort of room you’d expect a hotel like this to offer you. It had been furnished for economy rather than for comfort: not the kind of room you’d wish to stay in for long.

‘What hanging?’ Frank repeated, closing the door.

The bell-hop rubbed his hands on the back of his trousers. He looked like a man with good news.

‘The Waltonville murderer,’ he said. ‘Ain’t you read about him? He killed three dames all in the same evening and then gave himself up. I guess he won’t kill any more dames after nine o’clock tomorrow.’

‘Get out,’ Max said without looking at him.

The bell-hop stared.

‘I was only telling you, mister—’ he began.

‘Get out!’ Max said softly.

The bell-hop went quickly to the door, hesitated, looking back at the Sullivans. They stared at him, still, intent, watchful. There was something about them that scared him. It was like losing your way in the dark and finding yourself suddenly in a cemetery.

When he had gone, Max picked up the bag and tossed it on to the bed.

Frank still stood motionless in the middle of the room. The muffled hammering held his attention.

‘I wonder what it feels like to be hanged,’ he said suddenly.

‘I haven’t thought about it,’ Max said, and for an imperceptible moment he paused in his unpacking.

‘To be locked in, to hear that hammering, knowing it was for you; to hear them come down the passage for you, and you not able to do anything about it,’ Frank went on in a low voice. ‘Like a beast in a cage.’

Max said nothing. He began to undress.

‘It could happen to us, Max,’ Frank said, and little beads of moisture showed on his white, fattish face.

‘Get into bed,’ Max said.

They didn’t speak until they were in bed and Max had turned off the light, then Max said out of the darkness: ‘I wonder where we can find Magarth. It shouldn’t be difficult. The thing that will be difficult is to find out where he’s hidden Larson, and if Larson has talked.’

Frank said nothing: he was still listening to the muffled hammering.

‘How long do you reckon they’ll keep up that noise?’ he asked.

Max, who missed nothing, detected the slightest quaver m Frank’s voice.

‘Until they’ve fixed it good,’ he said. ‘Go to sleep.’

But Frank didn’t. He lay listening to the hammering and it got on his nerves. Max’s light, even breathing also got on his nerves. To think a guy could sleep with that going on, Frank thought angrily. He was angry because his nerve wasn’t as good as Max’s, and because he was frightened.

After a while the hammering stopped, but still Frank didn’t sleep. Later, a sudden loud crash made him start up, and he snapped on the light.

‘What’s that?’ he demanded, his nerves crawling on the surface of his skin.

Max moved out of sleep into wakefulness as easily and as quickly as the turning on of an electric lamp.

‘They’re testing the trap,’ he said calmly.

‘Yes,’ Frank said, ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ and he put out the light.

Now neither of the Sullivans slept. Frank was thinking about the condemned man, and his mind slipped back into the past; the faces of the men and women he had helped to murder floated out of the darkness; surrounded him, pressed in on him.

Max didn’t sleep because he was thinking about Frank. For some time now he had been watching Frank. Although Frank had shown no outward sign, Max suspected that he was losing his nerve. He wondered how long it would be before Frank would be of no further use to him. The thought disturbed him, for he had known Frank a long time. They had developed their knife-throwing act together when they had been at school.

But later they both slept, and woke at eight-thirty the following morning when the hotel maid brought them coffee and rolls. She also brought in with her the atmosphere of suppressed excitement. It was more electric now than the previous night, but it didn’t affect Max. He sat up in bed, poured the coffee, passed a cup to Frank, who put it on the table at his side.

‘They’ll be coming for him in a few minutes,’ Frank said, betraying that he was still thinking of the execution.

‘The rolls aren’t hot enough,’ Max grumbled, got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

He had just finished shaving when the trap was sprung. The crash left him unmoved. He continued to clean his razor, his white, cold face expressionless. A moment after the trap was sprung a vast sigh came up from the street in through the open bathroom window, and he looked out and saw the huge crowd standing before the jail.

‘Vultures,’ he thought, and with sudden vicious hatred of them and their morbid curiosity he spat out of the window.

When he returned to the bedroom Frank was quiet. He was still in bed, and his pillow was dark with sweat, and sweat ran down his face so that his skin glistened in the sunlight.

The two men didn’t say anything to each other. Max noticed that Frank hadn’t touched his coffee nor his rolls.

While Max dressed the only sound came from the shuffling feet of the crowd as they broke up and returned to their homes. Frank stared up at the ceiling, listening to the shuffling, and sweat continued to darken his pillow.

‘I’ll be back in a little while,’ Max said at the door. ‘You’d better wait for me here.’

Frank didn’t trust his voice, so he didn’t say anything, and Max didn’t seem to expect him to say anything.

‘Any news?’ Magarth asked as he pushed open the door to the Sheriff’s office and entered the dingy little room.

Kamp glanced up.

‘I’ve just got back from the execution,’ he said. There was still a faint greenish tinge in his brick-red complexion. It was his first execution in five years and it had upset him. He grimaced, went on: ‘I’ve had a report that the Packard Clipper we want was seen in Kinston midday yesterday and was headed for Campville, but nothing else has come in — no trace of the girl. Campville’s sheriff is keeping his eyes open. We’ll hear if anything else turns up.’

Magarth sat on the edge of the desk.

‘I wonder if they have got her,’ he said, a worried look in his eyes. ‘Seems odd they should be leaving the district. I was willing to bet they’d have had a shot at finishing Larson. Of course, if they have got her, they might be taking her some place we wouldn’t think to look for her, and then come back here after Larson. Think we should comb the country around Campville?’

‘It’s being done,’ Kamp said. ‘And we’re watching all roads into Point Breese for the Packard in case they try to slip back here.’

‘Good enough,’ Magarth said approvingly. ‘Well, there’s not much else we can do. I’m going over to Miss Banning’s place to see how they’re getting on. I saw Doc Kober just now. He thinks Larson has a fighting chance, but he mustn’t be worried for a day or so. I sent young Riley up to the farm to look after his foxes.’

‘Hartman’s been in again,’ Kamp said, pulling a wry face.

‘That reminds me,’ Magarth said. ‘I told you we were investigating Hartman’s background. We’ve just received a report. He’s been playing the markets and has sustained some heavy losses, but he always manages to find enough money to meet his commitments and continues to plunge. No one knows where he gets the money from, but I can guess. It mightn’t be a bad idea if the Blandish girl wasn’t found until next week. If she comes into her money a thorough investigation could be made, and I bet we’d dig up enough to put Hartman away for a long time.’

‘You newspaper guys are the most suspicious men in the world,’ Kamp said, pulling at his moustache. ‘Anyway, the girl’s dangerous. We have to find her as quickly as we can.’

‘I wonder if she is,’ Magarth returned. ‘She seemed normal enough to me when I talked to her.’

‘Doc Travers explained that to me,’ Kamp said. ‘She has a split mind. She may go for weeks acting normal before she has an attack, but when she’s that way she’s highly dangerous.’

‘I can’t imagine it,’ Magarth said stubbornly. ‘I’ve talked to her; you haven’t.’ He shrugged, slid off the table. ‘I’ll be getting along. Give me a call if anything breaks. You can reach me at Miss Banning’s place. I’ll be there all morning.’

As he ran down the steps of the jail Jedson, the owner of the big service station close by, hailed him by name, crossed the street to speak to him.

Max, standing on the hotel steps, heard Jedson hail Magarth and without appearing to move, edged behind one of the big pillars supporting the hotel porch. He watched Magarth exchange a few words with Jedson, then climb into his battered Cadillac and drive off.

Jedson moved towards the hotel and Max strolled down the steps to meet him.

‘Was that Magarth, the newspaper man?’ Max asked as Jedson was about to pass him.

Jedson paused, looked Max over, nodded briefly.

‘That’s right, mister,’ he said, made to pass on.

‘That’s my bad luck,’ Max went on. ‘I’m supposed to do business with him. It’s my first visit to this town. Know where he’s gone?’

Jedson shook his head.

‘Maybe he’s gone to Miss Banning’s place,’ he said helpfully. ‘You could put a call through if it’s urgent.’

‘Thanks,’ Max said. ‘It’s urgent all right. Who’s Miss Banning?’

‘She runs a big orange plantation upon Grass Hill,’ Jedson said; then, realizing he was talking a lot, gave Max a sharp glance.

‘Grass Hill?’ Max said, and smiled, shoving his white pointed teeth. ‘Thanks.’

Jedson watched Max walk quickly into the hotel and up the stairs. He lifted his hat to scratch his head.

‘Now, I wonder who he is?’ he said to himself.

While the Sullivans had been trying to sleep in their hotel bedroom, Sam Garland drove his ambulance along the dark highway towards Point Breese. He was excited and jubilant. When his headlights had picked out Carol as she walked along the lonely road, and he caught a glimpse of her red hair, he had automatically slammed on his brakes. Surely there was no other girl in the district with hair like that? he said to himself. She must be Carol Blandish. And when he turned his spotlight on her he recognized her immediately.

Even now that she was securely locked in the ambulance he could scarcely believe his luck. The five-thousand-dollar reward was still unclaimed, and it would be his — and he could use five thousand dollars.

He wondered suddenly if he shouldn’t have strapped Carol to a stretcher. You never knew what tricks a nut would get up to. Garland had been a mental nurse for a number of years before he got sick of it and took on the job of Doc Travers’s chauffeur and ambulance-driver. He had learned how to handle dangerous lunatics and wasn’t scared of them. He half hesitated whether to stop and fix Carol before going on. Then as there was silence in the ambulance, he decided not to waste time, but to get to Glenview as quickly as he could. He was looking forward to seeing Joe’s face when he arrived.

But he wasn’t to know of the whispered conversation that was going on inside the ambulance.

The mad woman who was travelling with Carol — her name was Hatty Summers — had been in a home for years. At first she seemed harmless enough, but recently she had developed homicidal tendencies, and arrangements had been made to transfer her from the home in Kinston to Glenview, where the staff were better able to handle dangerous patients.

As soon as Carol set eyes on Hatty Summers she knew she was locked in with a mad woman, and her blood ran cold.

‘So they’ve got you too,’ Hatty whispered, and laughed. ‘Picked you off the road, did they? Now that’s what I call real smart: knew you as soon as they saw you.’

Carol crouched away from the bright little eyes that seemed to probe right into her mind. Again she experienced the feeling that she was asleep and dreaming.

‘They’ll take you to Glenview,’ Hatty went on, ‘and they’ll lock you up. I’ve heard of Glenview. That’s where I’m going, because the nurses are afraid of me at Kinston.’ She raised her head, added, ‘And they’re right to be afraid of me.’ She laughed, went on: ‘Glenview’s nice, but I’m sick of being locked up. I want to be free to do what I like.’

Glenview!

The name stirred a dormant chord in Carol’s memory, conjuring up a shadowy picture of a room with blue walls and a nurse who stared and pointed at her, but said nothing.

‘I must get away,’ she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘I must get away before anything happens...’

She ran to the door and tried to open it, but her fingers slipped over the smooth surface, unable to find a purchase.

‘They won’t let you get away,’ Hatty said, giggling with excitement. ‘You’re mad like me. There’s nothing you can do.’

‘I’m not mad!’ Carol cried, twisting round and setting her back against the door.

‘Oh, yes, you are,’ Hatty said. ‘I know. You’re clever. You can hide it from most people, but not from me.’

‘I’m not mad,’ Carol repeated, and hid her face in her hands.

‘You are,’ Hatty whispered. ‘You may call it by some other name, but you’re mad as I am. I can always tell.’

‘I’m not mad,’ Carol said, but cold fingers seemed to squeeze her heart. Could she be mad? she asked herself. Was that the explanation of these extraordinary things that were happening to her? Were they delusions of a diseased mind? Was that why she couldn’t remember who she was? Was that the explanation of the odd, infrequent snapping noise that sounded in her head which turned everything into a badly-focussed film?

‘Losing confidence?’ Hatty asked, watching her closely. ‘Well, don’t give up hope. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.’

‘Oh, stop talking to me!’ Carol burst out, and began to beat on the door of the ambulance.

‘Hush, you little fool,’ Hatty said. ‘It won’t do any good. He won’t let you out until you get to Glenview, and then it’ll be too late. Do you want to get away?’

Carol looked at her over her shoulder.

‘I must get away...’

‘Between us we could manage it. He’s smart, but he’s overconfident. You’d have to get this jacket off me.’

‘Oh, no!’ Carol said, shrinking back.

‘You’re not frightened of me?’ Hatty asked, and laughed. ‘We belong to the same breed. We don’t hurt each other. You needn’t be frightened.’

Carol shivered.

‘Please don’t talk like that; I’m not mad. It’s wicked to say I’m mad.’

‘Don’t excite yourself,’ Hatty said. ‘If you want to get away you must undo these straps; and you’d better be quick. We can’t be far off now. Once they get you inside you’ll never get out again.’

Carol walked slowly over to her, stood looking down at her.

‘And if I do release you, how shall I get away?’ she asked, and shivered as she saw the cunning that lurked in the bright little eyes.

‘Get me out of this jacket,’ Hatty whispered, ‘and then start screaming and banging. He’ll come in to see what’s the matter. It’s his duty to see what’s happening. While he’s attending to you, I’ll go for him. The two of us can fix him easily enough.’

Sam Garland was a mile from Point Breese when he heard hammering and screaming from inside the ambulance. He scowled into the darkness, and after a moment’s hesitation stopped the ambulance. He didn’t want Carol to hurt herself. He wanted to hand her over to Doc Travers in good condition so there’d be no arguing about the five-thousand-dollar reward.

He climbed out of the cab and, cursing under his breath, walked round in the darkness to the back of the ambulance, unlocked the door, opened it and peered into the dimly lit interior.

Carol was flinging herself against the far wall, her screams reverberating in the confined space.

Garland shot a quick look at Hatty Summers. She eyed him from under the blanket, giggled excitedly, but she looked safe enough. He climbed into the ambulance, pulled the door to, but not shut, grabbed hold of Carol, twisting her arms behind her.

‘Take it easy,’ he said. ‘You lie down, baby. You’re getting over-excited.’

Carol was terrified when she found how helpless she was in his experienced grip, and although she struggled frantically Garland forced her to a stretcher that hung on a rack opposite to the one on which Hatty lay.

‘Let me go!’ Carol panted. ‘Take your hands off me!’

‘All right, baby,’ Garland said soothingly. ‘No need to get worked up. Just lie down. I’ll make you comfortable.’

He gripped her wrists in one big hand, suddenly stooped and caught her under her knees, lifted her and dropped her on to the stretcher.

At that moment Hatty pushed off the blanket and sat up.

Some instinct warned Garland of his danger, and he looked over his shoulder as Hatty swung her legs off the stretcher.

Still holding Carol’s wrists, he faced Hatty.

‘Be a good girl and stay where you are,’ he said gently. He wasn’t flustered, but he knew he would have to get out quick. He couldn’t hope to handle both of them. ‘Get back on to that stretcher,’ he ordered, and at the same moment he released Carol’s wrists, jumped for the door.

There wasn’t enough space for quick movement, and besides, Hatty was already on her feet. She grabbed hold of Garland’s arm, swung him round and, laughing gleefully, she shot her hands at his throat.

Carol struggled off the stretcher, tried to force her way past Garland to the door, but he threw her back and, cursing, broke Hatty’s stranglehold.

As he broke clear Carol caught hold of his arm, hung on. Hatty flew at him, her eyes blazing. He reeled back under her weight, his shoulders thudding against the stretcher. Then his foot slipped and he was down, and Hatty, screaming with excitement, reached for his throat again.

Garland didn’t lose his head. He buried his chin in his chest, kept his neck stiff and hit Hatty with his clenched fist. He hit her very hard, driving her off him, and he twisted round, shoved the ambulance door back, threw himself into the road.

Carol sprang down beside him, began to run. She had only taken two steps when a hand gripped her flying ankle and she pitched forward, coming down heavily on the tarmac, the breath leaving her body.

Hatty sprang out of the ambulance as Garland was getting to his feet. She jumped straight at Garland, her feet thudding into his chest. He went over, rolled clear, struggled up, cursing.

He didn’t give a damn if Hatty escaped, but the Blandish girl was not going to get away if he could help it. She represented five thousand dollars to him — and he could use five thousand dollars. He imagined that if he left Hatty alone she would run off and he would only have to worry about Carol, but here he made a mistake. Hatty was after his blood.

And when he again shoved her off, and ran to Carol, Hatty paused for a moment while her blunt fingers scrabbled in the grass by the side of the road for a stone. It took her a moment or so before she found a heavy piece of flint, and in that time Garland had caught hold of Carol and was dragging her back to the ambulance.

Carol screamed frantically, but she was powerless in his grip, and when he swung open the ambulance door she suddenly gave up in despair.

Hatty waited until Garland had lifted Carol, then she ran up behind him on tiptoe, brought the flint down on his head with all her strength.

It was mid-day and the hot sunshine streamed down on the golden plantation and on the big white stucco house that stood on the hill.

Deputy George Staum sat on the white terrace, his hat at the back of his head, a cigarette dangling from his lips. This, he told himself, was the life. Guarding a place like Grass Hill was a cinch, especially when your hostess was as beautiful and as hospitable as Veda Banning. And not only that, but there was nothing to do except sit around and nurse a gun and sunbathe. It was a life of ease and luxury: something Staum had always wished to experience. His job was to watch out for the Sullivans, but then he knew the Sullivans didn’t exist. Still, if Kamp thought they did and wanted him to sit around in the sun to look out for them, that suited him. In fact, he hoped Kamp would continue to believe in the Sullivan myth so he could stay here for the rest of the fall.

‘You wouldn’t have thought a smart fella like Magarth would have fallen for this bolony about the Sullivans,’ Staum thought to himself, stretching out his short legs and shaking his head. It just showed that even a smart guy slipped up every now and then.

Staum wouldn’t have sat in the sunshine so calmly if he had known the Sullivans were lying in the long grass not more than two hundred yards from him, and had been there for the past half hour, their white faces intent, their eyes watching everything that went on around the big house.

‘I guess he must be in there,’ Max said, his thin lips scarcely moving. ‘If not, why the guard?’

‘What are you going to do?’ Frank asked uneasily. The sun was burning down on his back and he was thirsty.

‘We’ll stick around,’ Max returned. ‘I want to see just how many guards there are.’

Inside the big cool house Magarth was lolling on a settee, a highball in his hand. Veda, who had just come in from the packing shed, smiled her welcome.

‘Well, there you are,’ she said, coming over to him. ‘I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Have you got all you want?’

‘You might freshen this up for me,’ Magarth said, handing over his glass. ‘I thought I’d look in and see how the patient is. Nurse Davies says he had a good night.’

‘He is better,’ Veda returned, adding more whisky to Magarth’s drink and passing it back. ‘No news of the Blandish girl vet?’

‘No, nor of the Sullivans.’

‘George Staum doesn’t believe in the Sullivans,’ Veda said, sitting down beside Magarth.

‘He doesn’t believe in anything. But he will if they ever turn up here — which I hope they won’t.’

The telephone rang in the hall and a moment later the receiver near Magarth buzzed as the maid switched the call through.

‘It’s for you, precious,’ Veda said, handing the receiver to Magarth.

It was Sheriff Kamp on the line.

Magarth listened to the deep growling voice, nodded his head.

‘O.K., I’ll be right down. Thanks, Sheriff,’ he said, hung up.

‘Now what’s happened?’ Veda asked. ‘You’re always running away just when I think I have you to myself.’

‘There’s another nut loose,’ Magarth said in disgust. ‘She was being shipped from Kinston to Glenview last night, but somehow she got loose and murdered the attendant and now they’re looking for her. They thought I might like to cover it. I don’t want to, but I suppose I’ll have to earn my living.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be out here tonight if I’m not too busy,’ he went on. ‘Think you’d like to have me?’

‘I think so,’ Veda said, slipped her arm through his and walked with him on to the terrace.

‘Enjoying yourself?’ Magarth asked Staum.

Staum opened one eye, nodded.

‘You bet,’ he said. ‘It’s fine out here.’

‘Well, don’t go to sleep. Your job is to watch for the Sullivans.’

‘Sure,’ Staum said, and laughed. ‘I’ll watch for them.’

‘You don’t really think they’ll come?’ Veda asked as Magarth climbed into his car.

‘I don’t, but we may as well be on the safe side,’ he returned. ‘I think they’re out of the district by now. So long, sugar. See you tonight.’

The Sullivans watched him go.

‘That’s a nice-looking frail,’ Frank said, staring through a pair of field-glasses at Veda as she made her way along the terrace. ‘I bet you wouldn’t have to be a piano-mover to push her over.’

Max fished out a bottle of lemonade, snapped off the cap and drank from the bottle.

‘Get your mind off her,’ he said, passing the bottle to Frank. ‘You think too much about women.’

‘Got to think about something,’ Frank said sullenly. ‘You intend to kill this guy?’

‘If he’s there,’ Max said quietly. ‘We’ve got to kill him unless you want to sit in a cell and hear them knock up a scaffold for you.’

Frank’s face twisted.

‘After this we’d better quit,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We’ve had the breaks up to now, and we’ve got dough. We’d best quit.’

Max smiled thinly to himself.

He had been waiting for Frank to say this for some time.

‘We’re not ready to quit yet,’ he said.

‘Well, I am,’ Frank said.

There was a long pause.

‘I organized this racket. I said when we’d start, and I’ll say when we quit,’ Max said softly.

Frank said nothing. He stared down at the sleeping Deputy Sheriff as he sat slumped in the deck-chair and his face twitched again.

‘And we’re not quitting yet,’ Max added.

Magarth whistled softly under his breath as he drove rapidly along the hill-road leading into Point Breese. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he appointed himself manager of Veda’s orange plantation he could live in the house, be near Veda all the time, and yet still have his freedom. It didn’t bother him that he knew nothing about the production of oranges. Veda was an expert, and she could look after that end of it. He could ride round on a big white horse and urge the workers to greater effort. Such a job would suit him. He wondered if Veda would react favourably; decided that she would.

If he found the Blandish girl and got her settled, he’d put the idea up to Veda. But the Blandish girl would have to be found first. She had been at liberty now nine days and only five more days remained before she could claim her freedom and her money. Magarth grinned to himself, thinking of Hartman: he would be gnashing his teeth by now.

Then suddenly he slammed on his brakes, skidding the car right across the road, and came to a stop perilously near a ditch.

He sat there staring, not believing his eyes. Then with a suppressed exclamation he threw open the car door, ran to meet Carol as she staggered towards him, her dress in tatters, her hair dishevelled, her face drawn with exhaustion.

Magarth grabbed her as she swayed into his arms.

‘All right, kid,’ he said, lifting her. ‘Don’t try to talk. You’re safe now. Just take it easy.’

‘Steve... Steve...’ she murmured. ‘Where is he? Is he all right? Please tell me...’

‘He’s all right,’ Magarth said, settling her into the car. ‘He’s ill of course, but he’s out of danger. I’ll take you to him right away.’

Carol began to cry weakly.

‘I never thought I’d get to him,’ she said, her head falling against the cushioned back of the seat. ‘It’s been dreadful... I never thought I’d get to him...’

Magarth reversed the car, drove furiously back to Grass Hill.

At one o’clock the same afternoon they caught Hatty Summers as she came out of a saloon bar on the outskirts of Point Breese.

She had always had a liking for neat rum, and with the money she had found on the dead body of Sam Garland she had been indulging her weakness.

She was in an amiable and conciliatory mood when they surrounded her, and she displayed to the horrified crowd the big bloodstained flint with which she had battered Garland’s head to pulp, delighted to be the centre of attraction.

Dr. Travers and two white-coated attendants took charge of her and hurried her into the waiting ambulance, and there, behind closed doors, expertly put a strait-jacket on her.

Sheriff Kamp, who had been present at the capture, looked around in vain for Magarth.

‘That fellow’s never where he’s wanted,’ he complained to one of his deputies. ‘I wanted my picture taken arresting that female. Now where the blazes has the pesky fellow got to?’

Dr. Travers climbed out of the ambulance, hurried over to Kamp, his eyes alight with excitement.

‘My patient tells me that Garland picked up Carol Blandish a few miles from Point Breese, and it was to help Carol escape that she murdered poor Garland,’ he said.

Kamp blinked.

‘Does she know what she’s talking about?’

‘Her description of Carol Blandish is unmistakable. It looks as if the girl’s come back to Point Breese.’

Kamp lifted his sweat-stained stetson to scratch his head.

‘I’ll get working on this right away,’ he said, but as he prepared to move off, Simon Hartman drove up in a glittering Cadillac.

‘Here’s Mr. Hartman,’ Travers said, his face darkening. ‘You know him, Sheriff?’

‘I know him,’ Kamp growled, and the two men waited for Hartman to join them.

‘I hear a lunatic has been captured,’ Hartman said abruptly. ‘Is it Carol?’

‘No, Mr. Hartman,’ Travers replied. ‘It was another of my patients.’

‘You seem to specialize in losing patients,’ Hartman grated, his face taut with disappointed anger. ‘Just when do you propose finding my ward?’

‘We have just received news that she has returned to Point Breese,’ Travers said. ‘The Sheriff is organizing another search party.’

Hartman gave Kamp a contemptuous look.

‘Your search parties, up to now, have been singularly unsuccessful,’ he said, then abruptly, ‘Where’s this man Steve Larson?’

Kamp managed to look a little vacant.

‘Probably in Waltonville Hospital,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘From what I hear from Mrs. Fleming, Carol appears to have fallen in love with him. It’s possible she will try to find bun. You’d better put a guard at the hospital in case she shows up there.’

‘Could do,’ Kamp said, stroking his moustache.

‘Then do it,’ Hartman barked. ‘The girl should have been found days ago. Get your men to work. She’s got to be found before the week-end or I’ll see this is the last job you’ll have the chance to make a mess of!’ He turned sharply to Travers. ‘Come along, Doctor, I want to talk to you.’

Kamp watched them go, tipped his hat and winked at his deputy.

‘Getting pretty hot under the collar, isn’t he?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I’d better have a word with that pesky Magarth.’

‘Want me to go over to the Waltonville Hospital?’ the deputy asked.

Kamp shook his head.

‘No. Somehow I don’t think Larson’s there,’ he returned, winked again and then set of with long, unhurried strides to his office.

‘I think she’s a darling,’ Veda said, as she came into the big lounge where Magarth was pacing up and down. ‘She’s seen Steve for a moment. He was sleeping, but it was wonderful to see the expression in her eyes as she looked down at him. I only hope I’ll be able to look like that if ever you fall ill.’

‘So do I,’ Magarth said, ‘and I hope I won’t be too ill to appreciate it. Is she all right?’

‘She’s had an awful time, but I think she’ll be all right after a good rest,’ Veda returned, sitting on the arm of an easy chair. ‘Do give me a drink, honey, all this excitement has frayed my nerves.’

‘What’s she doing now?’ Magarth asked as he mixed a dry martini.

‘She’s having a bath,’ Veda returned. ‘Don’t you think Dr. Kober ought to look at her? He might give her something to help her sleep.’

‘She won’t need anything to help her sleep,’ Magarth said, carrying the drink over to her. ‘I don’t want any doctors or nurses messing her about. They might scare her into one of her turns.’

‘I’m quite positive there’s nothing the matter with her,’ Veda said. ‘Now I’ve talked to her I think the way you do. She’s as normal as I am, and she’s such a sweet kid.’

Magarth grunted.

‘It won’t do any harm to keep an eye on her,’ he said. ‘But I agree: I can’t imagine her being dangerous.’

Veda eyed him over the top of the cocktail glass.

‘There’s something on your mind,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘She said the Sullivans left last night for Point Breese. They intend to finish Larson,’ Magarth said quietly. ‘I’m wondering how they managed to slip through Kamp’s cordon. We’ve been watching for them and all the roads are guarded.’

‘They can’t possibly know he’s here, can they?’ Veda asked. ‘You’re not worrying about that, are you?’

‘Well, I am worrying, although I don’t think they’ll come here,’ Magarth returned, mixed himself a highball. ‘It won’t do to underrate these two.’ He took a drink, set the glass on the table beside him. ‘Maybe I’m getting your complaint — frayed nerves. All the same I’ll have a word with Staum. He and his boys will have to wake up their ideas now.’

The telephone rang.

‘It’ll be for you,’ Veda said. ‘Everyone in the district seems to know we’re living in sin together.’

‘And I bet they’re green with envy,’ Magarth said with a grin, reached for the receiver.

It was the Sheriff.

‘Why didn’t you come down like I asked you?’ Kamp complained. ‘I had a nice photograph all lined up for you.’

‘I’ve more important things to do than to waste plates on your ugly mug,’ Magarth returned. ‘What’s biting you?’

‘I’ve got news the Blandish girl is back in town.’ Kamp went on to tell Magarth what Hatty Summers had told Travers. ‘And Hartman thinks she’ll try to find Larson.’

‘What are you doing about it?’

‘We’re searching the district again. I thought I’d tip you off in case she shows up at Grass Hill.’

‘I’ll know what to do.’

‘Do you still want my deputies up there?’

‘You bet I do. They’ll have to stick right here until Larson’s well enough to give evidence.’

‘O.K.,’ Kamp said. ‘It makes it hard for me, but I guess no one cares what happens to an old guy like me.’

‘I don’t for one,’ Magarth returned, hung up.

‘And what did he want?’ Veda asked, finishing her drink. ‘Not more trouble, I hope?’

‘No. I guess he likes the sound of my voice,’ Magarth said, stood up. ‘Maybe you’d better see how Carol’s getting on. I’m going to have a word with Staum.’

The Sullivans, from their hiding-place, saw Magarth come out on to the terrace and sit down by the side of Deputy Staum.

Max was now certain that Steve was in the house. He was also sure he knew which room Steve was in, having caught a glimpse from time to time of a nurse as she moved before a window on the second floor.

But, in spite of the careful watch, he had not seen Magarth arrive with Carol. Magarth, anxious that neither Staum nor his two guards should know that Carol was in the house, had brought her in the back way, a long detour through the plantation, up a little-used by-road.

‘As soon as it’s dark we’ll move in,’ Max said, and stretched out in the long grass. ‘We can fix the guards easily enough.’

‘You mean we’ve got to kill them?’ Frank asked.

‘Depends,’ Max returned. ‘We’ve got to make a clean job of this. It could be our last job if we slip up on it.’

Frank said: ‘Let’s go some place and eat. I’m sick of watching this joint.’

It was growing dusk when Carol awoke, and she sat up with a start, an uneasy fear brooding over her. For a minute or so she couldn’t remember where she was and stared around the luxuriously furnished room with blank, frightened eyes. Then she remembered, and her mind darted to Steve, and she lay back in the big, comfortable bed with a little sigh of relief.

Everything that could be done was being done for Steve. He was out of danger now, but was still very weak. She hoped when she saw him again he would recognize her, and that her presence would help him get well.

And yet as she lay there, trying to relax, the uneasy fear still brooded over her; a presentiment of danger. But there could be no danger, she tried to assure herself. Magarth had told her that the Sullivans couldn’t possibly find Larson or her in this big, comfortable house. He had told her too that the house was guarded night and day. But so great was her fear of the Sullivans that she was willing to credit them with superhuman powers.

She lay for some time watching the dusk creep into darkness, and then suddenly she got out of bed, slipped on a wrap that Veda had lent her, and went to the window.

The big orange plantation spread out before her in the distance; the tree-heads a darkening blur; the golden fruit invisible now in the twilight. Immediately below was the broad terrace, where she could see one of the guards, pacing up and down, a rifle under his arm. From the terrace were steps leading to the sunken garden and the big lawns that stretched away to the rising ground, which in its turn dipped to the plantation.

She stood at the window, fear touching her heart, looking into the darkness, waiting for something she knew would happen.

While she waited the door opened and Veda came in.

‘Oh, you are awake?’ Veda said, seeing her at the window. ‘Shall I turn on the light or would you rather I didn’t?’

‘Please don’t,’ Carol said, her eyes still searching the darkening grounds.

‘Is anything frightening you?’ Veda asked gently, crossed the room to stand by Carol’s side.

‘There’s danger out there,’ Carol said, still as a statue.

‘Shall I call Phil?’ Veda asked, suddenly alarmed. ‘Shall I ask him to go and see—’

She broke off as Carol gripped her arm.

‘Look!’ she cried, and began to tremble. ‘Did you see? Over there by the trees.’

Veda stared into the darkness. Nothing moved, no sound came to her; even the wind was still.

‘There’s nothing,’ she said soothingly. ‘Come downstairs. It’s nicer down there.’

‘They’re out there... the Sullivans... I’m sure they’re out there!’ Carol cried.

‘I’ll tell Phil,’ Veda said as calmly as she could. ‘Now get dressed. I’ve put out clothes for you. I think they’ll fit you. Get dressed while I call Phil.’ She gave Carol a reassuring little pat on her arm, ran to the door. ‘And hurry,’ she added, ran to the head of the staircase. ‘Phil!’ she called.

Magarth came out of the sitting-room, stared up at her.

‘Anything up?’

‘Yes. Carol thinks the Sullivans have come.’ There was a slight tremor in Veda’s voice.

Magarth came up the stairs two at a time.

‘What makes her think that?’ he asked sharply.

‘She says she saw them. I don’t know if she did. I didn’t see anything... but she’s badly frightened.’

‘I’ll have a word with the guards. Get her dressed and bring her down to the sitting-room,’ Magarth said shortly, ran downstairs to find Staum.

Outside in the thickening darkness the Sullivans, like two black shadows, moved silently towards the house.

Magarth found Staum in the kitchen. He had just finished supper and was lying back in his chair, a satisfied, sleepy expression on his fat face. The maid, Marie, was preparing to go home, and while she put on her hat and coat she chatted to Staum.

Staum looked surprised when Magarth pushed open the kitchen door and came in. He straightened up in his chair.

‘Want me?’ he asked, getting to his feet.

‘Yeah,’ Magarth returned, and jerked his head to the door.

Staum followed him out into the corridor.

‘Your boys posted?’ Magarth asked.

‘Sure,’ Staum returned, frowning. ‘What’s up?’

‘Something may be. I want you and me to have a look round the grounds.’

‘For the love of Mike!’ Staum exploded. ‘I’ve just finished supper. Why can’t you take it easy for a while? You’re acting like a flea on a hot plate. If you’re still worrying about the Sullivans you’re wasting my time as well as yours. Don’t I keep telling you the Sullivans don’t exist? They’re just a bogey to frighten kids with.’

‘If you won’t take this business seriously I’ll call the Sheriff and have a change made here,’ Magarth said, suddenly angry.

Staum’s face reddened and his eyes glinted unpleasantly.

‘No one’s going to make a monkey out of me,’ he returned. ‘Maybe Kamp’s crazy, but I ain’t. I tell you the Sullivans don’t exist. A guy like you should know better than to be scared by a fairy story like that.’

‘If that’s the way you feel about it, the sooner you go the better,’ Magarth returned shortly.

‘I ain’t taking orders from a newspaper man,’ Staum said, although he began to look a little uneasy. ‘So long as I’m in charge here I’m going to be the boss.’

Magarth stepped past him to the telephone.

‘We’ll see what the Sheriff has to say,’ he returned, picked up the receiver. He stood for a moment with the receiver to his ear, then he frowned. ‘The line seems dead,’ he said, rattled the signal-bar, waited a moment or so, then hung up thoughtfully. ‘Now, I wonder...’

‘Go on, say it,’ Staum sneered. ‘You think the Sullivans have cut the line.’

‘It’s likely,’ Magarth returned, aware of a sudden tension gripping his nerves. ‘I want a gun, Staum,’ he went on abruptly. ‘If you’re not going to do your job, I’ll have to do it for you.’

‘Who said I wasn’t going to do my job?’ Staum said, flaring up. ‘You watch what you’re saying; and you don’t get a gun from me. You ain’t got a permit.’

Magarth controlled his rising temper.

‘This bickering won’t get us anywhere,’ he said. ‘Miss Banning saw two men out in the plantation just now. They scared her. Maybe they’re not the Sullivans, but at least we can go out there and see who they are.’

‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ Staum returned, led the way to the front door. ‘If there’re guys snooping about out there I’ll fix ’em.’ He added after a pause, ‘Think the telephone fine’s cut?’

‘Looks like it,’ Magarth said, worried. He followed Staum on to the terrace.

The lone guard, Mason by name, was lolling against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth, his gun held loosely in the crook of his arm.

‘Hi, George,’ he called when he saw Staum. ‘When do I get my supper?’

‘You’ll have it when I say so,’ Staum growled. ‘Seen anyone about?’

‘You mean the Sullivans?’ Mason asked. ‘Haw! Haw! No, I guess the Sullivans ain’t called just yet.’

‘The lady says she saw two men out in the plantation,’ Staum went on. ‘You been keeping your eyes peeled?’

‘You bet,’ the guard returned. ‘Ain’t seen a thing. Maybe the lady was dreaming.’

‘Yeah, I guess she was,’ Staum returned bitterly, looked at Magarth. ‘Satisfied?’

‘I’m not,’ Magarth said. ‘This fella’s half asleep. I tell you two guys were seen out there.’ He tapped Mason on his chest. ‘Keep your eyes open, bud, you’re fooling with dynamite.’

‘He thinks the Sullivans are going to call,’ Staum explained.

‘That’s terrible,’ Mason grinned. ‘I hope they keep off until I’ve had my supper.’

With a hopeless shrug Magarth turned away. Staum followed him.

‘Where’s the other guard?’ Magarth asked.

‘Round the back. Want to see him too?’

‘I certainly do,’ Magarth returned. He was feeling a little scared now. If Staum refused to believe that trouble was brewing, anything might happen.

And something was happening right at that moment at the back of the house. It happened so quickly and silently that Magarth and Staum suspected nothing as they moved along in the darkness.

The Sullivans had reached the terrace. Max carried a long thin steel rod at the end of which hung a noose of piano wire. For a moment they watched the unsuspecting man who was guarding the rear of the building. He was seated on the balustrade of the terrace, his legs dangling, his gun lying by his side. He hummed to himself, and every now and then he looked impatiently at his luminous watch. He too wanted his supper.

Max touched Frank’s arm. Both men knew exactly what to do. Frank remained still: he held his heavy .45 gun loosely in his hand while Max crept forward, his rubber-soled shoes making sound on the white-paved terrace. He held the steel rod like a man carrying a flag in a procession. When he was within a few yards of the guard he stopped.

The noose of piano wire rose in the air, began a silent descent until it was a foot or so above the head of the guard. Max fiddled with the slack of the wire which he held in his hand, adjusting the noose so that it would pass over the wide brim of the guard’s hat. Then, with a quick movement like a snake striking, Max swished the noose down and dragged the slack. At the same moment Frank, moving like a silent, vicious shadow, sprang forward, snatched up the guard’s rifle.

The guard, caught round the throat by the strangling wire, could make no sound, and was dragged over backwards, his legs thrashing, his fingers frantically trying to find a purchase on the wire that was cutting into the soft skin of his throat. He struggled for barely ten seconds before his body went limp and blood ran out of his mouth.

Max loosened the noose while Frank eased the wire from the strangled man’s throat. Without wasting a moment, Max collapsed the rod, which telescoped into a length of about two feet, and joined Frank in carrying the guard into the dark garden.

A moment or so later Magarth and Staum turned the corner and walked along the back terrace.

‘I don’t see him around,’ Magarth said abruptly. ‘I suppose he’s gone to bed or something.’

‘He’s around somewhere,’ Staum snapped. ‘He wouldn’t leave his post unless I told him.’ Raising his voice, he bawled: ‘Hey! O’Brien! I want you.’

The two men waited in the darkness. No sound nor movement reached them, and while they waited the Sullivans slipped like shadows to the front of the house, crept towards Mason, who had laid down his rifle to light another cigarette.

‘Some guard,’ Magarth said angrily. ‘I’ll raise hell about this when I see the Sheriff.’

Staum looked worried.

‘He should be here,’ he muttered, walked to the end of the terrace, bawled again, ‘O’Brien!’

‘I guess we’ll find him in the kitchen,’ Magarth said bitterly. He turned sharply, retraced his steps.

The Sullivans had scarcely time to carry Mason away. They had no time to collect his rifle nor his hat, which had fallen off in his death struggle.

‘Now Mason’s scrammed,’ Magarth said, not seeing the glow of a cigarette. ‘You there, guard?’ he called, raising his voice.

Staum joined him.

‘What are you playing at?’ he snarled. ‘Trying to make out Mason’s quit his job?’

‘It looks like it,’ Magarth said, and felt the hair on the nape of his neck bristle. ‘I don’t see him around.’

Staum fetched out a powerful flashlight, shot the white beam along the terrace.

The two men stood transfixed as they saw the hat and rifle lying on the white flagstones.

‘Mason!’ Staum shouted, took a step forward. There was a sudden off-key note in his voice.

‘Put that light out,’ Magarth said, snatching up Mason’s rifle. ‘Come on; inside, quick!’

Staum didn’t need any urging. Neither of them said anything until Magarth had closed and barred the front door.

‘What’s happened to them?’ Staum asked, shaken.

‘I told you the Sullivans were here — do you want more proof?’ Magarth said, pushed past the gaping Deputy, ran to the kitchen, which was deserted. He locked and bolted the back door, returned to the hall. ‘You stay here and keep your eyes peeled,’ he said to Staum. ‘I’m going upstairs. They’re after Larson, but they’re not going to get him. You’re the first line of defence. See they don’t get you,’ and he left Staum, who was now looking scared, and ran up the stairs.

Veda met him on the landing.

‘Is it all right?’ she asked, then clutched his arm when she saw the expression in his eyes. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Plenty,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘They’re out there all right, and they’ve got the two guards. That leaves Staum and me, you, Carol and the nurse. They’ve cut the telephone wires, so we’re sealed off unless—’

‘I’ll go,’ Veda said promptly. ‘I could get across the plantation and get the overseer and his men up here.’

Magarth slipped his arm round her.

‘That’s fine,’ he said, ‘but not yet. We can’t afford to take chances. If they get you, we’re sunk. We’d best wait until they try to get into the house, then you slip out the back way.’

‘It may be too late then,’ Veda said. ‘It’ll take me ten minutes at least to get across the plantation. I’d better go now.’

‘You’re not going until I know where they are,’ Magarth said firmly. ‘Where’s Carol?’

‘She’s with Steve.’

‘All right; we’ll keep near Steve. They’re after him, and it’ll be to his room they’ll come if they get into the house.’

‘You ain’t leaving me down here alone, are you?’ Staum called up plaintively from the foot of the stairs.

‘Why not?’ Magarth returned. ‘The Sullivans are just a bogey you frighten children with — remember? You’re not a child, are you?’ He took Veda’s arm and together they walked quickly down the passage to Steve’s room.

They found Carol, looking lovely in one of Veda’s simple linen dresses, seated by Steve’s side. Nurse Davies, a tail, grey-haired woman, was sewing near the window.

Carol looked up quickly as Magarth and Veda came in, and made a quick sign to them not to say anything.

Steve, looking white and drawn, opened his eyes as Magarth came quietly to his side.

‘Hello, you big, lazy dope,’ Magarth said, smiling. ‘Got your girl now, have you?’

Steve nodded.

‘Thanks to you, Phil,’ he said, reached out for Carol’s hand. ‘Just to see her makes me feel good.’

‘Mr. Larson shouldn’t talk,’ Nurse Davies said, shaking her head at Magarth. ‘He’s still very weak.’

‘Sure,’ Magarth said, stepped back, signed to Carol.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said to Steve, patted his hand, joined Magarth and Veda in the passage.

‘Look, kid,’ Magarth said quickly, ‘you were right. They’re out there and they’ve got the two guards. You stay with Steve. I’ll stick right here outside the door. Staum’s watching the stairs. They can’t reach him except up the stairs, so lock yourself in and don’t get scared. They’re not going to get him.’

Carol’s face paled, but her eyes were determined.

‘No,’ she said. ‘They’re not going to get him.’

‘Good kid,’ Magarth said. ‘You get back to Steve and leave this to me.’ He pushed her gently back into Steve’s room, turned to Veda. ‘That’s about all we can do,’ he went on. ‘The next move is up to them.’

‘I’m going, Phil,’ Veda said. ‘I know every inch of the way in the dark. It’s madness to wait for them to make the first move. We must get help.’

‘Maybe I’d better go,’ Magarth said, running his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t like the idea of you going out there...’

‘I’m going, so stop arguing. Come and see me off.’

The Sullivans were waiting for just such a move. Frank stood in the shadows near the back door; Max leaned against the wall a foot or so from the front door. They were in no hurry. They knew that the plantation workers had their living quarters on the other side of the plantation, and the only way Magarth could raise the alarm and get help was to send someone to make the journey.

‘We’ll try the back way,’ Magarth said, ‘but I’m going out first to see if the coast’s clear. Then run, Veda, run like hell.’

‘I’ll run,’ she said, going with him down the stairs.

‘Miss Banning’s going for help,’ Magarth said to Staum, who was backed up against the wall, his fat face glistening with sweat. ‘You stick where you are. I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Think she’ll make it?’ Staum asked.

‘She’ll make it,’ Magarth returned, but he wasn’t any too confident.

Together Veda and he went into the kitchen. Magarth didn’t turn on the light, and they groped their way across the dark room to the window.

‘Keep out of sight,’ Magarth whispered, and he peered through the glass, trying to see any movement on the dark terrace. He stood there for several minutes, but saw nothing to alarm him.

Frank, peering through the pillars of the balustrade, saw Magarth looking through the window, and he grinned, ducked down, waited.

Magarth opened the back door, stepped on to the terrace, looked up and down. He crossed to the balustrade, his nerves jumpy, and stood within a couple of feet of the invisible Frank. Satisfied that nothing stirred, he returned, beckoned to Veda.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, his lips close to her ear. ‘I guess they’re round the front. Run, kid, and try not to make a noise.’ He kissed her suddenly, held her for a moment, then watched her move swiftly and silently down the steps. The darkness swallowed her up.

The big house was quiet. The nurse had left Carol to watch Steve and had gone to her room next door.

Magarth sat on the top of the stairs, his rifle across his knees. Staum sat on the bottom stair. The hall, stairs and landings were ablaze with light. The hands of the big hall clock pointed to ten minutes past eleven. Veda had been gone now a quarter of an hour. In a few more minutes, Magarth thought hopefully, help would be with them, then they could go out into the darkness and hunt the Sullivans instead of sitting here waiting for their attack.

In the bedroom Steve opened his eyes. He had been sleeping, and now, refreshed, he smiled at Carol, reached for her hand.

‘I’ve been thinking so much about you,’ he said. ‘All the time I’ve been ill you’ve never been far from my thoughts. You know I love you, don’t you, Carol? I haven’t much to offer you... there’s the farm. It’s nice up there, and in a while—’

‘I don’t think you should talk,’ Carol interrupted him, leaned forward to kiss him. ‘You must rest, darling. I want you to get well quickly.’

‘I’m all right,’ Steve said firmly. ‘I’m feeling much stronger. I want to talk. We’ve got to find out who you are, Carol. We’ve got to find out why you were in that truck... where you were going...’

A feeling of fear ran through Carol.

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Please don’t talk about that. I’m afraid... I’m afraid of finding out about myself. That woman said I was mad.’ She slipped from her chair, put her arms round his neck, held his head against her breast. ‘Do you think I’m mad? Is that why I don’t know who I am? It frightens me so. You see if... I couldn’t marry you, Steve...’

‘Of course you’re not mad,’ he returned. ‘You’ve had a bad crack on your head. It’s something that can be put right, I’m sure of it, then your memory will come back. You mustn’t worry about it, Carol.’

Holding him to her, Carol thought of the Sullivans waiting out in the dark, and she shivered.

‘What’s frightening you, kid?’ Steve asked. ‘It’s all going to be all right. As soon as I get well we’re going to have a swell time... just you and me. I’ve got it all doped out; that’s all I’ve been thinking about while I’ve waited for you.’

Carol held him closer so he shouldn’t see she was crying.

‘Give them another ring,’ Sheriff Kamp said impatiently to the operator. ‘I know there’s someone there.’ He glanced at his assistant deputy: a lean, hard-bitten man whom they called Lofty. ‘She says there’s no answer.’

‘I bet she’s calling a wrong number,’ Lofty said, and spat accurately into the spittoon. ‘You know what these dames are.’

After a delay the operator said the line was out of order.

‘Get it tested and report back,’ Kamp snapped and hung up. He looked worried.

‘Think something’s wrong?’ Lofty asked, lighting a cigarette.

‘I don’t know,’ Kamp said uneasily. ‘George ain’t too bright. I told him to call me every two hours, and he hasn’t been through. These Sullivans—’ He broke off, pulled at his moustache.

‘I wouldn’t like anything to happen to Miss Banning,’ Lofty said. ‘She’s a swell dame. Think we should go up there?’

‘It’s a long run,’ Kamp said, ‘and it’s getting late. I ain’t keen—’

The telephone rang.

Kamp listened to the operator’s voice, grunted, hung up.

‘She says the line is down.’

Lofty reached for his revolver belt.

‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly.

‘I guess you’re right,’ Kamp said, got to his feet, lifted down a rifle from the rack behind his desk. ‘Looks like there’s trouble up there.’

The night was moonless, and as Veda sped down the narrow path towards the plantation she felt as if she were in a dark tunnel miles underground.

She paused for a moment to look back at the lighted windows of the house, and as she did so she caught sight of a dark figure moving towards her as stealthily as a ghost.

Veda had plenty of courage, but for a second or so her heart seemed to stop beating, then with a little cry she whirled round and ran blindly down the path.

She had gone only a few yards when Frank caught up with her. His short fat fingers clamped on to her shoulder and spun her round. All she could see of him was a dim outline. She was aware of the smell of his hair-oil. She was too frightened to scream, and stood motionless, unable to do more than stare at this menacing shadowy figure.

Frank reached out, touched her face with his left hand, then, moving so fast that she didn’t see his right hand flash up, he struck her on the side of her head with his rubber cosh.

George Staum stood up, stretched himself. He had no stomach for being alone in the big hall and he was scared. The smooth, silent way in which his two guards had vanished had completely unnerved him, and he expected the Sullivans to materialize out of the walls at any moment.

His hands, slippery with sweat, gripped his rifle so tightly that the muscles in his arms ached. His eyes darted this way and that, and he felt a little sick.

He could hear Magarth moving about on the upper landing, and every so often he would call up to him. He wished now he hadn’t been picked for this job, and would have given a month’s pay to find himself in the safety of the Sheriff’s office.

In the sitting-room, a few feet from him, Max watched him through the crack of the slightly open door. Down the passage in the darkness, Frank pressed himself against the wall, edged slowly towards him.

Staum felt danger in the air. It was as if the atmosphere around him were tightening, and he stood still, listening, his face ugly with fear.

A slight sound, no louder than the scratching of a mouse, made him jerk his head round to look down the passage. Frank had reached the fuse box and the main switch lever squeaked as he pressed it down.

‘Who’s there?’ Staum croaked, stepping forward.

Then the whole house plunged into darkness.

Magarth ran to the head of the stairs, stopped.

‘Staum!’ he shouted. ‘You all right?’

‘There’s someone near me,’ Staum whimpered. ‘Quick! Come down here...!’

Magarth didn’t move.

There was a sudden startled gasp from Staum; then out of the darkness came the gruesome sound of a man being strangled.

There was nothing Magarth could do for Staum. He wanted to warn Carol of what was happening, but he dared not leave the head of the staircase. It was up these stairs that the Sullivans would have to come if they were to get Steve, and the stairs could not be left unguarded for a moment. He dropped on hands and knees, pushed his rifle forward and waited, helplessly aware that he was now the last barrier left between the Sullivans and their intended victim.

Carol and Steve were talking together when the light went out. Realizing what it meant, Carol nearly fainted; only the thought that she must protect Steve kept her conscious.

Steve was unperturbed.

‘A fuse must have blown,’ he said. ‘They’ll fix it in a moment.’

Carol knew then that she must tell him.

‘It isn’t a fuse, darling,’ she said, catching hold of him. ‘It’s the Sullivans. They’re in the house.’

‘And you knew it all the time?’ Steve asked, his fingers touching her hair. ‘I had a feeling something was frightening you. Is Magarth out there?’

‘Yes, and the Sheriff’s deputy,’ Carol said, trying to control the quaver in her voice. ‘I’m so frightened, Steve...’

‘Go to the door and see what’s happening,’ Steve said, ‘Call to Magarth.’

Below, in the sitting-room, the door closed, Max was talking to Frank.

‘The newspaper guy’s guarding the head of the stairs,’ he was saying. ‘You keep him busy. I’m going around the back. I can get on the roof and then I’ll take him in the rear. You make enough noise to hold his attention.’

Carol unlocked the bedroom door, opened it a few inches.

‘Magarth... are you there?’ she whispered.

‘Stay where you are,’ Magarth whispered back. ‘They’re in the hall somewhere. They’ve got Staum.’

Carol felt her heart contract.

‘Then... you’re alone?’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Magarth said. ‘I can take care of myself. You keep that door locked.’

‘Don’t let them get near him,’ Carol pleaded.

‘I won’t,’ Magarth said grimly. ‘Veda’s gone for help. You two keep under cover.’

A faint sound in the hall below caused him to stiffen and peer into the darkness. He shifted forward, waited.

Outside, Max swung himself on to the low roof, climbed up a stack-pipe as easily as if it were a staircase, hooked his fingers into the window-sill a foot or so above his head. He balanced himself for a moment, then drew himself up.

Carol groped her way back to Steve.

‘He’s out there alone,’ she said, taking Steve’s hand in hers, ‘but he says they can’t get up here.’

‘I’m not going to let him fight my battles,’ Steve said, pushed back the blanket.

‘No!’ Carol said frantically. ‘You mustn’t, darling, you’re ill... please stay where you are...!’

Steve swung his legs out of bed, gripped her arm as he levered himself to his feet.

‘I’m not lying here... they want me... I know that.’ He caught her to him. ‘If this doesn’t work out, Carol, remember I love you. You’re the loveliest, the most precious thing that has ever happened to me—’

‘Steve, darling,’ Carol said, clinging to him. ‘Please stay with me... don’t go out there... it’s what they want...’

‘Say you love me, Carol.’

‘Of course I do,’ she sobbed. ‘But you mustn’t go out there. You’ll be playing right into their hands.’

Magarth, lying fiat, staring into the darkness, never knew what hit him. Max had crept down on him, saw the outline of his head against the black pit of the staircase, and had struck before Magarth could twist round to protect himself. As he went limp, Max took out a flash-light, signalled to Frank, who came swiftly up the stairs.

The battered Ford V8 roared out of Point Breese and headed for the mountain road. Lofty sat at the wheel, his eyes bright with excitement. He took the corner out of Point Breese on two wheels, slithered the car half across the road, wrestled with the steering wheel for a moment, then slammed his foot down on the gas pedal again.

‘Hey!’ Kamp spluttered, appalled. ‘Careful how you go. I want to arrive in one piece.’

‘Don’t want anything to happen to Miss Banning,’ Lofty returned, whipped the Ford past an oncoming truck, missing the truck’s fender by inches. ‘We got to get up there fast, Sheriff. You leave this to me.’

Kamp clutched the side of the car, hung on like grim death.

‘She won’t stand the racket, Lofty,’ he gasped. ‘She’ll blow her top if you drive her like this.’

‘That’s too bad,’ Lofty said grimly. ‘Then you’re due for a new car, Sheriff. We’re getting up there fast.’

Kamp closed his eyes, groaned.

‘She’ll boil,’ he muttered feverishly. ‘She’ll boil her head off.’

‘Then let her boil,’ Lofty returned, the gas pedal flat on the boards. ‘Git on, you big lump of lazy iron,’ he bawled, sitting forward. ‘Gimme a bit of speed!’

Carol’s legs suddenly refused to support her. She sank limply on the bed, the darkness in the room stifling her. Then something extraordinary seemed to happen inside her head. Her brain seemed to expand and contract as if it were breathing, and she gripped her temples between her hands. She was now scarcely aware that Steve had left her and was groping his way across the room to the door. He walked slowly; every step he made a tremendous effort, moving as if he were breasting a gale.

‘Steve...’ Carol whimpered. ‘Don’t leave me.’

But he had reached the door now, fumbled at the lock, opened it.

The Sullivans were waiting just outside. The white hard light of Max’s torch centred on Steve’s chest. For a moment nothing happened, no one moved, then Steve stiffened, put up his hands in a fighting stance: a helpless gesture of defiance.

‘Here it is, Larson,’ Max said softly.

A red, spiteful flash lit up the dark room; then another and another. Gunfire rattled the windows.

Steve took a step forward, hit out blindly, began to fall. Max fired again.

The crack of the gun synchronized with the sudden loud snap! that exploded inside Carol’s head.

For a split second everything that moved in the room— Steve falling, Max’s gun hand, Frank’s head as it flinched back, the wavering light of the flashlight — came to a sudden standstill. For that split second the scene looked like a photograph, then movement began again, but to Carol it was no longer the same. It was out of focus, dim-edged, almost soundless.

Her fear slid out of her like a dropping cloak. She stood up, moved along the wall, glided towards the Sullivans as they bent over Steve.

Max’s experienced hand touched Steve’s chest.

‘O.K.,’ he said, straightened. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Frank gave a little shiver.

‘This is our last job. Max,’ he said. ‘I quit after this.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Max repeated, turned to the door.

Outside the night was made hideous by a roaring car engine, and a squealing of brakes as Lofty pulled up before the house.

‘Back way,’ Max said, moved swiftly down the corridor.

As Frank followed him an invisible hand came out of the darkness and gripped his arm. For one ghastly moment he thought Larson had come alive again, and he turned, his mouth drying with horror.

There was nothing to see except a black wall of darkness, but he could hear someone breathing close to him, and fingers like talons pinched his arm muscles.

‘Max!’ he cried shrilly, lunged forward, his fist sweeping up viciously, striking empty air, throwing him off balance.

Cold groping fingers passed across his face, swiftly and lightly like a draught of air. So light was the touch it was as if a cobweb had settled over his features, and he started back, terror paralysing him.

‘Come on,’ Max called impatiently from the head of the stairs.

‘There’s someone here...’ Frank quavered, groped into the darkness.

‘Come on, you fool!’ Max said sharply, then stiffened as Frank suddenly gave a blood-curdling scream.

Even Max’s iron nerves flinched at the sound, and he stood for a moment in dread. Something brushed past him and instinctively he jumped back. Hooked fingers grazed his neck, and he fired blindly: the crash of the gun reverberated through the house, and he heard footsteps running lightly down the stairs. He fired shot after shot, blindly and with growing panic. In the hall gunfire cracked in reply as Kamp and Lofty tumbled through the front doorway.

Max wheeled, crashed into Frank, caught hold of him as he began to scream again. Without hesitation, Max shortened his grip on his gun, hit Frank across the face with the barrel, stooped, slung him across his shoulder, darted along the passage.

He reached a window, lowered Frank to the sloping roof, scrambled through the window himself.

Frank lay on the tiles, only half conscious.

‘I’m blind!’ he moaned. ‘My eyes... she got my eyes...!’