The World in My Pocket

I

The next two days followed the same pattern. At dawn, Bleck and Gypo went into the caravan, and Kitson came back to the cabin.

After a few hours sleepy Kitson then went out with Ginny and spent the day with her, swimming and walking or going on the lake.

Bleck sat on the floor of the caravan reading the papers while Gypo toiled at the truck door.

The news as reported in the papers was encouraging. The police and the Army were plainly baffled. Although the search was being continued, there was now a note of helplessness in the police statements to the press. They had finally decided that the truck must have been driven away in another vehicle. There could be no other solution as to how it had vanished so completely. It was thought by now the truck was out of the State. The search had been extended to a five hundred mile radius, and the reward had been raised to five thousand dollars.

Two hundred soldiers and police were combing Fox Wood and hover planes were still patrolling the roads. Sooner or later, Army headquarters announced, the truck must be found. It was a physical impossibility for it to vanish the way it had and stay vanished!

If the police and the Army were having their troubles, so too were Bleck and Gypo.

The result of Gypo’s two days’ work had come to nothing.

He had sat on his stool in the broiling heat of the caravan all day, moving the dial, listening, sweating, cursing and listening again, but the second tumbler had refused to fall into place.

With nothing to do but to watch Gypo and read the newspapers, Bleck’s nerves by now were crawling out of his skin. Added to the insufferable heat in the caravan and the tension of expecting to hear from Gypo at any second that the second tumbler had dropped, he also had the maddening thought that Ginny and Kitson were out in the open air, enjoying themselves.

Surely even though Kitson was a punch-drunk bum, Bleck argued to himself, he must by now be making an impression on the girl. No man, going around with a woman for three solid days, could fail to make an impression. If he — Bleck — had Ginny on his own for twelve hours, she would have surrendered to his technique by now. So the thought of them alone together added the bite of jealous acid to his already frayed nerves.

Around six o’clock on the third day as the evening sun dropped behind the mountains, shedding an orange-red light over the lake, Gypo cracked.

For three days he had slaved at this lock in almost impossible conditions, and now he felt he was completely defeated. The second tumbler had refused to fall. He had moved the dial a hair breadth by a hair breadth over the whole circuit, and still it hadn’t fallen. It meant he was moving the dial just that much more than it should be moved. It meant that the hand he was so proud of wasn’t sensitive enough to control the knob on the dial.

‘I can’t do it!’ he suddenly moaned, slumping against the door of the truck. ‘I can’t do it, Ed! It’s no use! If I try for twenty years, I won’t do it! If I don’t get out of here I’ll go crazy!’

Alarmed by the hysterical note in Gypo’s voice, Bleck jumped to his feet and came around the truck, gun in hand. ‘Shut up!’ he snarled, ramming the gun into Gypo’s ribs. ‘You’re damn well going to open that truck or I’ll kill you!’

Gypo began to cry helplessly, his fat body trembling with exhaustion.

‘Go ahead,’ he gasped. ‘Kill me! Do you think I care? I’d rather be dead than work anymore on this sonofabitch! Go ahead and kill me! I can’t stand any more of it!’

Bleck hit Gypo savagely across his face with the barrel of the gun. Gypo flinched away, blood running from a cut in his fat cheek down his face into his collar. He sagged against the side of the truck, his eyes shut.

‘Go ahead!’ he cried, his voice shrill and as hysterical as a frightened woman’s. ‘Kill me! I can’t go on! I’m through!’

‘Pull yourself together, you creep!’ Bleck shouted, alarmed to see how bad Gypo was looking, and thinking if he was going to get out of control, the whole plan would blow up in their faces.

‘I tell you I can’t do it!’ Gypo wailed and collapsed on the stool, hiding his face in his hands.

At that moment there came a gentle tap on the door of the caravan: a sound that made Bleck stiffen and his heart skip a beat. He had seen Ginny and Kitson go off in the Buick for a shopping trip to town so he knew it couldn’t be either of them knocking on the door.

As Gypo started to moan, Bleck grabbed him and shook him, whispering fiercely, ‘Shut up! There’s someone outside!’

Gypo stiffened and stopped his noise.

The two men waited, listening.

The knock came again.

Bleck signalled to Gypo to remain where he was. His gun in his hand, he crept to the curtained window. Keeping to one side, he peered forward to look through the curtain.

At the door of the caravan was a small boy of about ten, knocking and frowning and staring up at the caravan. In his hand, he held a toy pistol which he pointed at the door.

Bleck watched him, his lips drawn off his teeth in a snarl.

The boy, clad in jeans and a white and red checkered shirt, his feet bare, a battered straw hat on the back of his head, stared curiously at the door of the caravan, his sunburned face puzzled. There was a long pause as the boy continued to stare at the caravan, then, as if making up his mind, he moved forward and hooked his fingers on the windowsill, preparing to hoist himself up to peer through the window.

Gypo, seeing the sudden murderous, frightened expression on Bleck’s face, got up off the stool and joined Bleck at the window. He caught his breath sharply when he saw the boy, and his hand clamped down on Bleck’s wrist.

‘No!’ Gypo hissed. ‘Not a kid! Are you crazy?’

Bleck wrenched his wrist free, relaxing as he saw the boy hadn’t the strength to pull himself up as far as the window. The boy dropped back, and again stared up at the caravan, his expression frustrated. After staring at the caravan for some moments, he turned abruptly and hurried off down the path that ran along by the lakeside.

‘Do you think he heard us?’ Bleck asked anxiously.

‘I don’t know,’ Gypo said. The shock of the boy’s unexpected appearance had brought him abruptly to his senses.

‘He certainly scared me,’ Bleck said and wiped his face with his hand. ‘Here, you sit down, Gypo, and take it easy. Suppose I try to fix this goddamn lock?’

‘You?’ Gypo’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘No! You could dislodge the first tumbler if you don’t have the feel of it. Keep away from it!’

Bleck reached out and took hold of Gypo’s shirt front, giving him a hard shake.

‘So if I don’t do it and you damn well won’t do it, how do we open it?’ he demanded, his voice thick with rage.

‘Don’t you understand?’ Gypo said. ‘We’re not going to open it! For three days I’ve worked on it! Hour after hour after hour! What happens? One tumbler falls, then nothing. That lock has at least six tumblers. I’ve got five more to find. Okay, maybe in a week I’ll find the second one; maybe I won’t. If I find it, I’ve got four more to find. By that time I’ll be crazy in the head! No one can work in this heat! No one! I’m quitting! I can’t do any more! I’ve had enough! No money is worth this! You hear me? No money can be worth this!’

‘Aw, shut up!’ Bleck shouted violently. ‘Don’t start that again!’

But he was worried. He realized that Gypo was talking sense. The thought of being cooped up in this oven of a caravan for another three or four weeks appalled even him.

Gypo had slumped down on the stool again, holding his hand to his aching face as he stared hopelessly at the dial.

‘Could you cut the door open?’ Bleck asked.

‘Here? Impossible! People would see the flame through the curtain. Then think of the heat! The caravan would catch fire.’

‘Suppose we take the caravan up into the mountains? Frank said we might have to do that, and it looks to me that’s what we’ll have to do,’ Bleck said. ‘Then you can work with the back of the caravan open. It would be okay like that, wouldn’t it?’

Gypo took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his bleeding cheek.

‘I’ve had enough. I want to go home. No one’s going to open that sonofabitch — no one!’

‘We’ll talk to the other two,’ Bleck said, a rasp in his voice. ‘Where are your guts? There’s a million bucks behind that door! A million bucks! Think of it!’

‘I wouldn’t care if there were twenty million,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘I’ve had enough, I tell you! Can’t you understand English?’

‘Relax, will you?’ Bleck said, sitting on the floor. ‘We’ll talk to the other two.’

Unaware of Gypo’s crack up, Ginny and Kitson were returning from town, some fifteen miles from the caravan camp, after an afternoon’s shopping.

They had decided it would be unsafe to shop any more at the store on the camp. The storekeeper was certain to notice the amount of food they were buying and would know it couldn’t have been for two people, so now they did a daily run into town.

During the past two days, Ginny and Kitson had been constantly in each other’s company. Ginny was still trying to make up her mind whether to join up with Kitson when they got the money. She knew he was in love with her and she found that she was growing to like him. Unlike Bleck, there was nothing dangerous about him and she felt safe with him.

As they drove along the highway, heading back to the caravan camp, she kept glancing at him. Apart from his broken nose, he was quite handsome, she thought, and she had a sudden urge to confide in him

‘Alex.’

Kitson glanced at her and then back to the road. When he had her by his side, he was a very careful driver.

‘Yeah? Something bothering you?’

‘Well, yes.’ She lifted her copper-coloured hair off her shoulders and then let it drop back into place. ‘You asked me once how I knew about the truck and the payroll. Do you still want to know?’

Kitson was surprised, ‘Well, I’ve wondered, but it’s no business of mine,’ he said. ‘What made you think of that?’

‘You’ve been pretty nice to me,’ Ginny said. ‘Most men in your place would have been troublesome. I appreciate it, I want you to know I’m not a gangster’s moll.’

Kitson shook his head, ‘I never thought that.’

‘Morgan did. He thought I had stolen the plan from a mob I had been working with and brought it to him for a bigger share. He didn’t say so, but I knew that’s what he thought.’

Kitson shifted uncomfortably. He knew that was exactly what Frank had thought.

‘Well, maybe. I didn’t.’

‘I knew about the payroll and the truck because my father was the gate man at the Research Station,’ Ginny said quietly.

‘He was?’ Kitson gave her a quick look. ‘Yeah, so you would know about it.’

‘I’m not trying to whitewash myself,’ Ginny said, leaning her head back against the seat. ‘My mother was no good. I guess I have a lot of her badness in me. She left my father when I was ten. She was always talking about money, telling me without it, I’d never do anything. My father was a good man, but he didn’t earn much. He was good to me, but that didn’t stop me having an itch for money. As I grew up, the itch got worse. It tormented me. I never had any decent clothes. I seldom went to the movies. I used to spend all my time staring into the windows of the luxury shops, envying people who could buy what I saw there and what I wanted. My father often talked about the payroll, and I often dreamed of having all that money. Then the new truck arrived. My father thought they were crazy not to insure the payroll any longer. He said it wouldn’t be so hard to hijack the truck. He and I used to discuss it. It was his idea to hide the truck in a caravan. Don’t imagine he ever thought of doing such a thing. There was nothing like that about him, but it made me think and the idea of grabbing that truck became an obsession with me.’

Kitson was driving slowly now and listening. He watched the sun, like a red ball of fire, dip behind the mountains.

‘My father was a sick man,’ Ginny went on, lacing her fingers over one knee. ‘He had two years to go before he got his pension, and he tried to hang on, but in the end he had to quit.

They gave him time off, but when he wasn’t well enough to come back when they thought he should, they sacked him, and away went his pension. I went to see the staff manager to explain, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He treated me as if I were a beggar. So, when my father died, I decided I would get even. I would be killing two birds with one stone: I’d settle the score and I’d become rich. I had the plan all worked out in my mind and I had to find someone to help me. I was in a cafe one night, and I overheard some men talking about Morgan. From what they said, I decided he was the one to go to. So I went to him. That’s the story. It was my father’s plan, but he would never have used it.’

‘I’m sorry for your father,’ Kitson said.

‘Yes.’ He saw her hands suddenly turn into fists. ‘I’m sorry I ever started this, Alex. I know I’m hard and bad and money loving. I know all that, but I didn’t think it was going to be like this. It’s so easy to talk about killing a man. You see it on the movies and it doesn’t seem anything, but when it really happens.’

‘Look, Ginny,’ Kitson’s voice was suddenly urgent. ‘Why don’t you and me quit? We could go to Mexico. If we cleared out right now, we stand a chance of getting away with it. Why don’t we do that?’

She hesitated, then shook her head.

‘No! I’m not going to quit now. The time to have quitted was before we killed the guard and the driver and before Morgan died. I’m going through with this now, Alex. But you quit. I’d like to see you out of this, but I’m going through with it. We still have a chance of getting the money. What have I to lose now? But you quit, Alex. You should never have been in this anyway.’ She looked at him. ‘Why did you? You didn’t want to. I could see that. Why did you vote for it?’

Kitson shrugged his shoulders.

‘Because of you,’ he said. ‘You meant something to me from the moment I saw you.’

‘I’m sorry, Alex. I’m really sorry.’

‘Look, if we get the money, couldn’t we join up together?’ Kitson asked, staring hard at the road as it came towards him. ‘I love you, Ginny. You’re the only girl who has ever meant anything to me.’

‘I don’t know, Alex. Perhaps. Let’s wait until we get the money. I’m scared of complications. Will you let me think about it?’

Kitson nearly drove off the road, he was so surprised.

‘You really mean there’s a chance you might, Ginny?’

She patted his arm.

‘Let me think about it, Alex.’

It was dark by the time they got back to the caravan camp.

Kitson, elated by the talk he had had with Ginny, dumped the groceries in the kitchen and then went across to the caravan. The lake side was deserted. It was safe enough to let Bleck and Gypo out. As he watched them come from the caravan he knew something was wrong.

Gypo walked slowly and heavily, his shoulders hunched. His right cheek was bruised and bleeding slightly.

When Kitson asked him what was the matter, he didn’t reply, but entered the cabin and slumped down into an armchair.

Bleck, his face bleak, an ugly glitter in his eyes, walked to the settee and then reached for the whisky bottle and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he sat down, scowling.

‘There was a kid hanging around outside the caravan,’ he said as Kitson shut the cabin door and locked it. ‘He tried to look in.’

Sensing the atmosphere, Ginny asked, ‘What about the lock?’

Bleck shrugged.

‘No luck so far,’ he said, leaning back and staring at her. ‘The second tumbler shows no signs of falling. Gypo has got worked up about it.’

‘Worked up!’ Gypo exclaimed shrilly. ‘I’m quitting! The lock has beaten me! Do you hear? I’m quitting!’

Ginny said quietly, ‘But you can’t quit. What’s the matter?’

‘Matter?’ Gypo thumped his fists on his knees. ‘No one can work in that caravan in that heat! You don’t know what it is like! For three days I’ve tried to bust that lock. It’s no good! Now I quit!’

‘You told Frank it would take a month,’ Ginny said. ‘You can’t quit after three days.’

‘Leave him alone,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve been over all this with the jerk until I’m sick of it. The heat in the caravan is sheer hell. We’ve got to go up to the mountains as Frank said so we can work with the back of the caravan open. We can’t go on boxed in; we just can’t.’

‘It’ll be dangerous,’ Ginny said. ‘Here, we’re lost among other caravans, but in the mountains, if we are spotted, they’re bound to investigate us.’

‘We’ve got to take that risk,’ Bleck said savagely. ‘If Gypo can’t handle the lock, we’ll have to try to cut into the door and we can’t do that here.’

‘They are still watching the roads,’ Kitson said, uneasily. ‘We stand a chance of being stopped, Ed. And another thing, we don’t know if the Buick will haul that weight up the mountain road. I’ve been up there. It’s bad and part of the road has been broken up by the storm a couple of weeks ago.’

‘We’ve got to chance it,’ Bleck said. ‘If we leave here tomorrow at noon, we’ll be on the mountain road by dark. We’ll have to buy a tent and food. It’ll mean living rough until Gypo busts the truck.’

‘Count me out!’ Gypo said violently. ‘I’m going home!’

As Bleck started to say something there came a knock on the cabin door.

There was an electrifying pause, then Bleck, gun in hand, stood up.

Gypo, his face white, leaned forward to stare at the door.

Ginny said in a fierce whisper, ‘Get into the bedroom, you two!’

Bleck grabbed hold of Gypo, dragged him to his feet and bundled him into the bedroom as Kitson, very tense, crossed the room and opened the cabin door.

Fred Bradford stood just outside.

‘Hello there, Mr. Harrison,’ he said. ‘Pardon me for calling at this time. I guess Mrs. Harrison is getting supper ready.’

‘Yes,’ Kitson said, blocking the doorway. ‘Was there something?’

‘I guess so. Could I come in a moment? I won’t keep you folks long.’

Seeing Kitson hesitate, Ginny came quickly to the door.

‘Why, hello, Mr. Bradford, come right in,’ she said, smiling. ‘I haven’t started supper yet so there’s nothing to spoil.’

Bradford moved into the sitting room. He looked self-conscious and a little uneasy.

‘Give Mr. Bradford a drink, Alex,’ Ginny said.

‘No, I don’t think I will, thanks,’ Bradford said. He sat down, rubbing his knees with the palms of his hands. ‘I mustn’t take up too much of your time. My kid was around here this afternoon.’ Bradford looked directly at Kitson. ‘He tells me there were two men in your caravan.’

Kitson felt his heart give a little bounce. He looked over at Ginny, not knowing what to say.

‘They were two of our friends,’ Ginny said calmly. She smiled at Bradford. ‘We promised to lend them the caravan for their vacation and they came down when we were out to look at it.’

Bradford relaxed.

‘Well, what do you know? I told my kid it was something like that, but he wouldn’t have it. He said they were quarrelling and shouting at each other, and it sort of scared him. He thought they were robbers.’

Ginny laughed.

‘I wouldn’t go so far as that,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t trust them too far in a deal. They’re always shouting at each other, but that doesn’t stop them planning a vacation together.’

‘They certainly scared my kid,’ Bradford said. ‘I thought I’d better have a word with you. There have been robberies on this lake, Mrs. Harrison. Well, if they’re friends of yours.’

‘Oh, yes. It’s nice of you to have bothered. Are you sure you won’t have a drink, Mr. Bradford?’

‘No, no, thanks. I guess I mustn’t keep you.’ He pulled at his long nose, frowning. ‘You know, for his age, that kid of mine is remarkably smart. He’s got an idea about this missing truck. Know what he thinks? He thinks it’s hidden in a caravan.’

Kitson’s hands turned into fists, and he hastily pushed them out of sight into his trousers’ pockets.

Ginny stiffened a little, but her expression remained unchanged.

‘In a caravan? What gave him that idea?’

‘Oh, I guess it’s because he’s surrounded by caravans right here,’ Bradford said, smiling indulgently. ‘But mind you, it’s not a bad idea. He says the police would never think of hunting through a place like this for a truck, and he could be right.’

‘I suppose he could,’ Ginny said. ‘He’s certainly got imagination.’

‘That’s a fact. He wants me to go to the police and tell them. He reckons if they find the truck hidden in a caravan, they’ll give him the reward. Did you see they’ve raised the reward now to five thousand? That’s quite a slice of money.’

There was a pause, then Ginny said, ‘I can’t imagine them giving him the reward, can you, Mr. Bradford?’ Her smile was a little stiff. ‘You know how the police are about rewards.’

‘Well, yes,’ Bradford said. ‘I can’t make up my mind whether to go to the police or not. Mind you, I think the kid’s got something, but maybe they’ll tell me to mind my own business.’

‘Since you own a caravan, Mr. Bradford, it wouldn’t surprise me if they suspected you had stolen the truck yourself. I remember my father once found some pearls and gave them to the police, claiming the reward. They promptly arrested him, and it took weeks of expense to clear him, and he never got the reward.’

Bradford’s eyes opened very wide.

‘You don’t say! I hadn’t thought of that. I guess that settles it. I’ll leave well alone. I’m glad I talked to you. I sure hadn’t thought of that angle.’

He got to his feet.

‘This is goodbye, Mr. Bradford,’ Ginny said, smiling at him. ‘We are leaving tomorrow.’

‘You are? Why, that’s a shame! Don’t you like it here then?’

‘We love it, but we plan to make a long trip. We’re heading for Stag Lake, and then we’re going on to Deer Lake.’

‘That’s quite a trip! Well, I wish you happiness.’ Bradford shook hands. He stayed talking at the door for several more minutes while Ginny and Kitson stood there willing him to go. Then finally he waved his hand and went off along the moonlit path towards his own cabin.

Ginny shut the door and turned the key.

‘Well, as Mr. Bradford says, that settles it. We must go.’

‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘You certainly handled that guy. You were terrific!’

‘Okay, okay, plough boy,’ Bleck said from the bedroom door. ‘Don’t get hysterical. That damned kid! I had an idea he heard us.’

Gypo came to the bedroom door and stood, listening.

‘Well, tomorrow we go,’ Bleck went on. ‘We can’t take a chance on that kid trying a fast one.’ He turned to Kitson. ‘Suppose you get out of here and stay with the caravan? That kid might take it into his head to come back and start snooping.’

Kitson nodded. He went to the door, unlocked it and went out into the night.

Gypo said in a flat, final voice, ‘Tomorrow, I go home. Understand? I’ve had enough. Now I’m going to bed.’

He went back into the bedroom and shut the door.

‘I’ll fix him,’ Bleck said, an ugly expression in his eyes. ‘I’m getting plenty tired of that creep.’

Ginny went into the kitchen and began preparing supper.

Bleck came to the door and leaned against it.

‘You handled that guy pretty well, baby,’ he said. ‘Have you thought any more about my proposition? I’m smart; you’re smart, so that makes us two smart people. How about it?’

She slid two big steaks into the frying pan.

‘I wouldn’t be interested if you were the last man left alive,’ she said not looking at him.

‘Okay, baby,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’

He was grinning as if he had a secret joke as he wandered over to the armchair and sat down.

II

Early next morning, Kitson drove into town, leaving Ginny to sit near the caravan on guard while Bleck and Gypo remained in the cabin. This was taking a risk, but Gypo had been so difficult Bleck didn’t feel he could cope with him in the caravan.

Bleck and Kitson had had to tie Gypo to the bed and gag him: that was how bad he had been. When they had finally fastened him to the bed, Bleck, breathing heavily, a vicious expression in his eyes, waved Kitson out of the room. ‘You leave this jerk to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll persuade him to change his mind. By the time you get back, he’ll be willing to travel with us.’

Kitson hated leaving Gypo like that, but he knew they couldn’t hope to get the truck open without Gypo’s skill, and as Gypo seemed to have gone slightly off his head, he was relieved to push the responsibility onto Bleck.

In town, Kitson bought a fair-sized tent and a large stock of canned food. They had discussed the food problem and had decided that it wouldn’t be safe to go down to the town to shop once they were up in the mountains and they would have to take enough provisions to last them until Gypo opened the truck. He returned to the cabin with the trunk of the Buick full of his purchases.

Ginny came over as he got out of the car.

‘Anything happen?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘No, but I’m glad you’re back. I keep thinking of that kid. The sooner we leave the better.’

They went into the cabin together.

Gypo was sitting in one of the armchairs. His face was white and his eyes sunk deep into his head. He didn’t look up when they came in.

Bleck was pacing up and down, smoking.

‘All fixed?’ he said to Kitson.

‘I got everything.’

Kitson looked at Gypo and then at Bleck, his eyes question marks.

‘Gypo’s okay now,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve talked to him and he’s ready to cooperate.’

‘You force me to do it,’ Gypo said, his voice shaking. ‘Nothing good will come of it. I’ve warned you before. Now I’m warning you again.’ He looked up suddenly at Kitson. ‘You were my friend. Some friend! You keep away from me! I don’t want anything more to do with you!’

‘What’s the matter then?’ Kitson asked, staring at him.

‘I had to get a little tough with him,’ Bleck said. ‘I had to convince him if he didn’t cooperate, he would run into a lot of trouble.’

‘He said he would break my hands,’ Gypo said in a low, shaking voice. ‘How can a man live without his hands?’

Kitson started to say something, but Bleck shook his head at him.

‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Bleck said. ‘Anyone around out there?’

Ginny and Kitson went outside.

There were boats on the lake, but no one in the immediate vicinity.

Kitson coupled up the caravan to the Buick, then backed the caravan close to the cabin door.

‘You guys ready?’

Bleck came to the door with Gypo.

Kitson opened the back of the caravan, and Bleck and Gypo got in quickly and Kitson shut the back. The move didn’t take a couple of seconds.

‘I’ll stay here while you settle with the office,’ Kitson said, giving Ginny his wallet.

While he waited, Kitson lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the caravan. His nerves were tense now. They were going out into the open. It was asking for trouble, but there seemed no other way if they were going to open the truck.

‘Hey, mister!’

Kitson started and looked quickly around.

A small boy, in jeans and a red and white checkered shirt, a straw hat on his head came from around the other side of the caravan.

‘Hello,’ Kitson said.

The boy stared at him, his head a little on one side.

‘You know my pop,’ he said. ‘I’m Fred Bradford junior.’

‘Is that right?’ Kitson said, trying to sound casual.

The boy frowned at him, then transferred his attention to the caravan.

‘That yours?’ he asked, jerking his thumb at the caravan.

‘That’s right,’ Kitson said.

The boy studied the caravan.

‘I like ours better.’

Kitson didn’t say anything. He wished feverishly that Ginny would come back and they could get the hell out of here.

The boy squatted down and stared under the caravan.

‘Say! You’ve got enough steel on her, haven’t you?’ he said, looking up at Kitson. ‘What’s the idea? It only adds to the weight, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kitson rubbing his jaw uneasily. ‘It was like that when I bought it.’

‘Pop said two of your friends were in it yesterday. Is that right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was the matter with them?’

‘Nothing.’

The boy studied him. Kitson found his young eyes were extraordinarily disconcerting.

‘There was something wrong with them. I heard them yelling at each other.’

‘They always yell at each other,’ Kitson said. ‘There’s nothing to that.’

The boy stepped back and stared at the caravan.

‘Can I see inside, mister?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Kitson said, turning hot. ‘My wife’s got the key.’

The boy looked surprised.

‘My pop never lets my ma have keys. She always loses them.’

‘My wife doesn’t.’

The boy squatted down again and began to pull at the grass, scattering the blades right and left.

‘Your friends in there now?’

‘No.’

‘Where are they then?’

‘At home.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘St. Lawrence.’

‘They live together then?’

‘That’s right.’

‘They were yelling at each other. They scared me.’

Kitson shrugged his shoulders.

‘That’s nothing. They always yell at each other.’

The boy took off his hat and began to put grass into it.

‘One of them called the other a yellow creep because he couldn’t do something. What was it he couldn’t do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kitson said, and he lit a cigarette.

‘They sounded pretty mad at each other.’

‘They’re good friends. You don’t have to worry about them.’

Having filled the hat with grass, the boy bent forward, dipped his head into the hat and pulled it on.

‘This keeps my head cool,’ he explained, seeing Kitson staring at him. ‘It’s my own invention. There could be money in it.’

‘Yeah,’ Kitson said. ‘Look, son, maybe you’d better go home. Your pop may be wondering where you’ve got to.’

‘No, he won’t. I told him I was going to look for that truck that’s been stolen — the one with all that money in it. He doesn’t expect me back for another hour. Did you read about the truck, mister?’

‘I read about it.’

‘Know what I think?’

‘Yeah — your pop told me.’

The boy frowned.

‘He shouldn’t have done that. If he tells everyone, I could lose the reward.’

Kitson suddenly caught sight of Ginny hurrying along the path towards him.

‘I’m going to collect that reward,’ the boy went on. ‘Five thousand bucks. Do you know what I’m going to do with it when I get it?’

Kitson shook his head.

‘I’m not going to give it to my pop: that’s what I’m going to do with it.’

Ginny came up.

‘This is Bradford, junior,’ Kitson said.

‘Hello,’ Ginny said and smiled.

‘Have you got the key of the caravan?’ the boy asked. ‘He says I can look inside.’

Ginny and Kitson exchanged glances.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ginny said to the boy. ‘I’ve packed the key in one of the suitcases. I can’t get at it.’

‘I bet you’ve lost it,’ the boy said scornfully. ‘Well, I’ve got to go now. Pop says you are leaving.’

‘Yes,’ Ginny said.

‘You’re going now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, so long,’ the boy said and turning, he walked off down the path, his hands in his trousers pockets, whistling shrilly and out of tune.

‘Do you think?’ Kitson began, then stopped. ‘Well, come on. Let’s get out of here.’

They got into the Buick.

As they drove off, Fred Bradford, junior, who had left the path as soon as he had rounded the bend and was out of sight, and had returned through the thickets, stood motionless looking after the departing Buick and caravan. Then he took out a much thumbed notebook and wrote down the licence number of the Buick with a stub of pencil.