* * *
“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.