_16_

John Hayden remained in his chair for several minutes after the door

closed, his drink forgotten and his mind evaluating the story he had

heard. Even in retrospect he could not quarrel with it. It held,

somehow, a ring of truth, and he found he could accept the incredible

twist of fate that had saved Corbin’s life on that January night more

than two years ago. There was much he did not understand about what

had happened since that time, but even now he found it difficult to

blame Corbin for what he had done.

He had thought earlier that he understood Marion’s original

attraction to the man. He was of the same opinion now. For while

Corbin was obviously no mental giant, he had, in addition to his

good looks, a charm that was forthright and basically friendly.

The motives which influenced his disappearance were simple and

uncomplicated. He was willing now to face the music without fuss and,

on balance, Hayden could not help but like him. This thought helped

to bolster his own confidence, and as his mind went on, he rose and

started aimlessly about the room.

The light was still on in the adjoining bedroom and he stopped in

the doorway to glance inside. That was how he happened to see the

suitcase which stood at the foot of the double bed. There was nothing

unusual about the case. It was a brown canvas-covered bag, man-sized,

lightweight, and medium-priced by the look of it. If he had not so

recently made a flight from New York he might not have wondered about

the baggage tag which still hung from the handle.

He knew it was the passenger’s half of the baggage check that the

attendant had not bothered to remove when the suitcase was reclaimed.

He also recalled that Corbin had been away. The suspicious character

in the filling station had said something about Corbin and a trip

North. This knowledge prompted Hayden to move inside and step closer

to the suitcase, but it was simple curiosity rather than suspicion

that made him examine the tag.

Not understanding yet the implications of his discovery, he simply

read the large block letters imprinted on the thin white cardboard.

The abbreviations told him at once that this suitcase had been

checked from New York to Mobile. The top numbers meant nothing but

there was a flight number that did. This had been written in with a

blue crayon, and as he repeated the number aloud he knew that this

was the same flight he had taken that morning.

He straightened slowly, his angular face twisting absently and his

dark gaze puzzled. He stood that way for long seconds, knowing that

Corbin must have been in New York recently. Then, stooping again, he

flipped the tag over and saw the date that had been stamped there.

Only then did he realize that Corbin had taken the same flight South

that he had, but exactly twenty-four hours earlier.

Why?

That is what he asked himself as he grappled with his new-found

information. He let his breath out slowly, not knowing that he had

been holding it. He considered the days of the week and a curious

feeling of tension began to work on him as he realized that Corbin

had probably been in New York the night Sam Adler was killed. The

assumption was sound but it was still only an assumption. Corbin

could have been in New York for any number of reasons. But when had

he arrived? How long had he stayed and what--?

The sound of the car moving in from the street to park alongside

the porch jerked his thoughts back to the moment, and his immediate

reaction was swift and impulsive. Not really thinking, not even sure

what prompted the move, he quickly loosened the cord that held the

tag. When he had a loop he slipped the piece of cardboard through the

opening and it came free in his hand. Even as he straightened again

a new thought came to disturb him but he dismissed it arbitrarily.

Maybe Corbin would miss that tag and maybe not, but it was too late

now for doubts, and he was back in the living room, the tag safely in

his pocket, when the door opened.

The big man’s grin seemed genuine as he entered the room, and there

was no indecision in his manner as he started for the bedroom,

stopping only long enough to pick up his glass and the whisky bottle.

“Bring your glass,” he said. “Water if you want it. I’d better start

packing.”

Hayden followed him to the door, a nervousness assailing him as

Corbin picked up the suitcase and tossed it on the bed. He watched

the big man pour a small drink and toss it off, saw him put the glass

aside and open the suitcase. When he turned to pull out a drawer in

the chest, Hayden gave a small and silent sigh of relief, emptied his

own glass, and started to relax.

“You were going to tell me about Adler,” he said. “And why you came

to Mobile.”

“Yeah,” Corbin said, “and the last part is easy. Once I finally

decided to make the break I thought of it right off and for three

reasons: I didn’t know anybody here and that meant nobody would know

me, I liked the country, and it was far, far away from New York.”

“You’d been here before?”

“One summer while I was in college I worked for a while on the docks.

I liked to hunt and fish even then, and this country gives you both.

Deer, quail, dove, turkey; even ducks if you want to go west a

hundred miles.”

He stopped to consider the things he had already packed and when he

continued there was a noticeable enthusiasm in his voice.

“As for fish, you name it, we’ve got it. I don’t mean you can just

toss out a line and get the limit any time you want to, but if you

like to fish this is the place. Fresh water, salt water. Lakes and

rivers, the Bay, Mississippi Sound, the Gulf. I’ll never forget a

trip I took that summer with four guys from the docks. We chartered

a boat at Bayou La Batre. We were out three days and we had fishing

that was fishing.

“Anyway,” he added, as though aware that he was digressing, “I

decided this was the place for me. I mean, after I finally decided to

run and that took a while. I remember I went from the motel over to

the air terminal and found out what I could about the crash. I was

still sort of in shock and I bought myself a bottle in a liquor store

there and I sucked on it from time to time. Maybe what I got out of

that bottle gave me the courage I needed. I got a bus into town and I

had this fifteen hundred bucks in my pocket and I knew that was all I

was going to have until I got down here and got a job. I found out I

could get a bus that afternoon that would take me here by way of New

Orleans, so I got myself a seat. But, what the hell, you don’t want

details.”

He again glanced about the room to see if he had forgotten anything.

“I picked the name Cannon--don’t ask me why--and I used it that

afternoon. I’ve been using it ever since. I got a room in a small

hotel and started looking for work. I couldn’t use my Social Security

card or driver’s license or anything like that, so when I got a

chance to go to work for this filling station at sixty bucks a week I

told the guy I never had had a Social Security card. I told him I’d

always worked on a farm, but he needed help and he wasn’t too fussy.

I got a new card and eventually a new driver’s license.

“After I’d been around awhile,” he said, “I got to like Fairview and

I finally got the job with Quinn. I hung onto my dough, and when the

next fall came around I did pretty good betting on the football games

again. I rented this place and got me a small boat, and before long I

found out that Quinn had a very attractive kid sister.”

“Connie?” Hayden asked.

“Connie,” Corbin said, and the smile in his eyes told Hayden how the

big man felt about the girl. “Quinn and I got along and I saved my

dough and now I’ve got a third interest in that filling station. I

thought I was all set. I had it made. The past was kicked and then

that son-of-a-bitch Adler turned up.”

“He must have known all the time,” Hayden said, having only a vague

idea of how such a thing could happen but understanding that this was

so.

“Hell yes, he knew.” Corbin stopped his packing and the blue eyes

were suddenly cold and resentful. “He started snooping and figuring

that first day. He didn’t have any angle then, but he could tell from

what I did that I had one. He wouldn’t let it go. He couldn’t figure

out why I acted the way I did and it bothered him. He had to find out

what I was after and if there was anything in it for him. He said it

was curiosity at first.”

“You got the story out of him?”

“I got it. He’d have made a damn good detective,” he added bitterly,

“especially a dishonest one.”

“He saw his pal get on the plane,” Hayden said.

“Sure. But what you have to understand, the thing that gave Adler a

chance to follow up was that I didn’t know these two were together.

How could I? I told you I was a little juiced when I walked into that

men’s room. I’m interested in trying on a new coat and getting out

of there. I notice a little guy slumped in the corner, his hat half

over his eyes like he’s trying to sleep. I see this other guy at the

opposite end of the room, reading a newspaper that looked like it had

been picked out of a trash can. This is the guy I see. This is the

fellow I gave the trench coat to.”

“When he found the ticket and your boarding pass in the pocket,”

Hayden said, “he decided to take a chance on using them and see if he

could get away with it.”

“Right.... They were horse players,” Corbin said, “and they were

trying to get to Florida or New Orleans, but they had only enough

dough between them to get one of them down there. They were hanging

around trying to keep warm and waiting for something to happen. The

minute they realized they had a chance to get my seat they pooled

their cash and Adler took it, the other guy figuring if he can make

New York he’s got friends who can give him a hand.

“And because I have to have a couple more drinks,” he added

savagely, “and I’m stupid enough to think maybe the plane will wait

for me, they pulled it off. Adler keeps an eye on me, at first to see

if I’m going back to the airline counter to make a beef and after

that just because he’s got that kind of curious, conniving mind. He

follows me over to the motel and knows that I register and go to my

room. He comes back to the terminal building and a few minutes later

he gets word of the crash. He’s got nowhere to go and nothing to do

so he hangs around. All he knows then is that his pal got a bad break

and that I’m a very lucky guy.”

He took a breath and said: “He’s still there the next morning when I

come in. He knows the score. He wonders what I’m going to do. He sees

me get the pint from the liquor store, and he can’t figure out why I

should be acting like that, so when I get a bus back to town, he’s

on it. By the time I get to the bus terminal in town I know what I’m

going to do. I buy a ticket to Mobile in the name of Ted Cannon, and

since he’s going South anyway he decides to come along.”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Hayden asked.

“I didn’t know he was alive,” Corbin said. “To me he’s a little

guy--he’s got dark glasses on now--I’ve never seen before. We even

have a little conversation on that trip because by now he knows I’m

doing a run-out and he’s beginning to smell a payoff somewhere. He

goes to the same cheap hotel I do, and a couple days later when I get

a job he finds out where I got it. After that I don’t see him again

until a couple of months ago when he turns up at the filling station.”

Hayden was ready to accept this much. He also knew that Corbin knew a

great deal about Sam Adler and somewhere in his mind a small seed of

suspicion began to put out shoots.

“But how could he know about Marion?” he asked.

“How could he miss with a mind like his? He read the papers, just

like I did. It was all there if you wanted it--names and addresses of

victims, those that had been identified, those that weren’t. Because

they didn’t know what caused the crash for a while, the insurance

angle came out too. Adler not only knew my New York City address

but he knew that Marion was going to collect seventy-five thousand

dollars. That was all he needed to get the idea that maybe someday

there’d be some dough in it for him.”

He closed the top of the suitcase and said: “I don’t mean he made

a career out of this during the next two years, but he always had

it in the back of his mind. And remember he was a horse player.

New Orleans, Hollywood, Miami in the winter; Aqueduct, Belmont,

Narragansett, Suffolk Downs in the summer. He may have had a little

help in New York--he didn’t say--to keep a check on what Marion did.

On one trip he found out she got married. He found out where you

lived. He never forgot that she had collected seventy-five thousand

dollars and he eventually found out that you had your own business

and were doing pretty well in it. When he got ready he made his first

move.”

“How?”

“He drove into the filling station one day,” Corbin said. “I knew I’d

seen him somewhere but I didn’t remember him. I thought he was just

another customer I’d seen before. He took that snapshot of me without

me knowing it. While I was working on the car I must have put my hand

on the hood because later he got somebody to lift those fingerprints

and photograph them. I didn’t know anything about it until he showed

up one evening and made his pitch.”

“Here?”

“Right in that other room. He showed me the two snapshots. He told

me when he’d taken them and why. He told me the story and it didn’t

make any difference whether I believed him or not; the point was he

knew what had happened. He knew I was Ted Corbin. He knew about the

insurance and he knew about Marion.”

He yanked the suitcase from the bed with a quick and angry movement.

He set it on the floor and when he turned there were hard bright

glints in the narrowed blue eyes.

“I told you he’d been snooping,” he said, “and not just about Marion

and you. Somehow he knew I had an interest in the gas station. He

knew about my car and my boat and Connie. He had to guess about one

thing--that we planned to get married--but he was right.”

“How much did he want?”

“Five thousand. He said he’d take twenty-five hundred now and I could

get the other twenty-five hundred up in six months or whenever I

could.... I should have killed him then,” he said savagely. “I’d have

been acquitted in this county. He was carrying a gun and I could have

sworn that he threatened me.”

Hayden considered the statement in the brief silence that followed.

He wondered about the phrasing of certain words but he did not dwell

on them because he had to know the rest of it.

“What _did_ you do?”

Corbin shrugged. He gestured emptily with one brown hand. His gaze

seemed distant and withdrawn and when he spoke the savagery had gone

from his tone.

“I guess I didn’t play it very smart,” he said. “I was too burned

right then to realize that he could hit you and Marion without ever

coming directly to me again. I started for him and knocked him down

and threw him out. I threw the gun out after him. I told him if I

ever saw him again or even heard from him he’d wind up in the Bay

with an anchor around his neck.”

He took a slow breath and the look in his eyes suggested that he was

seeing again the scene he had described. “I meant it,” he added with

quiet emphasis, “and Adler knew I meant it--”

His head jerked around as the sound of the telephone punctuated his

sentence. It was loud and startling, that sound, its unexpectedness

holding both men immobile until it rang again. This time Corbin

strode over and swept the instrument off its rack.

“Yeah?” He listened then and Hayden could see the quick frown and

the growing uncertainty in the blue eyes. “You sure?... Yeah....

Right.... Thanks, pal, I’ll be in touch when I can.”

He hung up and reached for the suitcase in the same continuous

movement. The frown was still there on the tanned good-looking face

but the eyes were thoughtful now and there was a thin, mirthless

smile on the mouth.

“My partner,” he said. “A Mobile cop, a sheriff’s deputy, and an

insurance man are looking for me. Let’s go.”

Hayden had to move fast to get out of Corbin’s way and then they were

crossing the living room and turning out lights and coming finally to

the screened porch. As they went down the steps Hayden said:

“How much time have we got?”

“Enough. Quinn had to give them an address, so he told them I lived

on North Oak Street. This is South. Follow me in your car,” he said.

Hayden did not argue. He tailed Corbin’s sedan until Corbin parked

it out behind the filling station, approaching from the side street.

Corbin transferred his suitcase to the back seat of Hayden’s rented

car and climbed in beside him. He said if the word was out he might

be picked up in his own car, but with a rented car there should be no

trouble.

_17_

Ted Corbin made a good suggestion as they came out of the tunnel

into downtown Mobile. The half-hour drive from Fairview had been

uneventful and silent, but now Corbin stirred in his corner of the

seat and Hayden could feel the shadowed gaze inspecting him.

“Did you rent this car in your own name?”

“I had to,” Hayden said. “Had to use my credit card.”

“Well, we know they’re looking for me. From what you say there could

be a fugitive warrant out for you.”

“There probably is.”

“I don’t know about flights out of here at this time of night. I do

know that an airport is one of the first places a cop would check,

and now that I’ve decided to go back I’d rather make the trip with

you than with the law.”

“What have you got in mind?”

“New Orleans. They’ve probably got twenty times as many flights a day

out of there as they have out of here and it’s a hell of a lot bigger

terminal. We can stop and pick up your bag at the motel and keep

moving.”

“How far?”

“Maybe three hours.”

“Okay,” Hayden said, “just keep me on the right road.”

“Stay on 90--all the way.”

At the motel Hayden did not bother to turn off the motor while he

went to his room and got his hat and coat and bag he had not yet

unpacked. When he started up again, Corbin settled back in his seat

and Hayden gave his attention to the traffic lights on Government

Street. He took no chances, then or later, and with the city behind

him and the divided highway joining finally to make a two-way road,

he got comfortable and settled down to his work. The highway signs

told him that the state speed laws were sixty miles per hour in

daylight and fifty at night, so he split the difference.

For a while the countryside was as he remembered it from his morning

drive from the airport except that it was flatter here and more

level. The headlights picked out oaks and pines, with here and there

a pecan orchard. Later there was a marshy area for a few miles and

presently a sign announced the city limits of Pascagoula. He took

care going through the town. He had to stop for a toll bridge which

carried them across a wide inlet or river, and then they rode inland

again until they came to Ocean Springs. Here a long bridge carried

them over a wide arm of Mississippi Sound, and then he was again

watching the traffic lights as they went through Biloxi.

For the next thirty miles or so the scene was unchanging. Through

Gulfport, Long Beach, and Pass Christian the divided road was

straight, the scene unvarying. On the left the beach was broad and

gently sloping; on the right, and stretching mile after mile as

one town gave way to another, the highway was bordered by homes

and spacious lawns, with only an occasional motel or restaurant or

filling station to break the residential continuity.

The beach ended in another toll bridge, and Corbin, who had been

dozing for the past hour, sat up and produced a quarter to make the

payment. Beyond the bridge was the town of Bay St. Louis, and Corbin

announced that in another twenty miles they would be in Louisiana. It

was some distance beyond--Hayden was never quite sure just where they

were--when the highway patrol car sped up behind them.

It happened suddenly and without warning. Hayden had been watching

the speedometer regularly, with an eye for the rear-view mirror from

time to time, but the patrol car was coming so fast that it was

almost on top of them before he saw the flashing red light and heard

the first wail of the siren.

His first reaction was one of sudden alarm and his foot eased

instinctively on the accelerator. There was guilt and despair in

his thoughts too until he saw that the speedometer said sixty, and

then he could only wait, the sweat breaking out on him and his voice

sinking as he said:

“Oh-oh.”

“What’s the matter?” Corbin said, and then he too heard the siren. “A

cop?” he said. “Oh, Jesus!”

“What’s the speed limit?”

“Sixty, I guess.”

“That’s all I’m doing.”

“Hold it that way. If we get picked up now were dead.”

The driver behind touched the siren again briefly as Corbin finished.

The lights were huge now in the rear-view mirror, so close that

Hayden had to concentrate to keep a steady course. An instant later

there was a quick _wssshhing_ sound and then there was nothing but

the fading throb of the sedan’s motor and twin taillights that were

quickly reduced to pinpoints before a slight curve blotted them from

sight.

Hayden felt his heartbeat start to slow down and the back of his

throat was dry. He swallowed, hearing Corbin’s soft curse. He let out

his breath and made an effort to steady his nerves, a new exultancy

working on him now that they were safe.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. “The guy must have been going

ninety.”

“I don’t know,” Corbin said. “All I know is I’m glad he kept going.”

The road had been straight for a long time and they had gone over

three small concrete bridges spaced two or three miles apart. Now,

coming around the curve, they saw in the distance the larger bridge.

Beyond it were flares, and as they drew close Hayden saw that it

was a swing bridge with three spans. He would have slowed down here

anyway, but the flares in the distance made him even more cautious.

He was doing no more than thirty when he saw the uniformed man with a

flashlight making sweeping gestures that ordered him to keep to the

left.

By that time he saw the car on its side in the ditch and the

white-painted wrecker. There were two highway patrol cars parked on

the shoulder; another car with its front end bashed in had slewed

around perpendicular to the road.

“So that’s why he was in such a hurry,” Corbin said with unmistakable

relief. “Keep going.”

“I am,” Hayden said and was very careful indeed until the lights

in the rear-view mirror were gone. As he pulled his speed back up

to sixty he said: “Whew! That guy scared hell out of me. How much

farther?”

“Maybe thirty miles,” Corbin said, “all of it easy. It just goes to

show what a guilty conscience can do to a guy.”

The highway cut flatly through lowlands and marshes now, with water

showing here and there in the marginal area outside the bright

beam of the headlights. Cheap cottages and fishing camps on stilts

flanked the road with increasing frequency, and once Corbin pointed

to a finger of water on the right and said it was part of Lake

Pontchartrain. Then they were moving into the outskirts of the city,

and Corbin, wide awake since the brush with the highway patrol, gave

Hayden directions until they came finally to Moisant International

Airport, with its spacious and modern terminal building.

“What do you want to do?” he said as Hayden moved past the approaches

and found a parking place.

“Find out when’s the best time to get out of here.”

“What about the car?”

“I don’t want to turn it over to the agent here, not while there’s a

chance they might already be looking for us. I can leave it parked

anywhere around here and phone the office just before we take off.

That way they can pick it up when they get around to it and bill me

for the difference.”

He paused to light a cigarette. “I don’t even want to drive it up to

the loading areas now. Too much light.... Why don’t you stay here and

keep an eye on our bags until I can check things and find out what

the score is?”

Corbin accepted the suggestion and Hayden started off, picking his

way through parked cars and coming to the lighted entrance where an

overhead clock told him it was five minutes of two. A policeman,

who was talking with a taxi driver, gave him no more than a passing

glance as he went on into the main waiting room, which seemed

strangely quiet and empty at this hour.

He slowed down here to inspect the unfamiliar area, noting signs

and directional arrows as he tried to orient himself. There was a

little movement on the floor, but mostly people huddled on benches

in couples and family groups, silent, sleepy-eyed, and half-comatose

as they waited for early-morning departures or friends who were

coming in on flights from South and Central American countries that

terminated here. No one paid him any attention as he continued on

his way, and he was grateful for this when he came finally to the

information counter.

What he learned from the lone attendant was not encouraging; neither

was it unexpected. There would be no more flights to New York until

morning. The first and best of these left at nine o’clock, but to

find out about space he had to continue on to the airline counter,

where a clerk, who had been working on a carton of coffee, put it

aside long enough to give him his attention. He consulted his charts

when Hayden asked his question and shook his head.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “That flight is sold out. We already have two

stand-bys and I’d be glad to add your name if you would like to take

a chance on some cancellations.”

“What’s my next-best bet?”

“We have a conventional flight at nine-twenty that makes two stops

and puts you into Newark.” He hesitated in order to consult another

sheet. “Also one at nine-forty with one stop that terminates at

Idlewild.”

“Which one gets there first?”

“The nine-forty flight.”

“Have you got two seats?”

“Yes, we have.”

“Can I pay for them in the morning?”

“Yes, but they must be picked up an hour before takeoff.” He picked

up a pencil. “The names?”

“J. Hastings and T. Cannon.”

Hayden thanked him, and as he turned away and his mind moved on,

a thought which had been submerged in his consciousness suddenly

demanded attention. Once considered, it took on a new urgency, and

he walked to the newsstand near the main entrance and bought a pack

of cigarettes, offering a five-dollar bill and asking for as many

quarters as the clerk could spare.

For he knew now that he had to talk to Marion. He had to know how she

was and what had happened; he had to tell her about Corbin. It was,

he knew, a hell of an hour for a man to call his wife, especially a

pregnant one--the difference in time meant that it was after three

o’clock in Connecticut--but he had to let her know that things were

going to be all right. He wanted to do it at once, but the thought of

Corbin took him through the doors and across the parking area. He saw

again the sign of the Hilton Motel he had noticed earlier and decided

this would be the place to spend the night....

The thought dissolved as he came to a stop beside the sedan. Without

actually moving he could feel his nerves recoil as he glanced quickly

about and the first thrust of panic hit him. He knew then that

he had the right car, just as he knew both seats were empty. Not

understanding this, not daring to speculate, he stood where he was,

shocked and incredulous, and this was long enough for the seed of

suspicion he had felt earlier to send out new roots. He started to

curse as the anger grew swiftly inside him, but even as he felt the

impact of his discovery he heard the soft whistle that came from one

side.

He spun about at the sound, peering into the shadows until he found

the pale outline of a face. It took shape as Corbin moved down from

behind another car, and suddenly he felt all weak inside as relief

provided a swift and certain antidote to his fears. When he was sure

he expelled his breath and his voice was rough and uneven.

“What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ducking a cop,” Corbin said calmly. “Just to make sure.” He pointed.

“I saw him start down the line of cars, heading this way. I thought

he was casing them. I didn’t want to take a chance. I got out and

ducked.”

Hayden took another breath as he regained his composure. “What

happened?”

“Nothing. I guess he was looking for his own car. He walked on by

just before you came, got into this Ford, and drove off.... What did

you find out?”

Hayden told him, and while the suspicion that had become rooted

in his mind still remained, he could find no fault with Corbin’s

defensive measures. It was the same way with him. Until the last

couple of days the law and its enforcers had been necessary adjuncts

to society, designed to keep people in line. His own experience

had been limited to a warning for a traffic violation. Now he not

only was a prime suspect in a murder case but he had been forced

to consider such things as bigamy and fraud. It was no wonder that

he felt continually jumpy and on edge, and he was a little amazed

that he could still carry on and do the things that had to be done.

Even Corbin, whose character suggested that he was not an unduly

imaginative man, felt the pressure, but now it was Hayden who had to

do the thinking and take charge. He was at once aware of this as the

big man said:

“Do we check in at that motel?”

“We can’t sit up all night in the terminal.”

“That’s what I mean. Do you want to drive over there and leave the

car?”

“We’ve got this far with it,” Hayden said. “Let’s leave it right

here.” He glanced over at the loading area and saw the three taxis

parked there. “Get your bag and take a cab,” he said. “Register for

both of us. I’m traveling as John Hastings--and tell the clerk I’ll

be along in a few minutes.”

Corbin did not argue. He pulled his suitcase off the back seat and

started through the cars without a word. Hayden stayed where he was

until he saw the other get into the taxi and drive off; then he got

his own things, rolled up the windows, and put the ignition key over

the sun visor, reminding himself that he must telephone the rental

company before he boarded the plane in the morning.

It was cool enough now to wear the topcoat, and when he had put

on his hat, he walked over to the lead taxi and put his bag in the

back. He told the driver to put down his flag and wait while he made

a phone call, and then he was inside and stepping into the booth. He

knew that it was possible that his own telephone might be tapped,

but he intended to give away nothing that would help locate him. All

the odds were in his favor now. He kept the thought in mind as he

deposited a coin and gave the local operator his home number.

He heard the number being relayed to a second operator, apparently in

New York, and with it came a request for payment. He listened to the

_bong_ of the quarters as they registered, the more metallic sounds

of the smaller coins as he made the exact change. Then he could hear

the distant ringing of the telephone, and he counted six times before

a voice that was sleepy and remote and familiar answered.

Marion came awake at once when she heard his voice and the words were

hurried and urgent as she asked how he was and where he was and what

he had been doing.

“Did you find him?” she asked finally.

“He’s with me now,” he said. “Never mind where. Let’s just say we’re

still in the deep South.”

“Will he come?”

“Tomorrow. What about you? Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Has the baby--?”

“It’s not the baby, it’s the police.”

He could hear her catch her breath and knew she was fighting her

tears. The sound of it made his heart turn over, but before he could

speak she said:

“Oh, darling, don’t you understand? They’re looking for you.”

“I know that.”

“They think you killed that man. Or I did. They say it was our

knife--”

“What?” Hayden heard the word distinctly but in the shock of his

surprise he could not accept it. “How can they think that?”

“They say it belongs to that set we have in the kitchen.... They

could be right,” she added, her voice rough with emotion. “One of

ours is missing. I can’t find it anywhere.”

She said other things along the same line, but he was too stunned to

absorb them until she said: “And there’s something else, John. That

girl at the tavern, Doris Lamar--”

“What about her?”

“She came to see me this evening. She said she knew something that

would help us.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“She says if I tell the police she’ll deny everything. She--she wants

money,” she added. “She doesn’t know who killed Adler but she says

she can help us.”

“All right.” He stopped and made a desperate effort to evaluate

what he had heard. He did not understand how this could be nor know

just what to say but he wanted to offer some words of comfort and

encouragement until he could get home. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her she’d have to wait until you came home.”

“Good girl,” he said.

“She warned me again not to go to the police--”

“That’s all right too. Sit tight, baby. You’re wonderful. I’ll call

you from New York sometime tomorrow afternoon, maybe late. Stick to

your story. And call on Roger Denham if you need him.”

“But suppose the police find you first.”

“They’re not going to find me. I’ll be back and so will Corbin. We’ll

work things out. Now please go back to bed and go to sleep. I’m going

to do the same.”

Some odd reaction born of strain and tension and uncertainty made her

giggle softly. “I’m already in bed.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard.... I love you.”

_18_

The flight to New York’s Idlewild Airport was a few minutes late

taking off from Moisant but lost no more time en route to Washington.

Hayden and Corbin, both wearing dark glasses now, did not sit

together and exchanged no words until they reclaimed their bags at

the terminal. As they stood waiting, Corbin came up to Hayden with a

cigarette in his mouth and asked for a light.

“Do we get a car?”

“We do.”

“You or me?”

“Have you got a credit card?” Hayden watched the big man nod. “Then

you’re elected. They won’t be looking for you here but they could be

looking for me. I’ll make a phone call and meet you out front when

you’re ready.”

He moved away, heading along a corridor that would take him to the

taxi stand, and stopped at the first public booth he came to. There

was no delay in getting the call through and Marion answered almost

at once.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, John. Is Ted with you?”

“He’s renting a car. Have you been out today?”

“This morning. To do some shopping.”

“Do you think you were followed?”

“No.”

“No police cars out front or down the road?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, and went on to tell her where to meet them. “We’ll

be in a sedan with New York plates,” he added. “If you’re followed,

don’t stop. Go back home and wait until I can think of something

else. If not, take the next right and pull off the road. Got it?”

“Yes, I think so. What time?”

“Five o’clock....”

Luck stayed with them as they crossed the bridge and came sedately

up the Hutchinson River Parkway and onto the Merritt. Corbin obeyed

all speed laws and they turned north in the fading light of the bleak

March day. This was a blacktop road and winding, and when they came

finally to the intersection Hayden had specified, he saw the station

wagon parked on the shoulder of the road just ahead.

Corbin drew in front of it and stopped. He looked at Hayden. “What

does a guy say at a time like this?” he asked.

“You’ll think of something. Come on.”

They got out and walked back. Hayden opened the door and slid over on

the seat and Marion’s arms went around his neck to give him a quick,

spasmodic hug before she kissed him. She let go reluctantly as Corbin

climbed in beside Hayden, her hazel eyes softly curious and a little

shy as she inspected the big man who had once been her husband.

“Hello, Marion,” he said, and offered his hand. “I thought I could

stay lost for good. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m sorry it

didn’t work out that way.”

She took his hand, held it momentarily, released it.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. “You were never cruel or mean or

spiteful.”

“Just stupid,” Corbin said wryly.

“Not that either. I’m awfully glad you came back.”

“I owed you that much. But that’s not all of it. I have a girl in

Alabama,” he said, an odd huskiness in his voice. “I was going to

marry her. I made a new life as Ted Cannon. I thought it would be all

right. It would have been if it hadn’t been for--”

He stopped here and they all knew what he meant.

“Maybe you still can,” Marion said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Hayden believed what he had heard, but there was a growing

impatience nagging at his brain and he knew there could not be much

more time left. He pressed his wife’s arm to get her attention.

“Anything new since last night?”

“I heard from Roger,” she said and looked at Corbin. “Did Adler phone

you Monday night?”

“Me?” Corbin’s blue eyes opened slowly and just as slowly narrowed

again. “No.”

“Why?” Hayden asked, the old but not forgotten suspicion finding new

nourishment. “What did Denham say?”

“The police were checking public telephone booths. They started

around here and widened the area. They found the record of a call

made to Fairview, Alabama from a booth just outside the Log Cabin

Restaurant on the Post Road. I wondered--”

“Not to me,” Corbin said.

The denial was no longer good enough for Hayden. Not any more. Monday

was the night Adler had taken Doris Lamar out dancing, the night he

had slugged George Freeman. Adler had tried to blackmail Corbin in

Alabama. He had been thrown out and threatened....

“What about Doris?” he said, new ideas forming in his mind now but

wanting to get as much information as he could. “Do you know _how_

she can clear us?”

“I don’t know if she’s telling the truth,” Marion said, “but I know

what she said. When she came last night she was embarrassed but she

was defiant too. It was as if a part of her was ashamed of the way

she was acting while another part insisted that she had a right to

make the proposition. She said you had already spoken to her about it

and she was accepting your offer. She said she knew she was going to

be in for some trouble in one way or another, but she might as well

get paid for it.”

“She must have seen something the night Adler was killed,” Hayden

said.

“She did. She told them at the tavern that she had a headache and

asked for time off to go home and get some special pills she had.”

“But she didn’t go home,” Hayden said, remembering what the woman had

told him when he had called at her cottage.

“She started over to see Adler. She thinks it was about twenty-five

minutes after eight or maybe eight-thirty. She had just started

through that parking space in the center of the motel when she saw

Adler’s door open. She stopped and stepped behind a car. She saw me

come out and hurry past her on my way to get back to where I had

parked the station wagon.”

“Ahh--” Hayden said.

“What?”

It took him a moment to reply because he had to be careful not only

of what he said but how he sounded. His first thought, which was one

of overwhelming relief, was mixed with other emotions more difficult

to analyze. He had at no time believed that Marion could have killed

Adler, but she had lied to him and the business of the knife that

she had told him the night before had been burrowing insidiously

in the back of his mind ever since. Now, taking a small breath and

concentrating on keeping his voice steady, he said:

“I mean, that’s wonderful. She went in to see Adler after you’d gone

and he was alive. That’s perfect. How long was she there?”

“She says it was only a few minutes. Adler started to make a drink.

He squeezed a lemon and was looking around for some sugar when they

heard this knock at the door. Adler didn’t know who it was. He said

he wasn’t expecting anyone, but Doris thought George Freeman might

have seen her and had come there to make trouble. So Adler told her

to step into the bathroom and close the door. He said if it was

Freeman, he’d get rid of him in a hurry.”

She stopped to moisten her lips and her eyes were wide and fixed as

they met his own. She seemed not to be trying to build suspense with

her hesitation but only searching for words; finally they came.

“That was when it happened,” she said. “While she was still in the

bathroom.”

Again the silence came and this time Hayden broke it. “How long was

she there?”

“She’s not sure.”

“Didn’t she hear anything?”

“Just some voices that she couldn’t understand or even identify. She

didn’t hear anyone raise his voice or cry out. She didn’t hear the

sound of anything falling. All she remembers is that suddenly there

weren’t any voices any more and she waited another minute or two

and finally inched the bathroom door open to take a look. First she

thought the room was empty, so she came out and then she saw him.”

She continued quickly, relating the things that Doris Lamar had told

her and trying to re-create the feeling of shock and horror and fear

that had come to the woman.

“When she realized he was dead she got out,” she said. “She didn’t

stop to think whether it was the wise thing to do. She says she was

too panicky to think, that she acted on the spur of the moment, and

the only thing she had in mind was to get away from there as quick as

she could. She came out and shut the door and started for the street

and then she saw this man walking past the office and coming her way.”

“Yes,” Hayden said as he remembered the moment and the impression

that had come to him that night. There had been a woman, but he had

never seen her or known what had happened to her. “It was me, wasn’t

it?”

“Yes. She says she hid behind a car and watched you go into the room.

The minute the door closed she ran.... Don’t you see, darling?” she

said, a break in her voice that she could not control. “If Adler was

dead before you came--”

He took her arm and squeezed it hard. He said he knew what she meant.

Ted Corbin, who had been silent and still during the past minutes,

shifted his weight on the seat and cleared his throat.

“You mean this dame knew about this all the time and wouldn’t tell

the police? What the hell kind of a dame is that?” he demanded of no

one in particular. “She knows neither of you did it and yet she’d let

you stand trial for murder--”

“No, Ted,” Marion cut in, leaning forward slightly, so she could see

him better. “She said if we were actually arrested and indicted she

would tell the truth.... Oh, she wasn’t proud of what she was doing,”

she added. “She said she wanted to get out of here and she had to

have some money. She said she knew she would be in for a hard time

with the police for not having told them the truth before, and now

she thought she ought to get something for the trouble the police

would give her.”

Because he knew a little about Doris Lamar, Hayden could understand

the situation and accept the motives which had prompted the girl’s

odd behavior. She could not make up her mind to settle down with

George Freeman. There had been a chance to break out with Sam Adler

and somebody had taken care of that too. He felt no resentment toward

her for having kept her knowledge to herself; what was important was

that her co-operation could be had, and now he straightened, his mind

made up.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll take it from here.”

A glance at his watch told him it was a quarter of six. That meant

he would have to go to Jerry’s Tavern to find Doris, but he did not

think it would be difficult to get her outside long enough to tell

her how he felt. He mentioned this aloud as he started to lay his

plans, and Marion contradicted him.

“She won’t be at the tavern,” she said. “She told me last night that

she quit yesterday.”

“That’s all the better,” Hayden said. “I can talk to her at her

place.” He looked at Corbin. “Do they know you at the motel?”

“No.”

“I’d like to use the rented car if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Marion can drop you off at the motel and you can register and stay

in your room until I get in touch with you. It shouldn’t be too long.”

* * * * *

Once in the rented car, Hayden moved circuitously by back roads

until he came to the highway approaching the village from the south.

Starting about five miles out of town he made inquiries at three

filling stations and each time he drew a blank. This brought him

finally to Lee Cramer’s place, and as he pulled to a stop beside the

gasoline pumps he was reminded again of that night four days earlier.

It was the same kind of day, windy and raw, and dusk was settling

fast. Lee Cramer looked just the same as he hustled from the shelter

of his cubelike office. The chief difference was that Cramer did

not recognize the car, and when he was close enough to see who

was driving it he seemed to falter and his gaze was both puzzled

and curious. The expression suggested that he might well know the

authorities were looking for Hayden, but that did not stop his

friendly greeting.

“Evening, Mr. Hayden.... New car?”

“A rented one, Lee,” Hayden said. “But I don’t need any gas. I’m

looking for some information and I thought maybe you could help me.”

“I can try.”

“I’m trying to check on a man that came into town Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday?” Lee nodded. “That would be the night the fellow was

murdered down at the motel.”

“That’s right. And this man would be a stranger. He might have

stopped to ask the same questions Adler did the night before. I

checked at three stations down the road but no one remembers him and

I thought you might. A big man, tall, well built, good-looking, with

a tan and maybe a touch of southern accent.”

Cramer frowned as he considered the question. He looked up at the sky

and then at Hayden. He shook his head.

“I can’t place him, Mr. Hayden. He didn’t stop here, at least not

while I was on.”

“When do you go off?”

“Around six-thirty usually. My son-in-law--he works in

Bridgeport--takes over for me most evenings.”

Hayden had to swallow his disappointment but, so long as there was a

chance, he could not quit. “Could you call him, Lee? Would he be home

now?”

“He should be,” Cramer said. “I’ll find out.”

He hurried off to disappear in the office and Hayden slumped down in

the seat and tried to be patient. He needed further corroboration for

the idea that had been forming in the back of his mind for the past

twenty-four hours, and the expression on Lee Cramer’s blocky face

when he hurried out of the office gave him new hope.

“That was a good hunch, Mr. Hayden.”

“He remembers him?”

“Just like you described him. He pulled in and asked if this was the

way to The Shady Maple. He also asked if Frank knew you. Frank said

not very well but he knew who you were.”

“Does he remember what time it was?”

“He says he thinks it was around eight-thirty but he can’t be real

sure.”

Hayden thanked him. He said he would explain later why the

information was important. Then he was accelerating back onto the

highway, his confidence mounting as the new and essential part of

the mental pattern fell into place. He drove swiftly but with care,

and in his mind was the comforting thought that all he needed was a

little more time. Give him that and he would be ready for the police

and their questions, and it was this thought that took him past the

tavern and the motel and brought him to the driveway on the left side

of the quiet street.

The archaic and empty mansion had a long-abandoned look now, and it

was too dark to read the For Sale sign as he drove past and came to

the cottage at the rear. He parked under the trees and switched off

his lights, hurrying now, aware that the shades were drawn but seeing

a dim crack of illumination in the front.

He was on the step then, knocking, his impatience dominating him.

He reached for the knob and when the door opened he pushed into the

room. What happened then came without warning.

It was not that instinct failed him; he never gave it a chance. The

urgency that had carried him this far had its own momentum, and he

was forever grateful that there had been no delay or indecision on

his part. For these minutes he had saved proved to be priceless, and

in the end his occupation with his thoughts saved him.

There may have been a moment when he was intuitively aware that

danger lurked beside him. He also realized too late that he had

stepped into darkness and he knew that this should not be. There

should have been no darkness, and he now found it both frightening

and impenetrable. In that same brief instant he could have heard some

movement close by, some whisper of sound that told him something was

horribly wrong. Later he knew it must have been that way because he

ducked automatically as he tried to check himself and turn toward the

unseen threat.

Even as he made his move he was hit and this time the darkness was an

ally. The blow missed his head but crashed solidly into the angle of

his neck and shoulder, a shocking, vicious smash that knocked him off

balance. The topcoat helped cushion the force of the impact, but his

effort to turn was much too late and he went down heavily, not hurt

but bewildered by the darkness and the unfamiliar surroundings.

He rolled instinctively as he hit the floor. He came to his knees,

still not seeing anything. He swore aloud and tried to lunge toward

the open door as he came to his feet, but he was moving blindly and

fell again as an overturned chair tripped him.

He knew as he finally regained his balance that whoever had attacked

him had gone. The night air was in his face as he felt his way to

the door and he closed it, hearing nothing outside, knowing that the

man had left the way he had come--by foot from the street beyond the

wooded area at the rear.

Only then was he really conscious of the quiet surrounding him. Only

then was he able to think of Doris Lamar, and he was suddenly so

scared and empty inside that he called out to her. He called again,

his voice rising, then fumbled frantically along the wall until he

found the electric switch.

He blinked against the sudden brightness, and then he saw her, and

now the fear was real and paralyzing. She lay crumpled near the

center of the room, skirts high and twisted, her face turned away.

But even then, unable yet to think or even to move, he could see the

stocking knotted about her neck and the dark stain that discolored

the bright yellow hair.

_19_

The fear that held John Hayden rooted to the floor in those next

awful moments was two-edged and stunning in its impact. For it was

not just the sight of the girl and the instant understanding of what

must have happened here; it was the realization that without her

there would be no testimony to be bought and paid for, no chance for

the truth that would clear Marion and himself to be told.

He was moving as the thought hit him, shucking off his coat and

tossing it aside, then dropping to one knee and lifting the limp

torso while he supported the back of her head. He could feel the

warmth of her body against him and he could see now that the

stocking held no knot but had simply been twisted across her throat,

apparently from the back. He saw the blood above and in back of the

temple even though the thickness of the blond hair obscured the wound

itself. But it was the color of her face that shocked him most.

There was a grayness beneath the make-up, and he spoke her name

again, not knowing that he did so. He touched her cheek and there

was warmth there, and he found a wrist and thought he sensed a pulse

beat. But she did not seem to be breathing, and he lowered her and

turned her face-down, frantic now and driven by a desperation that

had as its focus the determination to make her breathe again.

Without experience, not daring to take the time to call a doctor, he

moved astride her hips and put both hands beside the rib cage, low

down, his fingers pressing and relaxing as he shifted his weight. He

found a rhythm of sorts and hoped it was right. He counted, aware of

nothing but the warmth of her and the movement he induced.

He was not sure how long it was before he felt a stirring beneath his

fingertips. He was not even sure there was a movement at first. He

made himself keep to the rhythm but more gently now. Then he felt the

response and leaned close, his head beside hers, and heard the faint

and labored and wonderful sound of her breathing.

His hands were sweaty and trembling as he caught a breath of his own,

and it was then that he felt the cold draft sliding along the floor

to touch his spine and make him wonder. Before he could understand

this he heard the hoarse cry behind him and the sound of it made his

scalp crawl. Somehow he managed to jerk his head around and for a

long and terrifying second death stared back at him.

He saw the gun first and it was pointed right at him. He had no time

to think, but his reaction was spontaneous and instinctive and he

gave voice to it at once. He yelled, the words harsh and violent:

“_George!_ Wait! I found her like this. I just got here.”

He swallowed in an effort to speak again. He moved aside with great

caution, an inch at a time, his gaze fixed on George Freeman’s white

and twisted face. The back of his neck was cold and there was a great

emptiness inside him as he saw the tension in the hand that held the

gun and the wild unseeing eyes. He knew he had to get through to

the man, to make him see, and now he spoke again, his tone rough,

profane, and jarring.

“She’s alive,” he said. “Help me, goddammit! Put that gun down and

give me a hand!”

The face that had always seemed so bland and boyish remained pale and

twisted but something happened to the eyes. Something had registered

in the mind and there was a flicker of movement, a faint gleam of

recognition, as Hayden pressed his advantage.

“Call the police!” he snapped. “Get a doctor and an ambulance. Hurry,

damn it!”

That time the words got through. The gun wavered slightly, its

muzzle dipping, and he began to breathe again. He could feel the

perspiration break out on his forehead, the trickle of it down his

sides. He could hear the rapid pulsing of his heart as Freeman

finally moved.

“Who did it?” he demanded hoarsely.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“All right. But call a doctor first.”

He turned back to the girl to make sure she was still breathing.

There was no sign of consciousness and his helplessness dismayed him.

He wanted to do something about the wound on the head, but when he

saw there seemed to be no more bleeding he let it alone and listened

to Freeman give orders over the phone.

* * * * *

The first person to arrive in response to George Freeman’s

telephone call was a uniformed State Policeman, a stone-faced,

competent-looking fellow who, after his first quick glance about

the room, went directly to the girl. When he straightened he asked

a minimum of questions as he stepped over to the telephone. He was

still talking when the doctor arrived.

Hayden, who had sat down on the couch because of the odd weakness

in the back of his legs, watched the man take off his hat and coat

and then move over to kneel beside the girl. He spent some time

parting the blond hair and examining the wound; finally he pointed

to the mark on her throat. He picked up the stocking that Hayden had

discarded and glanced around.

“Did somebody try to strangle her?”

Hayden said he thought so. He explained where he had found the

stocking and what he had done.

“I thought she was alive,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell whether she

was breathing or not, so I tried to give her artificial respiration.”

“It did no harm,” the doctor said, “and it might have helped.” He

cocked his head and Hayden heard the distant wail of a siren. It

faded as he listened, but now there was a sound of a car moving down

the driveway and the doctor said: “If that’s the ambulance will you

ask them to come right in?”

Freeman, who had been standing near the door and saying nothing,

turned and went out. When he returned he was followed by two men with

a stretcher and blankets. As they put the stretcher down beside the

girl the State Policeman spoke.

“Maybe the lieutenant ought to see her, Doc,” he said.

“I think it’s more important that we get her into oxygen right

away,” the doctor replied and gave a silent signal to the two men.

They lifted her gently onto the stretcher and tucked a blanket about

her. At a nod from the doctor they raised the stretcher, and as they

started out he said he would call the hospital and alert them.

He had just finished with the telephone when Lieutenant Garvey came

in with another officer who was also in plainclothes, a blocky,

black-browed man a few years younger than his superior. He saw Hayden

in his first all-inclusive glance, but if he felt any surprise it did

not show. He apparently had been given some information either by

telephone or radio and he now turned directly to the doctor.

“How bad is she?”

“Hard to tell.” The doctor glanced at Hayden. “I believe he can

give you the details. All I can tell is that she has a concussion,

possibly a severe one. We can’t know about a fracture until we’ve

taken some pictures.”

“Will she live?”

“I’d say she has a reasonable chance.” He gestured with one hand.

“But concussions are tricky. It’s not a sure thing by any means.”

“How long before she’ll be conscious?”

“Maybe an hour. Maybe a day, a week, maybe never.”

When the door closed behind the doctor, Garvey gave his full

attention to Hayden. He took his time, the deep-set gray eyes probing

and intent, his lips compressed but not grim.

“Have a good trip?” he asked dryly.

“I think it was worthwhile.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I got what I went after,” Hayden said. “I brought Corbin back with

me.”

“Corbin?” Garvey considered the name. “That would be Mrs. Hayden’s

first husband? Where did you locate him?”

“In Fairview, Alabama.”

“That’s across the Bay from Mobile. You must have beat the local boys

to it.”

“But not by much.”

“Did you fly out of Mobile?”

“New Orleans.”

“That was smart. You knew they were looking for him.”

“I knew they were looking for me.”

“How long have you been back?”

“About an hour.”

Garvey nodded and his attitude was suddenly more businesslike than

skeptical. “Okay, we’ll get to that later. What brought you here?

What happened?”

Hayden told him, and it was an easy thing to do because the scene was

still so vivid in his mind. Garvey listened without interruption, his

gray gaze speculative but attentive until the story was over.

“You thought you saw a light in here when you got out of the car,” he

said, “but when you walked in it was dark.”

“That’s right. Before I had a chance to wonder about it he jumped me.”

“Then if you’d been a couple of minutes later he would have finished

the job on the girl.” He thought it over a minute, his lips pursing.

“You were trying to give her artificial respiration when George

Freeman walked in on you, is that right?”

“I’d just finished.”

“And he had a gun?” He glanced about the room and suddenly his eyes

narrowed and he looked at the plainclothes man who had come with him.

“Where is he, Malone?”

“The last I saw of him he went in there.” Malone pointed to the

bedroom. “I thought he was going to the john.”

“Take a look,” Garvey said and waited until the detective returned

alone, a sheepish expression on his face. “Take a look outside.” He

watched the other leave and turned back to Hayden. “What brought you

here in the first place?”

“Is it important?”

“It could be.”

Hayden stood up and reached for a cigarette, his brown eyes somber

and troubled as he considered his reply. Then, because it was

something that had to be done, he decided to tell the truth.

“If Doris Lamar doesn’t live I can’t prove this,” he said, “but Doris

came to my wife and told her she had information that would clear

both of us. She said she would deny it if my wife went to you. She

wanted money and she said she was willing to take her chances on any

trouble you could give her if she got paid for what she knew. I came

here to find out how much she wanted.”

The skepticism still showed on Garvey’s face. He asked other

questions and Hayden answered them. He was still at it when Malone

came back and shook his head and now Garvey said: “All right, we’ll

pick him up later.”

Before he could continue Hayden spoke. “I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Such as what?”

“There’s a lot of talking to be done,” he said, “so why couldn’t we

do it at my place instead of here?”

“Why?”

“I told you I brought Corbin back with me. He should be at The Shady

Maple now. You’re going to want to question him because he knows a

lot about Sam Adler. My wife still doesn’t know how Corbin happened

to miss that plane in Capitol City two years ago. She doesn’t know

what Corbin did and what was happening during those years.

“Also,” he continued, “I’ve got some ideas about Corbin myself. I

understand that my wife and I are still under some suspicion of

murder and I’d like to get out from under. So why not go down to my

place and have it out in one session? If you don’t mind, I’d like to

get my lawyer there too, just in case.”

Such arguments had a reasonable sound and even Garvey seemed

impressed. He glanced at Malone, then back at Hayden. For another

second or two he hesitated as the logic behind the request came

through to him and a glimmer of something that might have been

respect replaced the doubt in his gray eyes.

“Call your lawyer,” he said. “You may need him. Tell him to meet you

at your place.”

He belted his trench coat as Hayden dialed Roger Denham’s number and

stated his request. When he hung up, Garvey was waiting.

“Get your coat,” he said. “I’ll pick up Corbin. Would he be

registered under that name?”

“He’s been using the name Cannon for the past couple of years,”

Hayden said. “You could try that first, but whoever’s on the desk

should remember him.”

Garvey nodded again. “I’ll get him, and Freeman if I can find him.

Malone can ride with you,” he added. “Like you said--just in case....

Okay?”

_20_

John Hayden had hoped that he would be able to talk to Marion alone

before Lieutenant Garvey took charge of the investigation, but there

was nothing he could do about it now. He could see the uncertainty

in the hazel eyes when she saw Malone, and he had no choice but to

introduce the detective and tell her that Garvey was on his way over

with Ted Corbin.

By the time he had taken care of their coats and Malone had settled

himself on the divan, the doorbell rang and he went over to admit

Roger Denham. The lawyer’s bespectacled gaze was bright and curious,

but he shook hands warmly when he stepped inside.

“I’m certainly glad to see you,” he said. “When I got your note and

found out what you intended to do I thought it was a foolish move,

but Marion tells me you pulled it off. Where’s Corbin now?”

“At the motel. Lieutenant Garvey’s bringing him over--that is, if he

hasn’t skipped.”

He introduced Malone and took Denham’s coat, and then he spoke of

Doris Lamar. He kept his account of what had happened as brief as he

could, seeing the surprise in Denham’s eyes and the look of shock and

incredulity in his wife’s face. To give her some encouragement, he

stopped beside her chair to take her hand.

“She’s still alive,” he said. “She has a chance.”

“But if--”

“Don’t think that way,” he cut in. “I’ve told the lieutenant what she

told you and--”

“But I don’t understand. Who could have done it, John? Who?”

He had no chance to answer the question, and for this he was grateful

because he was not ready for it. He came quickly to his feet as the

doorbell rang again, and then Lieutenant Garvey and Ted Corbin were

in the room and it was time for Garvey to take the floor.

Once again he declined Hayden’s offer to take his coat, but he opened

it and sat down, putting his hat beside the chair.

“Detective Ball is at the hospital with the Lamar woman,” he said.

“We may hear something, we may not. I understand one of you”--he

glanced at Corbin and then back at Hayden--“is going to tell me why

Corbin disappeared. You’re going to tell me what Adler knew about

that disappearance. But first I’d like to ask _you_ some questions,

Mr. Hayden.”

He paused, the gray eyes steady, and something in that look told

Hayden he wasn’t going to like the questions.

“You went to Mobile and Fairview to look for Corbin. That means you

knew he was alive.”

“I thought he might be.”

“What made you think so?”

It was Hayden’s turn to hesitate, and when he understood that evasion

and temporizing would get him nowhere he decided to do the best he

could with the truth.

“Adler came to my wife and told her so.”

“He wanted money to stay quiet about it?”

“Yes.”

“She told you. You went to Mr. Denham for advice and then you went to

The Shady Maple. Now what took you to Mobile? How did you know Adler

might have come from there?”

“You told me later.”

Garvey’s brows lifted. “So I did. All right. Now assuming Corbin

lived in that area, how did you expect to find him? No one knew him

by that name. You had to have some kind of a lead, a photograph or

something--”

Hayden was already reaching for the snapshots and the enlargement of

the insignia on the coveralls Corbin had worn when the picture was

taken. He offered them, saw Garvey’s eyes narrow as he inspected them.

“You took them from Adler’s wallet,” the lieutenant said. “You denied

being there that night.”

“I had to deny it. If you had known what Adler wanted then, and there

was always a chance those negatives would turn up--as a matter of

fact they did--then you would have known I had both a motive for

murder and the opportunity. You might have arrested me that first

night.”

“We might have.... So how did you finally locate Corbin?”

Hayden told him in detail about his search the previous day, and when

he finished Garvey cleared his throat.

“Now that we’ve got that part straight let’s let it go for now and

get back to Adler and how _he_ knew Corbin was alive.”

Hayden looked over at Corbin, who was sitting in his chair, supported

by shoulders and buttocks, his long legs stretched out with ankles

crossed.

“Do you want to tell it?”

Corbin lifted one hand, tipped it. A small smile twisted his tanned,

good-looking face and his voice was unconcerned.

“Go ahead. You’re better with words than I am.”

Hayden reached for a straight-backed chair and sat down. He said what

he had to say was going to take quite a while and to make any sense

he would have to explain why Corbin had decided to disappear when the

opportunity came to him.

He spoke as briefly as he could about the marriage that could no

longer survive and the circumstances which had taken Corbin to

Capitol City in the first place. Recalling all the things that the

big man had told him, he re-created a verbal picture that included

the money Corbin had won with his football bets, the trench coat, the

offering of that coat to the man who had none, the timing of Corbin’s

movements in the air terminal that made it possible for the stranger

to board the plane in his place.

He did the best he could with Corbin’s thoughts and movements, once

he heard the aircraft had crashed. He spoke of the bus trip from the

airport to Capitol City and from there to Mobile. He told of Adler’s

curiosity, his feeling that if he was patient and played his cards

right he might someday be rewarded for what he knew.

“The newspaper accounts told him about Marion and the insurance

money,” he said. “For two years he continued to check on her and

Corbin. He knew she had married again; he knew about me. He also knew

that Corbin had done pretty well and that he had a girl he expected

to marry. He took a snapshot and got a photograph of Corbin’s

fingerprints and then he was ready for the payoff.”

He stopped, aware that he had been talking a long time, that the

back of his throat was dry. He glanced over at Roger Denham in his

well-tailored, three-button suit. Corbin was still stretched out

in his chair and Marion, sitting in the opposite corner of the

divan from Garvey, had pulled her legs up under her, her knees

bent. Neither Garvey nor Malone had interrupted him, and now he

concentrated on arranging the facts as he knew them so he could bring

the story up to date.

“Adler went to Corbin first,” he said. “He told him what he knew and

promised to stay quiet for five thousand dollars. He had a gun with

him but Corbin took it away and threw him out and threw the gun after

him. He warned him if he opened his mouth again he would wind up in

Mobile Bay with an anchor around his neck. I think Adler believed

him. I think he’d had enough of Corbin, so he came North to see how

much he could collect from us.”

He took a breath and said: “But Adler wouldn’t let well enough alone.

He resented the treatment Corbin had given him and he was now fifteen

hundred miles away. Being the kind of person he was, he couldn’t

resist telephoning Corbin and telling him that he was going to

collect anyway.... You found out about that phone call, didn’t you?”

he said to Garvey.

Garvey considered the question and decided to answer it affirmatively.

“It came from a booth near the Log Cabin,” Hayden said. “It was made

on the night Adler took Doris Lamar there, the night George Freeman

tried to jump him. I think that call was to Corbin and it was a

mistake because Corbin flew up here to stop him.”

“Now wait a minute.” Corbin pulled in his legs, put his hands on

the chair arms, and lifted himself to a sitting position. He leaned

forward slightly, brows bent and his jaw hard. “Just because Adler

called me doesn’t mean I came.”

Hayden stood up and produced the baggage tag he had removed from the

big man’s suitcase the night before when Corbin had gone to see his

girl for a few minutes. He gave the tag to Garvey.

“Corbin had to stop Adler,” he said. “What was happening was his

fault and he wasn’t just thinking about himself. He didn’t want

Marion to get hurt for something he did if he could help it.”

Garvey inspected the tag, turned it over, and he needed no diagram.

He looked at Corbin.

“This says you flew from New York to Mobile Wednesday morning. That

means you were probably in New York Tuesday night.”

“I can take it a little farther than that,” Hayden said. “I can

_prove_ he was in town Tuesday night.” He paused, conscious of

Corbin’s stare, but when there was no interruption he explained how

he had checked the filling stations that afternoon and what he had

learned from Lee Cramer.

“Cramer’s son-in-law remembers Corbin,” he said. “He can identify him

if necessary. So I say Adler not only made the mistake of bragging

about what he was going to do, he also told Corbin where he was

staying. Corbin asked directions to The Shady Maple. He was looking

for Adler and--”

“So what?” Corbin cut in harshly, his tanned face shiny with

perspiration. “That doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“When he told me how he had threatened Adler in Fairview,” Hayden

said to Garvey, “an expression he used bothered me. I suppose it’s

only a matter of semantics and it certainly isn’t proof, but I

remember the sentence. He said: ‘_I should have killed him then._’”

He paused to make sure they understood him. “Why should he say it

that way? Why should he use the word _then_? Why not simply: ‘I

should have killed him’?”

Garvey coughed and the sound of it got their attention. “You admit

being here that night, Mr. Corbin?”

“I guess I have to,” Corbin said. “But that’s all I’ll admit. Sure I

stopped at the filling station and asked where The Shady Maple was.

But I didn’t register. I never stepped on the property. I guess it

was around a quarter of nine when I parked and I was hungry. I wanted

some time to think, so I went over to the tavern and had a couple of

drinks and a sandwich. By the time I had finished the police cars

were in the street. There were a few people out there watching and I

asked somebody what had happened and they told me.”

He swallowed visibly and said, a note of desperation in his voice: “I

hung around just long enough to find out who had been killed. I knew

how it would look if I got caught there, so I got the hell out. I

drove back to the airport and spent the night in a motel and took the

nine-thirty plane out in the morning.”

Garvey looked at Hayden. “Did you actually talk with Lee Cramer’s

son-in-law?”

“I talked with Lee,” Hayden said. “I waited while he telephoned the

son-in-law and that’s what he said.”

Garvey stood up and began to belt his trench coat. He nodded at

Malone and the plainclothes man was already reaching for his coat.

He looked at Corbin, who had leaned forward in his chair, a shocked,

incredulous look stamped on his face.

“You’d better come along with us, Mr. Corbin.”

“But I’m telling you the truth,” Corbin said.

“You’ll have a chance to prove it.”

For another second or two the big man remained where he was. He

looked at Hayden and at Marion and then, as though it occurred to him

that no one here could help him, he stood up, his jaw set.

“All right,” he said, “but I want a lawyer.” He looked at Denham.

“How about you?”

Denham came to his feet. “This sort of thing is a little out of my

line,” he said, “but I can recommend someone.” He took a notebook

from his pocket and wrote a few lines with an automatic pencil. He

passed the slip of paper to Corbin. “Both of these are good men,” he

said. “If you have trouble reaching them, call me.”

Corbin pocketed the piece of paper and went over to get his coat. He

put it on and made a final effort to convince Garvey.

“I admit Adler called me,” he said. “I came up here.”

“To stop him.”

“Well--yes. I suppose so.”

“You didn’t care how?”

“I didn’t think about that. I only knew I couldn’t let him foul up

Marion’s life for something that was my fault. I didn’t stop to think

how I was going to stop him, but I scared the hell out of him once

and I figured to do it again.”

“All right, Mr. Corbin,” Garvey said quietly, “you’ll have your

chance to prove that.”

The telephone rang in time to punctuate the sentence, and there was

a moment of silence as they all exchanged glances at the unexpected

sound. When Hayden stepped over to answer it a man’s voice asked for

Lieutenant Garvey, and he turned to offer the telephone. They stood

listening self-consciously as Garvey said:

“Yeah.... Wait a minute.” He put the telephone down beside the cradle

and looked at Hayden. “Would there be an extension?”

“In the bedroom,” Hayden said, and led the way.

When he came back he saw that Marion had come to her feet and was

standing close to Ted Corbin, not touching him but looking up at

him, her smooth brow furrowed now with concern and the hazel eyes

compassionate. They seemed not to be aware of anyone else in the room

at the moment and he heard her say:

“I’m so sorry, Ted.”

“Forget it,” Corbin said, his voice gruff. “It’s my own damn fault.”

“But--you came up here to help me.”

“Why not? Just because we couldn’t cut it as man and wife doesn’t

mean I don’t still like you. I’ve always liked you; you know that.

And, what the hell, I’m the guy that had that brilliant idea two

years ago.”

“I’m not blaming you for that.”

“I know you’re not.” He reached out and took her hand. “And whatever

happens, don’t worry about the divorce thing. We can work something

out in a hurry and--”

He stopped as the door opened and Lieutenant Garvey came back into

the room. He let go of Marion’s hand and stepped aside. And Hayden,

seeing the lieutenant’s frown, felt an odd tingle of excitement that

had come from nowhere and was motivated by nothing more than the

expression on Garvey’s face.

“That was Detective Ball from the hospital,” he said, taking time to

look at Hayden and then at Marion. “The Lamar girl was conscious for

a little while and Ball had a stenographer with him.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Marion asked quickly.

“They’re not sure about that part,” Garvey said, “but she did tell

Ball a few things.... You’re a couple of lucky people,” he said and

the frown went away. “She corroborated the story she told you. She

says Adler was alive when you left, Mrs. Hayden, and she insists that

he was dead”--he glanced at Hayden--“when she saw you step into that

motel room.”

“Does--she know who tried to kill her?” Hayden asked.

“She says no.” Garvey looked at Corbin. “Ready, Mr. Corbin?... You

don’t need to come to the door,” he added to Hayden. “We know the way

out.”

_21_

For several seconds after the outer door closed there was nothing

but silence in the room. Each seemed busy with his own thoughts and

their glances were averted. In his own mind, Hayden was aware of

his tangled ideas and an odd sense of frustration mingled with the

relief that had come when he knew Doris Lamar had told her story. He

also knew what he wanted to do but he was not sure how to go about

it, and when the air of depression that hung in the room finally made

itself felt he broke it abruptly and with determination.

“I need a drink,” he said, and looked at his wife.

She nodded, took a breath with lips tight, and expelled it forcibly.

“Me too, please.... Roger?”

Denham went back to his chair, his smile diffident as he considered

the invitation. “You know how it is with me but--well, all right. A

weak Scotch and soda.”

Hayden wheeled and headed for the kitchen. It seemed strangely cool

as he entered, but he did not wonder about it until he was back at

the sink working on an ice tray. When he finally became conscious

of the change, he turned slowly and noticed that the door to the

breezeway was ajar. He closed it automatically without thinking any

more about it, and went on to pour the drinks. He had them made

before his glance touched the knife rack and stopped to focus there

as he saw the one empty space.

Denham thanked him for the drink, and Hayden went over and sat

down beside his wife. He wanted to say “Cheers” but found the word

distasteful, so he merely lifted his glass, nodded, and drank as

Marion responded. She lowered her glass and sighed again, the hazel

eyes still despairing.

“I simply can’t believe it,” she said. “Maybe it’s because I don’t

want to believe it.”

“If you mean Corbin,” Denham said, “he looks to me as if he could be

a pretty rough character with the proper provocation.”

“I suppose he could be. But that poor girl--”

“Did he know she had offered to give you an alibi for a price?”

“Why”--she glanced at Hayden--“yes, I guess he did.” She spoke of

their conversation in the station wagon when they had parked on the

back road. “I told John and Ted the same thing I told you.”

“I suppose he felt he couldn’t take a chance,” Denham said. “She

admitted being in the motel bathroom when Adler was murdered. Maybe

Corbin thought she might have known something else that would

incriminate him. If he had that in mind it would be easy enough to

ask someone where she lived. It’s only a couple of blocks from the

motel.”

Marion shook her head and remained unconvinced. She had her chin up

and her mouth had a stubborn twist that Hayden had seen before when

she was upset about something.

“I’ll never believe it,” she said. “With that man Adler it could have

happened. He might have threatened Ted or pushed him too far. But not

that girl. I lived with him three years. I should know what he was

like. He wouldn’t hurt a woman, not deliberately. No.” She gave her

dark hair another toss. “I don’t believe it.”

Hayden took a small breath and knew it was time for him to give her

some help. “Neither do I,” he said.

“Oh, come now.” Denham’s smile was superior, his tone condescending.

“It’s not what you want to believe that matters. All facts point to

Corbin and you both know it. If he didn’t, who did?”

“I think you did, Roger,” Hayden said. “I think it had to be you.”

He heard Marion’s small gasp, saw the grin fix itself on Denham’s

face. Behind the glasses the pale eyes had strange lights in them as

they narrowed coldly.

“That’s not very funny.”

“I agree,” Marion added. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m saying Roger killed Adler.”

Again he heard the quick words of protest, and when he made no

comment a sort of delayed reaction set in and he felt the tension

start to build in the room as they realized he meant what he said.

He could feel his wife’s eyes upon him, but he was watching Denham

and he heard him laugh derisively.

“You’re out of your mind,” he said finally. “Why should I do that?”

“Because you’re sick,” Hayden said. “You must have been sick for a

long time.”

“Sick?” Denham said. “You’re babbling. I was healthy enough to lead

a Ranger outfit in Korea and I’ve kept myself fit ever since. I’m in

better shape right now than you ever were.”

“The sickness I’m talking about is in your head, Roger. Who was it

you hated most? Was it Marion, or me, or both of us?”

“John!” Marion said, her voice sharp. “Look at me.” She waited until

Hayden obeyed. “You’re wrong. Roger couldn’t hate us. He was my

friend.”

“That’s what we thought,” Hayden said.

“But why should he kill Adler? He never knew the man, never even

talked to him.”

“That’s what made the plan so good. But if he killed Adler, and I say

he did, there can only be one motive.” He looked at Denham. “Do you

want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.” Denham leaned back and crossed his knees. “But if

you insist I’ll listen.”

“You were in love with Marion once,” Hayden said, “if anyone as

cold-blooded, self-centered, and stiff-necked as you could ever be

in love. She must have sensed that because, while she accepted you

as a friend and companion, she wanted no part of you physically. You

couldn’t get to first base and you couldn’t understand it. You had a

fine background, social position, money, intelligence, and reasonable

good looks, and what happened? She married someone from the other

side of the tracks who had nothing much to offer except that physical

attraction and a certain personal warmth.

“That marriage didn’t work out,” he added quickly, “and that must

have pleased you. After that plane crash you stood by as the family

friend and you probably figured that this time you could get what

you wanted. Instead of that, she married someone who, according to

your standards, didn’t have much more to offer than Corbin. So the

hate and bitterness kept eating away at you and there was nothing you

could do about it, nothing. No way you could pay Marion back until

Sam Adler showed up and gave you a chance.”

He took a breath, aware of Denham’s bright and narrowed stare but no

longer bothered by it. “It wasn’t enough that he could prove Corbin

was alive and complicate our marriage until something could be worked

out. It wasn’t enough that I would have to go into debt for a long

time to repay the seventy-five thousand dollars Marion had collected.

You saw a chance to make one or both of us stand trial for murder.

You were going to hang something on us that we’d never live down, and

you might have made it if it hadn’t been for Doris Lamar. Sam Adler

meant nothing to you. You’d killed men before in Korea. Adler was

only a means to an end, and you killed him the same way you set up

the frame for us--cruelly, deliberately, without compunction, without

pity.”

“John!”

Again Marion interrupted him and he saw that her face was pale, the

eyes stricken by what she had heard.

“You’re guessing,” she said. “You’re making it up.”

“All right,” Hayden said, “I’m guessing. But I’m not making up the

fact that Adler was killed with a knife from our kitchen. Is that

right? That’s what the police say, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but--”

“So who but Roger could have taken that knife? Not Corbin. He didn’t

get into town until that evening. Not George Freeman.”

He could tell by the look on her face that he had scored this time

and he continued, ignoring Denham.

“Only you and I and Roger knew why Sam Adler was here and what he

wanted. Roger was your good friend,” he added, unable to keep the

bitterness and resentment from his tone. “You told him everything.

He knew where Adler was staying. He knew about the photographs Adler

had. He knew I was coming to see him and he felt sure I would go to

the motel to have it out with Adler after I’d left him. When I came

home Tuesday night and went out to the kitchen to make a drink that

knife was missing. I didn’t think much about it then. I didn’t even

consider it until you told me the police thought it came from our

kitchen.

“You had already had a drink when I came in Tuesday,” he added.

“Roger had been here and knew the story. You’d had a drink with him,

and he must have been in the kitchen with you. That’s when he took

the knife. That’s the only time he could have taken it, so he must

have known then that he was going to kill Adler and frame us if he

got the chance. I don’t know what his original plan was, but I made

it easier for him.”

He looked at Denham. “Didn’t I, Roger? When I left you Tuesday night

I told you I was going to stop at the tavern and get a double brandy

before I went over to have it out with Adler. I wanted a little time

to pull myself together and that was all you needed. You must have

followed a minute or so later. You knew exactly where to find Adler.

What you had to do couldn’t have taken more than another minute or

two. You thought the police would find the snapshots on him and

discover what they meant. You knew they’d eventually trace the knife.

You were on your way home before I even left the tavern. Luck was

with you all the way except for one thing--Doris Lamar.”

He paused again, the tension winding a little tighter inside him and

the bitterness he could no longer control edging his words.

“Marion still counted on your help and she told you the proposition

Doris made. She said so a few minutes ago when you asked if Corbin

knew about Doris. You were going to kill her too, not because she

could put the finger on you, but because you knew that if she talked

she would give us both alibis and that might make the police consider

you. With her dead we would be in exactly the same position you set

up for us. One or both of us would probably eventually have stood

trial for murder and that was what you wanted. That was what you

had to have. Two minutes longer and you would have made it, but you

didn’t dare go after her until it was dark and I got there before you

could finish the job.”

Denham uncrossed his legs and sat up. If he was concerned by what he

heard it did not show. His control and reactions were superb, and

except for a tightness around the mouth and the bright, pitiless

glints in his eyes there seemed to be no outward change in his

appearance.

“What was all the business with Ted Corbin for?” The words were

measured and sardonic. “What was the idea of trying to make a case

against him with the police?”

“What I said about him was true,” Hayden replied. “But when the

police check him out at the tavern they will probably find out he

is in the clear and that will bring them back to the knife again,

Roger. I’ve read about people who brooded over some injustice, real

or fancied, and built up a personal private hate until it became a

phobia or a fixation or a neurosis. I wanted to find out how it was

with you. I wanted Marion to know the truth about you once and for

all.”

The remarks did not seem to bother Denham. He ran his fingers through

his short, brown hair, and from what he said then it was apparent

that he had not heard much of what Hayden had just said.

“You said I had a bad break with Doris Lamar,” he said. “I made one

other mistake and that was about you, John.”

“Yeah,” said Hayden. “I’ve got the picture. I live a well-ordered

life. I have no real drive, no spark; I’m dull, conventional,

law-abiding. A peasant.”

Again Denham did not seem to hear him. There was, somehow, a far-out

look in the cold, bespectacled eyes. They were directed at Hayden,

but he was not sure they actually saw him, and the look was suddenly

disturbing.

“I misjudged you,” Denham said in the same, toneless voice. “I fixed

the door latch so you could walk in on Adler. I thought when you did

and found out what happened you’d be too shocked--maybe stupid is the

word--to do anything but call the police. That’s what the average

levelheaded citizen would do. Why not you?”

“I wasn’t very levelheaded at the time,” Hayden said. “I was thinking

of Marion, and myself, and Ted Corbin. I looked for the snapshots and

I found them. I might have destroyed them and called the police then.

That’s what I wanted to do--until I remembered that if there were

snapshots there had to be negatives. When I couldn’t find them in the

room--”

“That was smart,” Denham said. “And the Mobile police did find the

negatives. But that took a little time. That gave you a chance to get

down and locate Corbin.”

The disturbance which had been caused by Denham’s strange behavior

had ominous side effects, and with them came a warning Hayden could

no longer ignore. It seemed now that the sickness he had mentioned

still lingered in Denham’s mind, and he suddenly wanted to be rid of

the man. He took a swallow of his drink and put the glass down. He

stood up.

“I think the police will eventually catch up with you,” he said.

“But you’re a lawyer; maybe you can talk your way out of it. Maybe

it would be simpler if I called them now and got them over here.” He

started to turn away, then stopped abruptly as Denham spoke.

“Not just yet, John.”

Still sitting erect in the chair and not hurrying, he shifted his

weight to one hip. He slid his hand down past the raised hip and

found something between the cushion and the chair. When his hand came

up it held an automatic pistol. There was a certain familiarity in

the way he handled the gun, and now he pointed it at Hayden.

“I took this from Sam Adler,” he said, and a small, mean smile

twisted one corner of his mouth. “Now I’m rather glad I kept it.

Let’s talk a little more, John. You sit over here.” He gestured with

the gun. “I’ll sit with Marion and keep an eye on you.”

_22_

The sight of the gun held John Hayden stiff-legged and immobile for

a moment until he realized it had been hidden in the chair some time

earlier. Now, accepting the situation, he was surprised to find that

he felt no great sense of shock. He glanced at Marion and saw that

her face was slack and incredulous. She seemed unable to pull her

gaze from Denham, but if there was any feeling of fear inside her it

did not yet show. She was, it seemed, not yet ready to accept the

fact that this man was indeed sick, and Hayden was glad for that.

“All right,” he said, and began to move toward the dining end of the

room while Denham circled cautiously toward the divan. “Let’s talk.

You took the gun from Adler. Is that what you used to slug Doris

Lamar?”

Denham nodded as he sat down. “I imagine a laboratory test or a

spectrographic analysis may prove it. That’s why I brought it when

you phoned.”

“You intended to plant it?”

“It seemed like a good idea. If Doris failed to recover--and I

thought she might--the authorities would have to keep the pressure on

you. I felt sure they’d make another search here. If they found the

gun it might help clinch the case.”

Hayden eased down on the edge of the chair, the back of his neck

tightening. For he understood beyond all doubt that Denham’s mental

instability was no longer academic, and in the brief silence that

followed while he tried to collect his thoughts he turned his head

slightly, wondering if he had heard some faint sound from the kitchen

or whether it was his imagination.

Denham, seeing the movement, mistook its purpose. “Don’t try

anything, John,” he warned. “I’ve gone too far to make any more

mistakes.”

“Roger!” Marion found her voice but a look of awe tempered the alarm

that now showed in the hazel eyes. “Why, Roger? Why should you hate

me so? What did I ever do--?”

“You laughed at me,” Denham said, and for the first time there were

signs of strain and vindictiveness in his voice as his thoughts

focused on the seeds of his sickness. “I tried to be nice, to make

love to you, to make you treat me like a man wants to be treated, and

you laughed.”

“No, Roger.”

“I say you did. I had things to offer that most girls want,” he

added, his words low and ragged now. “But you took Corbin, and

Hayden. You wouldn’t let me touch you--”

“I didn’t laugh, Roger. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. When

we were young I liked and admired you. I trusted you. Later I had

to be more careful because I knew how you felt. I tried to make you

understand that I didn’t feel the same way about you. I couldn’t help

how I felt but I tried to disguise it because we were friends. I

tried to explain that the physical thing between a man and a woman is

something that is either there or it isn’t. It isn’t enough for a man

to be handsome or considerate or generous. There has to be something

very special, and if it’s not there you can’t pretend that it is; at

least I couldn’t.”

“You laughed.”

“No. I liked you too much to tell you that I couldn’t stand to have

you kiss me. I tried to play it lightly and hoped you’d finally

understand. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I thought if you’d only accept

the fact that I could never be serious about you that way, you’d

start looking for someone who could give you what you wanted

willingly. Maybe I should have come right out a long time ago and

told you. Maybe I should have told you that I could never love you

physically, that something about you repelled rather than attracted

me, but I didn’t want to hurt you--and--”

“That’s it,” Denham cut in. “You couldn’t stand me. You cringed when

I touched you, as if there was something rotten inside me. That’s

what you thought, isn’t it?”

“I never stopped to think what it was, Roger. I know now that it

must have been something hard and arrogant that made me uneasy and

sometimes a little frightened.” She caught her breath. “But why did

you pretend to be my friend all these years when you hated me?”

“I told you,” Hayden said. “He’s sick. He’s always had exactly what

he wanted except you. He couldn’t take it. His ego hurt him. He had

to get even.”

“I waited a long time,” Denham said, his voice low but sinister now.

“I thought you’d learned your lesson when you and Corbin made such

a mess of things. I thought the accident would wake you up and give

me another chance. I was even ready to be second choice. I took

care of all the details for you. I collected your insurance and

nothing had changed. You still pulled away from me when I tried to be

affectionate. To make it worse you married Hayden. You turned that

money over to him--”

Hayden interrupted. He did not know what Denham’s plans were, or if

he had any, but he wanted to get the pressure off Marion. He knew

that the man would not hesitate to use the gun if he made up his

mind, but somehow he was no longer afraid of it.

“Sure,” he said, “and that must have burned you plenty. It not only

gave me a chance to buy into a business but the business is doing

fine.”

Denham ignored him. It was as if he had not heard what was said.

Whatever lay in his mind was a corrosive thing that was undermining

his sanity and there was no room left for digressions.

“Adler gave me the chance I was waiting for,” he said, still watching

Marion. “When you told me what he wanted and why he was here I knew

how to get even.”

“You took the knife when you were here,” Hayden said.

“I planned to get him right _after_ you’d seen him, but when you said

you’d stop for a drink at the tavern I decided I could do the job

then.”

“It didn’t bother you a bit, did it?”

“Why should it? I killed better men than him in Korea. He was

nothing, a human leech. It was all over before he knew what had

happened.”

“He never had a chance.”

“No chance at all,” Denham said, and something about the connotation

of the words made them sound as if he were enjoying the thought. “We

used to have to do it at night. We had to be quiet. We had to be

careful or get killed. But the technique was the same.”

The grin that warped his mouth showed his teeth, and to Hayden it

seemed that the bright gleam in the pale eyes was no longer rational.

“If I had a knife I could show you, John,” he said. “I could

demonstrate how easy it is to spin a man around and get your left

hand over his mouth from behind while you do the job with your

right--”

“Oh, Roger--” Marion buried her face in her hands and for a moment

Hayden thought she was going to break down. He heard the muffled sob

as she caught her breath, and then she dropped her hands and her face

came up, white and stricken. But she was looking right at Denham now

when she spoke and her voice had an outraged sound. “How could you?”

“It was almost the same with Doris Lamar,” Hayden said, and wondered

again if he had not heard some faint whisper of sound from the

kitchen. “After you slugged her--how come she didn’t get a look at

you?--you used the stocking from behind, the way they taught you in

the Rangers, hunh?”

“If it had got dark a few minutes earlier I’d have made it.”

“You couldn’t let her talk, could you? If she told the truth, and you

knew she probably would, we’d have been in the clear and you’d have

done your killing for nothing. The fact that she was a woman who had

never done anything to you made no difference at all.”

“Why should it?” Denham said. “As a woman she was no better than

Adler. She was amoral, promiscuous, common. She was nothing but a

tramp and--”

That was as far as Denham got and Hayden knew that he had not been

wrong about the faint sounds he had heard in the kitchen. He heard

the sudden violent rush of someone coming through the open door, and

even before he could turn he knew who it was, who it had to be. For

only one person had a deep and personal feeling about what happened

to Doris Lamar, and as he twisted and got a glimpse of George Freeman

he knew why he was here.

Later, when he had a chance to think, he understood the compulsive

and perhaps irrational drive that precipitated the outburst. To

Freeman Doris Lamar was none of the things that Denham had just

mentioned. Freeman was in love with the girl; he had already proved

it when he tangled with Sam Adler at the Log Cabin.

He could not know then whether Doris would live or die, but he had

sworn to kill whoever was responsible. To give himself that chance

he had sneaked away from her cottage earlier. He had known that they

were all coming here and the door to the breezeway, which had been

ajar earlier, was evidence of how he had entered. He knew now that

Denham was responsible. He had heard the woman he loved maligned and

slandered and he was ready for the showdown.

Hayden could not stop him. He saw the gun that Freeman had threatened

him with before. The round face was chalky and stiff and the eyes

held that same wild, unseeing look. He was yelling now as he snapped

up the gun and the words made no sense to Hayden.

There was only time for him to feel the full impact of a paralyzing

fear that was directed not at himself but at Marion before the gun

kicked in Freeman’s hand and the sound of it slammed through the room.

He knew at once that Freeman had missed. He heard the second shot,

but by then Denham, who had been under fire before, was moving.

He rolled sideways off the end of the divan and came to a stop in a

crouch. The sound of a door opening somewhere in the distance caught

Hayden’s ear, though he did not understand it, and with it Denham

squeezed the trigger.

Hayden saw the gun buck in Denham’s hand. He heard Freeman’s third

shot and knew that Denham had still not been hit. But Freeman had.

The bullet struck him somewhere high on the right side, the impact

jerking his shoulder back and staggering him slightly.

Denham, still in the crouch, a gleam of some inner satisfaction

brightening his bespectacled gaze, seemed about to fire again when

Hayden heard the shouts of warning.

Somehow he managed to pull his horrified gaze from Marion, who had

instinctively ducked forward to lower her head in her lap. He saw

Lieutenant Garvey and the plainclothes man named Malone at the end

of the room. He saw their service revolvers snap up and swing toward

Denham. He heard two voices, the two quick, hard commands spoken

simultaneously.

“Hold it!... Drop it!”

There was no hesitation on Denham’s part. Training, instinct,

desperation, whatever it was that fed the impulse, made him wheel to

meet this new threat. There was no doubt in Hayden’s mind now that

the man intended to shoot and apparently there was none in the minds

of the officers.

And so, stunned and powerless to interfere, he simply watched in

morbid fascination as the three shots hammered in the room, and he

knew instantly the results of that exchange. Denham was an expert of

sorts but so were Garvey and Malone. They must have fired a fraction

of a second quicker because they stood in their tracks, nothing

changing in their faces, ready to shoot again but holding their fire.

Denham took both slugs, one high up in the arm which seemed to

recoil. The other apparently struck him in the thigh because the leg

started to collapse. He made one final effort to bring the gun to

bear but could no longer hold it, and as it dropped from his limp

fingers the leg gave way and he fell lopsidedly to the floor.

Hayden was never sure what happened in the next three or four

minutes. He had but one thought in mind now, and when he could move

he went directly to the divan and sat close to Marion, his arms

enveloping her. She came to him immediately, leaning her weight

against him, her face buried in the corner of his neck. He could

feel her trying to get her breath while her body was racked by small

convulsive sobs she could not control. He spoke softly, comforting

her, conscious of his own muscular weakness as reaction released the

tension that had been punishing him.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all over.”

He said other things, and he could feel the sobs stop and her

breathing grow more regular. When she was ready, she released

herself. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks and tried to smile

at him.

“I’ll behave now.”

“You’re wonderful,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I am now.”

“Don’t you want to go into the bedroom and lie down for a while?”

“I couldn’t. Not now. I can’t even sit still. Isn’t there something I

can do?”

“How about making some drinks?” he asked, giving words to the first

thought that came to mind.

“No.” She stood up and straightened her dress. “But I’ll make some

coffee.”

“Good.” He walked part way to the kitchen door with her. “I’ll be out

in a couple of minutes.”

When he looked about he saw that Lieutenant Garvey was just hanging

up the telephone. Malone had collected the guns from Freeman and

Denham, and he had now hunkered down in front of Denham and was

helping straighten the wounded leg as Denham leaned back, his

shoulders against the front of the divan.

“There’ll be a doctor and an ambulance here in a few minutes,” Garvey

said.

Denham watched him, his bespectacled eyes painridden and sullen.

“You two are quick with your guns,” he said morosely, “but you need

practice.”

“I thought we did pretty well,” Garvey said. “We didn’t have much

time. We don’t like to shoot to kill if we can help it.” He glanced

at Freeman. “How are you, Mr. Freeman? Can you hold on?”

Freeman was sitting in a straight-backed chair, the heel of his left

hand pressed beneath the right shoulder. The round face was no longer

chalky and stiff, and his eyes were dull and disinterested.

“I think he busted a collarbone but I’m okay. It’s a damn good thing

you got here when you did. I never even shot a gun before.”

“We’re all lucky,” Hayden said. “What brought you back anyway?”

Garvey considered the question, and for the first time since Hayden

had met him he saw the lieutenant smile. It was not a big smile but

it was pretty good for Garvey. He seemed pleased about what he had to

say.

“Did you think we’d forgotten about the knife, Mr. Hayden?”

“Oh?”

“It took a while but we definitely traced it to you. Without the

Lamar woman’s statement we had what we call a pretty airtight case

against either you or your wife or both.”

“Did you ever consider Denham?”

“We considered everybody,” Garvey said. “With Denham we had no

motive, but in this business when you have the facts to warrant an

arrest you make it and let the motive develop later.”

He took a moment to glance at the wounded man on the floor before he

continued.

“We spent a lot of time on Freeman but we couldn’t crack him. He had

no reason to take that knife from your house or any opportunity.

Neither did Mr. Corbin. It didn’t take us long to check him out

tonight, and what they told us at Jerry’s Tavern was enough to start

us thinking in another direction. There wasn’t anybody left but

Denham and we came back to pick him up.... I still don’t know what

the motive is, do you?”

“I know,” Hayden said, “but it goes ’way back and it’s not too easy

to understand.”

The sound of a siren fading outside took Garvey to the front door,

and Hayden moved into the kitchen and swung the door behind him. He

moved up beside his wife, who was standing by the sink, and slipped

his arm about her waist. Again she leaned her head against his

shoulder and he said: “How’s the coffee coming?”

“It should be perking any minute.”

“How about the baby?”

“He’s fine too,” she said and digressed with a sigh. “I’m awfully

glad it wasn’t Ted.”

“Me too.”

“What will they do to Roger?”

Hayden said he did not know. “He’s a lawyer and he’s got plenty

of money, but from now on it’s up to the State’s Attorney and the

courts. We’re not going to worry about Roger and we’re not going to

worry about us because everything’s going to be fine. We’ll have a

divorce in no time and after that--”

He let the sentence dangle and turned her by the shoulders until she

faced him.

“You don’t mind marrying me again, do you?”

He saw the answer in her eyes as she put her hands on the back of

his neck. She kissed him hard and passionately and almost as quickly

stepped back.

“I’d like to, Mr. Hayden.”

He grinned at her and then gave her a firm but affectionate slap on

the rump as she turned toward the stove. He said they’d probably

have to be poor for a couple of years until the insurance money was

repaid, and when she said it didn’t really matter she sounded as

though she meant it.