"If I hadn't been in such a hurry, if I'd only thought it out," Dan
said miserably. "It was an awful error--and all mine, too."
"Well, don't go out and shoot yourself. I suppose it had to happen
sooner or later. What about Mother?"
"She'll be perfectly safe. They won't get within a mile of her. Look,
son--is Fisher doing all right?"
Carl nodded. "I talked to him an hour ago. He'll be ready for you by
tomorrow night, he thinks."
"Sober?"
"Sober. And mad. He's the right guy for the job." Worried lines
deepened on Golden's forehead. "Everything's O.K.? Rinehart won't
dare--"
"I scared him. He'd almost forgotten. Everything's fine." Dan rang
off, scowling. He wished he was as sure as he sounded. Rinehart's back
was to the wall, now. Dan wasn't too sure he liked it that way.
An hour later he was in Washington, and Jean was dragging him into the
Volta. "If you don't sleep now, I'll have you put to sleep. Now shut
up while I drive you home."
A soft bed, darkness, escape. When had he slept last? It was heaven.
* * * * *
He slept the clock around, which he had not intended, and caught the
next night-jet to Las Vegas, which he had intended. There was some
delay with the passenger list after he had gone aboard, a fight of
some sort, and the jet took off four minutes late. Dan slept again,
fitfully.