"I know. I've heard it all before. But this is different-"

"No, it isn't. I've had a word with the girl's nurse. What a cute little number she turned out to be! She has a figure like a Coney Island switchback."

"You once told me switchbacks made you feel sick," Veda said coldly.

Magarth leered at her.

"That depends how fast you go over them," he said.

Veda kicked him through the blanket.

"Well, what did the nurse say?"

"She told me Carol's got a split mind. She gets these attacks now and then-and more then than now. She'll go for months being a sweet, normal girl, and all she needs is watching." He sighed. "Watching a sweet normal girl is right up my alley."

Veda kicked him again.

"You're a rat," she said simply.

"Don't keep interrupting," Magarth said severely. "One of the trustees, an old crum with a face like a squeezed lemon who calls himself Simon Hartman, has shown up at the Sanatorium. And the nurse tells me he's half-crazy with rage that Carol's escaped. He sees the trusteeship going up in smoke and six million dollars sliding through his fat little paws." He gave himself another drink. "And I'll tell you something else. I don't believe the girl is anything like as dangerous as they make out. I don't believe she should have been certified. I think she's been railroaded into that nut-house so old Hartman could collar the six million."

"Don't talk such drivel," Veda said sharply. "John Blandish had her put away . . . three or four years ago."

"Blandish knew nothing about her. He wasn't interested in her. Hartman did it all. Hartman looked after Blandish's affairs. The girl was put away because she went for a lug who was beating a dog. Wouldn't you go for a lug who beat a dog?"

Veda stared at him.

"But she's dangerous. Look what she did to that poor truck-driver."

Magarth waved that aside.

"She was protecting her honour," he said airily. "You wouldn't know what that means, but let me tell you some girls take that sort of thing very seriously."

"All right," Veda sighed. She didn't feel like arguing. "Have it your own way. You haven't found her yet."

Magarth tapped the side of his nose.

"But I'm coming on. I've found where she's been hiding these past days. I've just been there."

"For heaven's sake," Veda groaned; went on: "I think I'll have a little whisky after all. My nerves are beginning to fray."

"Not a chance. I wouldn't waste the stuff on you. Just relax and listen. I saw a couple of guys tonight in a big black Packard They were asking for Steve Larson, who has a fox farm up on Blue Mountain Summit."

"I've seen him," Veda said enthusiastically. "He's big and fair and cute and made my heart go pit-a-pat."

"Never mind how cute he is," Magarth said sourly. "Your mother must have been frightened by a pair of trousers just before you were born. You have men on the brain. Let me get on, will you?"

"Well, it. won't kill me to listen," Veda said, closed her eyes again.

"These two were asking after Larson and I recognized them. I think they're the Sullivan brothers-professional killers."

"What do you mean?" Veda asked, opening her eyes and staring.

"If you wanted to get rid of anyone you'd get into touch with the Sullivan brothers, give 'em some dough and they'd do the rest; and that's no fairy tale," Magarth said. "Anyway, I thought I'd sniff around and I went up to Larson's place. It was deserted. The lights were on, the doors open, the Buick van was in the garage and the dog, scared silly, in its kennel. I went through the cabin and found this"-he dropped a handkerchief on the bed. "I bet that's Carol Blandish's property. See, it has her name in the corner. And another thing: I found the trench coat belonging to Doc Travers's chauffeur; the one Carol took when she escaped from Glenview."

Veda looked intrigued.

"But where does all this get you?"

Magarth scratched his head.

"I wish I knew," he said, "but it's a start. Larson has been hiding her up. These two-the Sullivans, if they are the Sullivans -have smoked them out into the open. That's the point. They're out in the open. Maybe the Sullivans are after them. I don't know. If I can get to her before anyone else I'll bring her here. No one would think of looking for her here. If I don't find her, then I'm out of luck and our marriage is as far off as ever."

Veda pulled him down, slid her arms round his neck.

"It needn't be, Phil," she said softly, nibbled at his ear. "I'll give you all my money and then we can live happily ever after."

Magarth pushed her away, stood up.

"I may be a rat, but even a rat has its pride," he said, began to loosen his collar and tie. "Do you think I'm going to stand for everyone saying I married for money? Not a chance. Now move over, I've got to get me some rest before daylight, and when I say rest, I mean rest."

Carol gripped the steering-wheel of the Packard, stared through the windshield at the bright blob of light coming from the headlights that raced ahead of her, lighting up the twisty mountain road.

Her heart seemed frozen, her brain numbed with shock and fear. In the light of the dashboard she could see Steve's white face as he lay crumpled up on the floorboards, his eyes closed. She wanted to stop, but the thought of the Sullivans forced her on. She would stop in a little while, when she was sure that the Sullivans couldn't reach them, and she prayed it would not be too late; that she would be able to do something for Steve.

The narrow, twisting road made speeding impossible, but she drove as fast as she could, skidding at corners, jolting the big car recklessly over potholes and ruts, her only thought to put as much distance between the Sullivans and herself as she could in the shortest time.

A few more minutes' driving brought her out on to the State Highway and she sent the Packard hurtling forward. A mile or so farther on she slowed down, looked for a place where she could stop. Ahead she saw a clearing, leading to an abandoned logging camp, and she drove the car off the road, b.u.mped over the rough track which led to a number of half-ruined shacks that had, at some time or other, given shelter to the lumberjacks.

Hidden now from the road, the Packard slid to a standstill and Carol bent over Steve.

"I must keep calm, "she said to herself. "I must control myself." The thought that he was dead or even badly hurt filled her with such dread that every muscle in her body was trembling and her teeth chattered.

"Steve, darling," she said, her hand touching his face. "What is it? Tell me. How badly hurt are you?"

Steve made no movement, and when she lifted his head it felt heavy and lifeless.

For a long moment she sat still, her fists clenched, controlling the scream that rose in her throat; then she opened the car door, got out, stood on the pine needles, holding on to the door for support. She thought she was going to faint; her heart was beating so hard she felt suffocated. She stumbled round the car, opened the offside door, supported Steve as he rolled through the doorway. He was heavy, but she managed to get him from the car and on to the soft pine needles. She adjusted the spot-lamp, switched it on, caught her breath when she saw the blood on his coat. She ran to him, opened his coat, saw the blood-soaked shirt.

She put her hand over his heart, felt the faint, uneven beat, and choked back a sob of relief. He wasn't dead! But unless she got help he might easily die. He was still bleeding, and that would have to be stopped.

She turned back to the Packard. In the back of the car, on the floor, she found two suitcases. Feverishly she opened one of them, found shirts and handkerchiefs, began ripping the shirts up for bandages.

"Carol!" Steve called faintly.

She gave a little cry, ran to him. He was blinking in the strong light of the spot-lamp, but he didn't move: his eyes looked dull and lifeless.

"Oh, my dear," she said, falling on her knees beside him. "What am I going to do? Does it hurt? I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

"Good kid," Steve muttered, and his face twisted with pain. "It's pretty bad, Carol. Somewhere in my chest."

For a moment she lost control of herself and sobbed wildly, hiding her face in her hands.

"What am I going to do?" she thought hysterically. "He mustn't die . . . I couldn't bear him to die . . . and I'm the only one who can save him. . . ."

"Come on, kid," Steve gasped. "Don't get scared. I know how you feel. But don't lose your nerve. See if you can stop the bleeding."

"Yes . . ." she brushed her tears away, bit down on her lip. "I'll stop it, darling. It's-it's just . . . Oh, my dear, I feel so helpless. . . ."

She ran back to the car for the makeshift bandages, returned and undid his shirt. The caked blood and the feel of the soaked material sickened her, but her fear that he might die stiffened her nerve, but when she opened his shirt and looked at the two small black holes oozing blood in the centre of his chest, darkness came down on her and she sat hunched up, her head in her hands, shivering.

"Don't let it scare you," Steve said, raised his head with difficulty and looked at the wounds. His mouth tightened-it was worse than he thought. There was a cold feeling creeping up his legs, and pain, like white-hot wires, stabbed his chest. "Carol! Come on, sweet. Stop this bleeding."

"I can't do it!" she cried. "I've got to get help. Where can I go, Steve? Where can I take you?"

Steve lay still, tried to think. He felt the whole of his chest had been laid open and that a salt wind was blowing down on the exposed nerves and flesh.

"Doc Fleming," he managed to say. Carol could scarcely hear his murmur. "Straight down the road through Point Breese, the second turning on the left. A small house off the road, stands by itself." He struggled against the faintness, forced it away, went on: "It's a good twenty miles. There's no one else."

"But twenty miles . . ." Carol beat her clenched fists together. "It'll take too long. . . ."

"There's no one else," Steve said, and his mind swam away in a liquid pool of pain.

"I'll go," she said, "but first I'll do what I can." Then she thought, "I must take him with me. Of course; I can't leave him here. I should never have got him from the car." She bent over him. "We'll go together, darling," she said. "If you can help yourself just a little. I'll get you into the car."

"Better not," Steve said. He felt blood in his mouth. "I'm bleeding a bit inside. Better not move me now." And blood ran down his chin, although he tried to turn away, not wanting to frighten her.

Carol caught her breath in a sob.

"All right, my dear," she said. "I'll be quick." She began to make pads with the handkerchiefs. "And, Steve, if anything . . . I mean . . . oh, darling, I love you so. I want you to know. There's no one but you, and I'm so frightened and lonely . . . Do try . . . don't leave me . . ."

He made an effort, smiled, patted her hand.

"I won't. . . that's a promise . . . only be quick . . . ."

But when she lifted him to take off his coat, his face suddenly turned yellow and he cried out, his fingers gripping her arm, then he slumped back into unconsciousness.

She worked feverishly, strapping the pads tightly against the wounds. Then she ran to the car, found a rug, rolled shirts and pyjamas into a pillow and made him as comfortable as she could.

She hated leaving him, but there was nothing else to do. She bent over him, touched his lips with hers, then with one last look back she climbed into the car.

She never remembered much of the drive to Point Breese. She drove the car recklessly, her one thought was to get Doc Fleming back to Steve. The road was broad and good, and she was only conscious of the noise of the wind as the car flew along. At that hour in the morning-it was a little after two o'clock- the road was deserted and her speed seldom dropped below eighty. Once rounding a bend she narrowly missed another car (it was Magarth coming up to Larson's place), but it all happened so quickly that she was only half aware that another car had pa.s.sed her. She arrived at Point Breese as an outside clock chimed the half hour past two. The journey had taken her just under the half-hour.

She found Doc Fleming's house easily enough, and brought the Packard to a stop outside. She ran up the garden path and hammered on the front door, and kept up the persistent hammering until the door was opened.

A middle-aged woman with a mean lined face and untidy hair stood in the doorway. She had on a drab dressing-gown which she held across her flat chest with a hand like a claw.

"Making a noise like that," she said furiously. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Please," Carol said, trying to control her voice, "I want the doctor. Someone is very ill . . . hurt . . . where is the doctor?"

The woman ran her skinny fingers through the tangle of unwashed, greying hair.

"It's no use coming here," she said, preparing to slam the door. "The doctor's ill. Banging and banging like that. Who do you think you are?"

"But someone is hurt," Carol said, wringing her hands. "He's dying. Please let me see the doctor. I have a car . . . it won't take long."

"I can't help that," the woman said, her face red with anger. "The doctor's an old man and he's got a cold. He's not going out at this hour. You must go elsewhere."

"But someone's bleeding to death. Don't you understand? Dr. Fleming would come if you only told him. He's bleeding Carol began to cry, "and I love him so."

"Get off," the woman said harshly. "We can't help you here. Go elsewhere."

Carol controlled her rising panic.

"But where?" she asked, clenching her fists. "There's no time . . . he's bleeding."

"There's a hospital at Waltonville and there's Dr. Kober at Eastlake. He'll turn out, He's a Jew. They always turn out."

"I see," Carol said. "I'll go to him. Where's Eastlake? How do I get there?"

The woman was staring at the puckered scar on Carol's left wrist, then she quickly averted her eyes.

"It's five miles," she said. "I'll show you on a street map . . . perhaps you'd better come in."

"Oh, but please be quick," Carol said. "I shouldn't have left him. . . ."

"Come in, come in," the woman said. "I can't show you if you stand in the dark. Let me put on a light."

She turned away and a moment later the dark little pa.s.sage was dazzling with a hard naked light hanging from the ceiling.

Carol stood just inside the front door and faced the woman as she turned.

"What lovely hair you have!" the woman said, her small eyes gleaming with excitement. "Perhaps I could persuade the doctor to go with you. Come in, come in. He might if he . . . he's not been very well. I'll tell him if you'll wait in here."

The sudden shifty change of expression, the sudden false friendliness, frightened Carol, but there was nothing she could do. She had to save Steve. So she followed the woman into a small waiting-room, consisting of three chairs, a round table on which were tattered copies of old periodicals. There was an atmosphere of decay and neglect in the room.

"I'll tell him, dear," the woman said. "You sit down. He won't be long."

"Please hurry," Carol begged. "He's bleeding so badly."

"I'll hurry," the woman said, went to the door, looked back at Carol and then left the room. There had been a look in her eyes that sent a shiver up Carol's spine. She listened to the woman hurrying up the stairs and felt instinctively that she was trapped . . . that this woman meant her harm.

Quietly she opened the door.

"It's the lunatic from Glenview," she heard the woman say. She was speaking loudly and clearly. "She's downstairs."