that.
I was late back for supper, and Clair was worried, but as soon as she saw the light in my eye, she brightened.
“Where have you been?” she asked, leading me into the dining-room where supper was waiting.
I told her about Lois; showed her the gun permit and my authority.
“I’m a G-man now,” I said. “How do you like that?”
She looked a little scared, but tried to hide it.
“I like it fine,” she said. “There’s a cop in the kitchen eating apple pie. He said he had been detailed to keep an eye on me until you returned.”
I laughed. “Swell idea,” I said. “Well, I’m ready for Bat now. I don’t think they’ll come after you, honey. Lois wouldn’t have told me if that was their idea.”
Three days went by, and still nothing happened. Every three hours a patrolman would look in, wink at Clair, say “No trouble?” shrug and go on his way.
I didn’t relax this time. I was sure something would happen before long, and if I didn’t keep on my toes, I’d be surprised.
It happened the following night.
We had gone to bed about eleven. I had locked the bedroom door, bolted it. I had fixed the mesh-wire screen over the open window. No one could get in our room without waking us.
It was a clear moonlight night, and the night air was hot. Ben had been busy up to ten-thirty, and now trade had slackened off.
Clair and I lay side by side in the big double bed. I was half asleep when I heard a car drive up. I thought nothing of it, relaxed, began to drift off. Then suddenly I was wide awake, listening. Clair also sat up, looked at me in the dim light, whispered, “What is it?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Did you hear anything?”
“I thought I did,” she said. “But I’m not sure.”
We listened. Silence.
“A car came in a minute or so ago,” I whispered. “It hasn’t gone.” I swung my feet to the floor. “I don’t hear Ben around I”
I went to the window. A big Plymouth sedan stood on the driveway. There was no sign of Ben nor the driver.
I waited, frowning.
Footsteps sounded on the concrete below, feet scraped, paused, came on. A woman’s shadow came into my vision. I couldn’t see the woman unless I moved the screen and leaned out of the window. I wasn’t going to do that. I studied the shadow.
A sudden electric thrill ran down my back. I thought I recognized the shape.
I turned quickly, grabbed my trousers, slipped them on, dragged on socks, shoes, snatched up my gun.
“Have they come?” Clair asked in a small voice.
“I think so,” I said grimly. “There’s a woman down there. I think it’s Lois. Stay here. I’m going to have a look.”
She whipped out of bed, clung to me.
“No, don’t,” she said. “Please, darling. Let’s call the police. They want you to go out there. They’ll be waiting for you.”
I patted her arm. “Okay, we’ll call for the police,” I said. “You better get some clothes on.”
I slipped out of the room, crept down the stairs. It was dark. I moved cautiously, silently. I suddenly remembered what Clairbold had once said about the art of stalking. It occurred to me that I might have put in a little practice in my room the way he had. It wasn’t such a dumb idea after all.
I reached the lobby, crossed to the front room where the telephone was. We had drawn the curtains before going to bed, but I didn’t risk putting the light on. I wanted them to think we hadn’t heard them.
I groped around, trying to find the telephone, found it, lifted the receiver. There was no humming sound on the line. I rattled the cradle once, twice, smiled grimly, hung up. They had cut the wires.
I crossed to the window, lifted the curtain an inch, looked out. The Plymouth still stood deserted on the runway. I couldn’t see the woman, but after peering round I saw a dark shape lying by the office building. It could have been Ben or it might have been one of the dogs.
I went back to the lobby, stood listening.
Clair came to the head of the stairs; she had a flash-light in her hand.
“Keep that light off the curtains,” I said softly.
“Are the police coming?” she asked.
“The line’s cut,” I returned. “Wait here. I’m going to look out the back.”
“Don’t go out,” she said breathlessly. “I know that’s what they expect you to do. They’re watching the doors.”
I thought she was probably right.
“I won’t,” I said, moved along the short passage to the kitchen.
Here, the blinds weren’t drawn. I crawled on hands and knees across the room, raised myself, looked out of the window.
Lois Spence was out there, I saw her distinctly. She was wearing dark slacks and coat. She was looking up at the upper window. I could have shot her easily enough, but I hadn’t the stomach to shoot a woman.
Clair joined me. We squatted on our heels, side by side, watching Lois, who continued to stare up at the upper windows. The moonlight was bright enough for me to see she still favoured Fatal Apple make-up. She looked as coldly disdainful as she had always looked.
“I’d like to give her a fright,” I said, “but as long as Bat keeps out of sight, we’ll play possum.”
“Where is he?” she whispered, her hand on my arm. I was surprised it was so steady.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I said. “When I do I’m going to make a little hole in his hide. I’m taking no risks with Bat.”
Lois suddenly turned, walked away, heading for the front of the house.
Faintly we could hear through the closed window a clink of metal against metal.
“What’s that?” Clair asked, stiffening.
I listened. Something metal dropped on the concrete, out of sight. It came from the gas-pump section of the station.
“I don’t know,” I said uneasily. “I wish I knew what has happened to Ben. It’s not his fight. If they’ve hurt him…”
Clair’s grip on my arm tightened. “Please don’t do anything rash—”
“I won’t, but I’m getting tired of letting these two roam around as if this is their home,” I said. “I’m going into the front room. Maybe we’ll see something from there.”
She went with me. As we reached the lobby, a wild scream rang out. The sound came from the front of the house.
I darted forward, but Clair hung on to me.
“It’s a trap,” she said- “Wait… listen…”
I paused.
A car engine suddenly roared into life, gears clashed, tyres screeched on the driveway.
I darted into the sitting-room, lifted the curtains, peered out.
The Plymouth sedan was roaring down the driveway. It turned as it reached the highway, belted away into the night.
Lois Spence was lying on the concrete by the air towers.
I jumped to the front door.
“Wait,” I said to Clair, threw off her restraining hand, opened the door.
“No!” she cried. “Don’t!”
I slipped out, waved her back, reached Lois as she struggled to rise.
Her face was ghastly with terror. A red-blue mark showed on her face where she had been struck.
“He’s lit a fuse to the gas dump,” she mouthed at me. “Get me out of here! My God! We’ll be blown to hell!
