Heath ducked, dived in, slashing out hard with his right. The blackjack whispered a mean song past his ear. His fist whacked against flesh and bone. The fellow straightened up, took two backward steps. Heath followed in, crashing a left to the head. The man dropped quickly, without so much as a sigh.
“Sully!” Mary came around the car, breathing fast and hard.
“Everything's okay,” Heath said. He scratched a match on his shoe, held it near the fellow's motionless face. “Know him, Mary?”
“No. Sully, you haven't—”
“Grab onto yourself,” he said, chuckling softly. “The louse isn't dead. He tried to brain me with a blackjack. I managed a lucky punch and kayoed him. He'll snap out of it in a few minutes.” He pushed her toward the car.
“Probably an ordinary hoodlum,” he said. “Some of them work it like that—use some innocent-seeming pretext to get close to a guy, then slug him and lift his wallet. He should be turned over to the local constabulary, but if we do that I'll have to identify myself. You said you don't want your father to know I'm a detective.”
Mary did not reply. He started the car. Then, several miles farther on, after a too-long silence, he said, “Sure be a surprise for your dad; maybe you should have let him know we were coming.”
Mary drew a long breath. Her voice was still distraught when she said, “I'm worried about that man, Sully.”
“Afraid I killed him?” he laughed softly, trying to get a glimpse of her face. The glow from the panel lights didn't reach it; but he saw her hands. They made tight little fists in her lap.
“He seemed—so finished like—so lifeless.”
“You ever see a guy after he was clipped on the button?” he asked.
Her reply was worried, anxious. “Sully, we've got to go back, help him, get him to a doctor. There was blood on his lips, and—”
“If we do that I'll have to tell who I am, why I smacked him. You said policemen being around make your dad nervous. He'll hear about this, and also know about me.”
“Just the same we'll have to go back,” she said. “Even if he's a hoodlum, as you say, it's wrong driving away and leaving him unconscious and injured.”
“Okay,” he said, exasperation in his voice. “It's your car, it's your visit.” He whipped the coupe around and started back, but he didn't drive fast. He wanted the fellow to have time to recover and get in the clear.
After the speedometer had marked off two miles, Mary said, leveling, her voice, “I've only told you about the unsigned letter I received day before yesterday. Now I want to read it to you. I've been doing some hard thinking since we left Baltimore. If you don't want to—”
He stopped her. “What's eating you, anyhow? Ever since we bought the music box you've been on edge, all different somehow.”
“I'll read you the letter,” she said coolly. She turned the flashlight on a paper in her hand and in a stiff voice read:
Dear Miss McCulloch:
The music box your grandfather willed to you has turned up at an antique shop at Coverlee. The shop is located on Tydings Avenue, five blocks off Main. The old man who owns it is eccentric and will stand humoring; but he'll sell the music box for a price. I am advising you to buy it. It has the power to change your entire life, make you a different, happier person—if you'll let it.
I know that you have a dear friend who is a detective. If possible have him accompany you when you go to purchase the music box. He will receive a letter from me the day you receive this one.
FOR a time after she finished reading quiet waited, then Heath said, “Is that all?”
“Why haven't you told me about your letter?” Mary asked, her words catching on a tremble. “I've been waiting.”
“I didn't think it wise,” he said slowly. “And I'm still of that opinion. I'm not telling you about it now. Later on maybe.”
“There's something else,” she said. “Dad and I never got along. That's why I haven't been home on a visit for over three years. He never seemed to want me around. After Grandfather disappeared he became —well— unbearably mean. I went to work at Coverlee, saved my money, and went away to normal school. He's never done anything for me, really. Sometimes I have a strange feeling about him, feel that he isn't my father. That something happened and—”
She quit, gave a nervous sigh. “You know why I'm visiting him now.”
“You think your grandfather is still alive? But after fifteen years . . .”
“I can't help my feelings, can I? Grandfather was my only friend. One of Father's hired men, a man named Weblick, was good to me when I was little. It's this feeling about Father that worries me, the feeling that he will harm me if I go near him now. You won't blame me for feeling so when you meet him.
“Once when I was walking alone by the creek, near a big weeping willow tree, I thought I saw Grandfather. It was five years after his disappearance.
He was running as if frightened. I called to him, but he didn't stop or look back.
It was at twilight and the valley was heavy with shadows. It may have been a wandering tramp on his way to the house to steal or beg. Still—”
Heath interrupted, “You've told all this before, Mary. Why tell it again?”
“Because Father may resent our visit, your presence. He might say bitter things. And you're so impulsive. I want you to understand about him so you won't lose your temper, and—like a few minutes ago when—”
