parts, and some men's work clothing, in specific sizes. Tyrrell's sizes. Drafting materials, once…'
'And all of this has been going on for thirty years?'
'Almost that long, yes. He told me he'd tried other ways of getting supplies, before he met me. He said he kept running into problems with the other ways—but he didn't go into any details on that.'
'And finally you did break your agreement. You did tell Sarah that you had met him.'
Brainard nodded. 'I had to, after our arrangement had been going on for a year or two. I kept coming up with more statues, and I couldn't keep that a secret, not from her. The sales were common knowledge in the field. She knew too much about her husband's work and his affairs, that there hadn't been any such backlog. So I had to explain where the statues were really coming from.'
'And what was her reaction?'
'About like yours.' Brainard sighed. 'She wasn't surprised—not nearly as much as I'd expected her to be. She asked a great many questions about Tyrrell—indirectly, the way he'd asked about her.'
'She didn't want to meet him, though?'
'No. Never suggested anything of the kind. She really didn't want to come anywhere near this place. Though she's been here a few times over the years; just in and out, never staying in the house overnight. Until now, when Cathy turned up missing.'
'And did Tyrrell ever find out that you'd broken your agreement with him?'
Brainard shrugged wearily. 'If he did, he didn't say anything. He might have guessed I'd told his wife at least. He probably realized all these posthumous sales couldn't be kept secret from her. But he must have decided just to let things go on.'
Joe's radio was buzzing, and something in the quality of the sound suggested—to him at least—that it was urgent. Answering, he heard Maria's voice.
'Boss? Cathy Brainard is alive and well, back up on the South Rim.'
'You've seen her?'
'I'm standing here looking at her now, right near the mule corral. She's come back up Bright Angel, just the way Bill did.'
The three men, each surprised in his different way, looked at one another for a long, silent moment.
Joe grabbed up his cane while Maria on the radio was still giving details. In a moment he was hobbling at his best pace—notably improved since the massage by Mr. Strangeways—after the other two men who had been with him. Now Joe could almost keep up with the overweight and puffing Brainard.
In a minute he caught up with the others near the mule corral, which was deserted at this time of day, the morning's convoy of tourist riders having descended into the Canyon hours ago, and the afternoon's contingent of returning adventurers not yet arrived.
Maria was standing there, with a young woman who could only be Cathy Brainard. As the men arrived, Maria hurried away, with a quick word to Joe that she wanted to inform Mrs. Tyrrell.
Joe saw Drakulya look after Maria, frowning slightly.
Cathy was just standing still, looking weary. A large backpack that must be hers was lying at her feet.
Brainard, his fears for himself forgotten for the moment, was standing just in front of his daughter, staring at her with obvious relief. 'Thank God, you're back.'
'Hi,' the girl said to him, a certain reserve in her voice. She submitted tiredly to a somewhat awkward hug.
Holding her at arm's length, the stocky man said to his adopted daughter: 'I was afraid—I never wanted you to get caught up in any of my own troubles. I never wanted that.'
'Your troubles?' It sounded to Joe as if the young woman didn't know what her father was talking about, and wasn't trying very hard to find out. As if she had to make a considerable effort to bring her mind back from her own concerns.
Nor did it escape Joe's notice that she avoided calling this man 'father.'
'Kid,' said Brainard. 'Cathy. I'm not going to ask you any questions. I'm just glad you're back.' He awkwardly stroked her hair.
'I'm going to ask you some questions, though,' Cathy flared back. 'And I have some for Aunt Sarah.' She looked at the strangers present. 'But I guess they can wait.' Brainard, looking bewildered, let her go.
Then Cathy turned her gaze toward Strangeways. The look she gave him, casual at first, became something of a stare. 'Who're you?' she demanded, with the bluntness of one determined to concentrate on matters of importance.
Strangeways bowed slightly. His face under the broad hat brim was shadowed. 'A friend of your mother's, Cathy.'
Joe put in: 'He's working with me, Miss Brainard.' Then it became necessary for Joe to explain his own identity, and the reasons for his presence.
When Cathy had heard him out she looked at the investigators with some bitterness as well as weariness. 'Well, I'm back now. You can call off the hunt.'
'Cathy! It was old Sarah's voice; she was approaching, as swiftly as her years would allow, from the direction of the Tyrrell House. Cathy ran toward her with open arms, and the others witnessed a more emotional reunion.
A few minutes later, Joe, in the company of John and Mr. Strangeways, was hobbling back toward his hotel. Sarah, Cathy, and Brainard had preceded them. Silence obtained during the first part of the walk.
'I guess we can start packing?' John suggested, when they were halfway to their destination.
'Not I,' said Mr. Strangeways.
'How's that, sir?' John inquired.
'I am thinking, gentlemen,' said their elder companion, 'of the
Joe Keogh thought for a moment. 'You're talking about the book written by Charles Darwin?'
Dark eyes turned toward him. 'Not so much the book as its subject—the laws governing the development of life on earth. Tyrrell's real interest seems to be in those basic natural laws, which Darwin began to discover more than a century ago. My people as well as yours are subject to those basic laws. We are all human, all children of the earth.'
'All right. Well, Cathy's back, apparently unharmed. My client is probably going to thank me for my trouble, pay me off, and send me on my way.'
'Yes, your mission seems to have been accomplished, Joseph. But I am not yet satisfied that I am free, in good conscience, to depart. Not yet.'
Joe did not hesitate. 'What can I do to help?'
'Yeah,' seconded John.
'I cannot say just yet, gentlemen. But the offer is gratefully accepted.'
In Joe's suite Sarah Tyrrell put down the borrowed phone, having just finished reporting to the law that her grandniece Cathy Brainard had returned safely, under her own power.
The old lady commented: 'They didn't sound very excited or surprised.'
Joe said: 'A lot of runaways come back under their own power. Where's Cathy now?'
'Getting some sleep.' Sarah paused. 'Where's Maria?'
Joe didn't know. He looked at Bill, who was standing by. 'And where's Brainard, by the way?'
'Said he was going to the lobby to get some cigarettes. Didn't seem to want an escort.'
The day's snow showers were picking up in intensity as Gerald Brainard, wearing a winter coat, small suitcase in hand, turned from a pedestrian path into one of the small sightseers' parking lots scattered around the Village area. Looking left and right through the gloomy day, he pulled a set of car keys from his pocket as he approached a small snow-covered Pontiac.
He had not looked in all the necessary directions, evidently. He barely had the car door open when a large form, wearing a fur-collared coat, loomed over him.
'Think you're going somewhere?'
A few minutes later, the Pontiac was parked again, this time in a snowy byway of the winter Park, a long, comparatively narrow expanse of paving, half drive, half parking lot, surrounded by pine woods, much used by summer crowds. Now the place was all but deserted; only one other car stood there, besides the Pontiac.
