she may have a husband who's looking for her. What I'm getting at is this: if she does give evidence against Maurer her photograph and her name are going to be splashed on the front pages of every newspaper in the country. It may be she wants to avoid this publicity for a personal reason, and that's why she's keeping quiet. I think we should dig around and see if we can turn up this personal reason, always supposing it exists.'
'Yes, I think we should do that,' Conrad said in a flat voice.
Forest was now almost sure the girl had made a big impression on Conrad, and the discovery startled him. Could Conrad have fallen in love with her, he asked himself.
'All right, then let's dig a little,' he said. 'Would you like to handle it? Do you want to remain at the lodge out of circulation or would you rather come back here and are what you can find out about the girl's background?'
Conrad didn't hesitate.
'I'll stay on at the lodge. The important thing is to keep her safe. I've accepted the responsibility and I want to see it through. I'll send Van back. He can do the digging.'
It was then that Forest became sure Conrad had fallen in love with Frances Coleman.
He spread his hands on the blotter and his hard eyes searched Conrad's face.
'What do you think of this girl, Paul? I mean how does she strike you as a man regarding a woman?'
Conrad looked at Forest.
'Does that come into it? Does it matter what I think of her?'
Disconcerted by Conrad's straight look, Forest lifted his heavy shoulders.
'No, you're quite right.' He stubbed out his cigar. 'I shouldn't have asked that. Well, I guess I've got to get on with my work. Let me know how things develop.'
'I will,' Conrad said, and made for the door.
When he had gone, Forest stared gloomily down at his blotter.
He sat thinking for a few moments, his face worried, then with a sudden shrug of his shoulders, he reached for the pile of papers that were waiting his attention.
II
Sergeant Tom O'Brien stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at his son. O'Brien's usually granite-hard face had softened, making him look younger, and there was a twinkle in his eyes never seen by either his colleagues or by his customers.
'Go to sleep,' he said, 'or you and me will run into trouble when your mother comes home.'
His son, a freckle-faced youngster within reaching distance of a seventh birthday, gave his father a wide, disarming smile.
'How's about telling me how you cornered Little Caesar and the fight you had with him?' he inquired hopefully. 'It won't take long, and we needn't tell mummy.'
O'Brien pretended to be shocked. His son's hero-worship was the biggest thing in his life. For a moment he wrestled with the temptation to tell the old favourite again, but it was already past nine o'clock and he had promised his wife he would have the kid in bed and asleep by eight.
'Can't do it, son,' he said gravely. 'We've got to keep a bargain. You said you'd be satisfied if I told you about Lingle, and we're late as it is. I'll tell you about Little Caesar when next I get some time off.'
'Is that a promise?' his son asked gravely.
'Yes, it's a promise. Now go to sleep. If you want anything give me a call, but no false alarms.'
'Okay, pop,' his son said, accepting the inevitable. He had long learned it was useless to argue with his father. 'See you in the morning.'
'God bless, son.'
'God bless, pop.'
O'Brien turned off the light and went down the stairs to the hall. The little house was very quiet. His wife had gone to the movies with her mother. She wouldn't be back for another hour. O'Brien wondered if he should wash up the supper dishes or take a look at the fights on the television. The fights won after a minor wrestle with his conscience.
He pushed open the sitting-room door, then paused, frowning. He hadn't remembered leaving the standard lamp on. He was usually pretty good about turning the lights off. He entered the room and shut the door. He had scarcely taken three steps towards the television set when he came to an abrupt standstill, his senses suddenly alert.
O'Brien was a tough, hard cop, with nerves like steel, but in spite of his toughness he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a small figure in black sitting in an armchair.
The figure was in the shadows, and at first glance O'Brien thought it was a child, but then he noticed the small feet in black suede shoes that hung a few inches from the floor and the spindly legs and bone thin ankles. They had a matured look about them, and couldn't belong to a child.
He had a sudden creepy feeling that he was looking at a ghost, and he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stiffen. Then he pulled himself together and took a step forward.
'What the hell . . .?' he growled, and came to an abrupt standstill as the glittering barrel of a .38 automatic appeared in the light and pointed at him.
'Hello, sergeant,' a husky voice said. 'Sorry to have startled you. Don't do anything brave. At this range I couldn't miss you.'
