He closed his eyes and leaned against the car. So this was the explanation. They had broken down and had borrowed the Buick, but they were coming back! With any luck, they wouldn't look in the boot. How could they? They hadn't the key. Then he stiffened. The man had started the car . . . how had he done it, if he hadn't the key? That key would also open the boot! Well, maybe they wouldn't open the boot.
With a shaking hand he copied Whiteside's address down on the back of an old bill he had found in his pocket. Then he put Tom's note back under the windscreen wiper.
Well, now all he could do was to hope. They looked honest people. They would return the car, fix their own car and that would be the last he would see of them . . . with any luck. He hesitated, his cunning mind now very alert. Would they wonder what the car was doing in the glade? Would they report finding it to the police? Maybe he had better leave when they returned the car. But where could he go? He was now feeling weak and breathless again. He longed to lie down and rest. Moving cautiously, he made his way back to the cave.
* * *
Patrolman Fred O'Toole looked at his watch. In another ten minutes he would be off duty . . . and about time too! He had had more than enough of checking this continuous flow of cars leaving the City, and his temper was frayed.
Then he saw a car coming and he groaned to himself. He stepped out into the middle of the outward lane, holding up his hand.
The Buick coupe slowed and Tom Whiteside leaned out of the window. His face was pale under his sun-tan and his grin forced.
'Hi, Fred.'
'Oh, you . . .' O'Toole looked puzzled. 'I thought I saw you going home . . .' He came to the window and peered in at Tom and Sheila.
'Yeah . . . I'm now taking this car back,' Tom said.
'Hello, Mr. O'Toole,' Sheila said brightly. She gave him a sexy smile. 'Long time no see. How do you like my sun-tan?'
O'Toole had always thought she was the most gorgeous piece of tail he had ever seen. He smiled at her, eyeing her breasts. 'You look good enough to eat, Mrs. Whiteside. Had a good time?'
'Did you ever take your wife on a camping vacation, Mr. O'Toole?'
O'Toole laughed.
'I don't look for trouble.'
'Well, my love of a hubby doesn't know trouble when he sees it. But it wasn't all that bad.'
In spite of the small talk, O'Toole didn't neglect to look the car over. He remembered the wanted car was a Buick coupe and this was a Buick coupe.
'Something new, Tom?' he asked.
'No . . . my goddam car broke down. I borrowed this. What's all the commotion about?'
'Commotion? Don't you read the papers? There's been a twoand-a-half-million-dollar steal from the Casino. We have the robbers holed up in the City so orders are to check every outgoing car.'
'Is that right?' Sheila thrust her bust in O'Toole's direction. 'Well, what do you know! Two and a half million . . . wheeee!'
O'Toole regarded her. Whiteside certainly had it good. Imagine getting this frill into bed every night.
'I'll have to check the car, Tom,' he said, getting back to business.
'Go right ahead.' Tom gave him the ignition key. 'I'm just returning this car and then picking up my own ruin.'
O'Toole checked the boot, then gave Tom back the key.
'Who did you borrow this from?'
'Oh, a guy . . . one of our clients,' Tom said, flicking sweat off his face.
O'Toole leaned into the car and looked at the licence tag. Then he stepped back and wrote in his notebook: Franklin Ludovick, Mon Repose, Sandy Lane, Paradise City.
Tom watched him, feeling sick.
'Okay, go ahead. I'm off duty in five more minutes. Gee! Will I be glad!'
'I bet. Be seeing you,' and Tom engaged gear and drove through the road block.
'Phew!' Sheila sighed softly.
Tom said nothing. He was thinking of the carton loaded with more money than he thought existed now in their sitting-room.
There must be a big reward, he thought. The insurance people would be covering the Casino. But it was a mistake not to go to the police right away. How could he explain the delay? He moved uneasily. He thought of what Sheila had said. She must be crazy! Glancing at her hard, cold face, he felt a prickle of fear. She couldn't really mean to stick to all that money!
He turned off the highway and began to drive up the dirt road.
'They could be there, waiting for us,' he said suddenly.
'They? There's only one . . . he's over sixty and frail. You heard what was said on the radio,' Sheila said scornfully. 'Don't tell me you're scared of a man like that?'
