saw him he wore a dirty trench coat and a black slouch hat. Remember seeing anyone like that?’
It was a shot in the dark, but it scored a bull.
‘Andrews saw him.’
‘Andrews?’
‘He was the investigator I hired. He gave me a description of a man just like that.’
‘Where did he see him?’
‘He was at Lodoni’s restaurant one night when Royce and the Bennett girl were there. Andrews spotted this man in a car outside the restaurant. Royce took the Bennett girl past the car and as they passed, he dropped back a little and pointed to the girl. The man left the car after a while and went to the door of the restaurant and watched her. Andrews said it was as if Royce had put the finger on her, but I didn’t believe him. He wasn’t much of an investigator. He was always trying to chisel money out of me. I thought it was just a story he had made up to make me think he was doing more than he was.’
Now I was learning something. So it was Royce who had hired Flemming to murder Fay.
I started to ask her if Andrews had seen the man again when I happened to glance in the driving mirror. I had been listening so intently to what Lydia had been saying, my attention had strayed from the thought of pursuit. What I saw in the mirror gave me a jolt. Two big yellow blobs of light hung in the darkness behind me. Maybe they were half a mile in the rear, but they were coming fast.
Lydia saw them at the same time as I did.
I heard her catch her breath as I shoved my foot down on the gas pedal.
II
The four lane highway was as straight as a yard stick and as dark as a chimney. With a flat out speed of sixty miles an hour I knew I had no chance of shaking off the pursuing car. The yellow blobs of light crept closer.
Lydia, looking over her shoulder through the rear window, watched them, hypnotized, her face pallid in the light of the dashboard, her eyes wild and staring. I nudged her with my knee.
‘Can we get off this road?’ I shouted above the noise of the engine.
She came alive with an effort.
‘There’s a turning somewhere ahead.’
I snapped off the headlights. The following car was still a quarter of a mile or so in the rear. I searched the darkness for an intersection sign and nearly missed it.
‘Just ahead now,’ Lydia cried, clutching my arm.
‘Watch out!’
I stamped on the brake pedal as the turning loomed up. The car tyres screamed in protest. Lydia, her hands on the dashboard, swayed forward and sideways against me as the Lincoln slewed around, the back wheels locked. The car wobbled, the offside wheels lifted as I released the brakes, then we shot down the turning on to a snake back road that forced my speed down to a dangerous thirty.
Without headlights and with the twists and bends I had all I could do not to run off the road. After I had driven three hundred yards or so, Lydia who was staring back through the rear window gasped, ‘They’ve passed! They’ve missed us!’
‘Where does this road lead to?’ I asked, turning on my headlights. I edged the speed up to thirty-five.
‘Glyne Bay. It’s a small beach town.’
‘Can we get back on to the Frisco road from there?’
‘No. This is the only road in and out. They’ll come back.’ She beat her fists together hysterically. ‘They’ll know we’ve taken this turning.’
I thought that was likely but I didn’t say so.
‘Take it easy. We’ll ditch the car and hide up somewhere. If I can get to a telephone I’ll call the Welden police. Glyne Bay’s in their district.’
The road straightened, and ahead I could make out the haze of street lights. I increased speed.
Lydia’s grip on my arm tightened.
‘They’re coming!’ she gasped.
I looked into the driving mirror. In the rear, on the snake back road, I could see the blaze of headlights. I pushed the gas pedal to the boards and the Lincoln surged forward. Ahead, I saw a neon sign that ran: Turn left for Glyne Beach Motel.
I turned off my headlights, swung the car left, banged and rocked down a narrow drive-in that led to a large car park where forty to fifty cars stood in two long rows. I slammed on brakes, nailed the Lincoln beside a dusty Ford, opened the car door and slid out.
‘Come on!’
I could see the headlights of the following car turn into the drive-in. Catching Lydia by the wrist, I ran with her across the car park, through a double gateway, along a cinder path that opened out on to a big grass covered lot around which were fifty or so cabins.
The cabin that housed the renting office stood in the middle of the lot. It was in darkness. I had Juan’s gun in my hand now. Looking back I saw the car park was alight from the following car’s headlamps.
I paused long enough to try the office door, but it was locked. There was no time to fool around. We had to get under cover. We had only seconds to do it in.
I heard someone running down the cinder path towards us. I bolted with Lydia across the grass towards a row of dark cabins. One of them had a ‘vacant’ sign hanging on the front door handle. I let go of Lydia’s hand, jumped up the two steps, took off the sign, stepped off the stoop, caught her hand again and pulled her around to the back of the cabin. I tossed the sign into the darkness.
‘We’ll get in here,’ I panted.
One of the back windows was unlatched. I got my fingers under the window frame and pushed the window up. Then I put one arm around Lydia’s waist, the other under her knees and swung her through the window. I climbed in after her, shut and latched the window.
‘They’ll find us here,’ she said. ‘They’ll trap us.’
‘Maybe they won’t,’ I said, crouching by the window while I looked into the darkness.
She came near me. I could hear her quick, light breathing. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t hear anything.
‘Stay here while I see if there’s a telephone,’ I said.
I groped my way across the room, found a door, opened it and stepped into darkness. I scratched a match alight. Down a passage, on the left was a door. Flicking the match out, I turned the handle and moved into what appeared to be a sitting room. Crossing to the window I looked out, keeping to one side. Right in the middle of the neatly cut lawn I saw the dim outline of Borg. His wide shoulders and squat body were unmistakable. His back was turned to the cabin. The faint light of a cloud-covered moon reflected on the steel barrel of a gun he held in his hand.
I pulled the curtains across the windows, struck another match and spotted a telephone standing on a table near the window. I went over to it, lifted the receiver and dialled emergency.
The operator sounded eager to be of service.
‘Give me the Welden police,’ I said.
I waited in the darkness, my shirt sticking to my back, my heart thumping while I listened to the clicking on the line.
A voice growled, ‘Welden police headquarters.’
‘Captain Creed there?’
‘No, he isn’t. Who’s calling?’
‘Give me Sergeant Scaife.’
‘Hold a moment.’
More clicking rapped against my ear, then Scaife’s voice said, ‘Scaife talking.’
‘This is Sladen. I’m in a motel at Glyne Beach. A couple of gunmen are looking for me and I want help. What can you do?’
‘I’ll fix it,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve a prowl car in that district. It’ll be over to you in ten minutes.’
