Chapter VI: Part 6

By that time he saw the car on its side in the ditch and the white-painted wrecker. There were two highway patrol cars parked on the shoulder; another car with its front end bashed in had slewed around perpendicular to the road.

“So that’s why he was in such a hurry,” Corbin said with unmistakable relief. “Keep going.”

“I am,” Hayden said and was very careful indeed until the lights in the rear-view mirror were gone. As he pulled his speed back up to sixty he said: “Whew! That guy scared hell out of me. How much farther?”

“Maybe thirty miles,” Corbin said, “all of it easy. It just goes to show what a guilty conscience can do to a guy.”

The highway cut flatly through lowlands and marshes now, with water showing here and there in the marginal area outside the bright beam of the headlights. Cheap cottages and fishing camps on stilts flanked the road with increasing frequency, and once Corbin pointed to a finger of water on the right and said it was part of Lake Pontchartrain. Then they were moving into the outskirts of the city, and Corbin, wide awake since the brush with the highway patrol, gave Hayden directions until they came finally to Moisant International Airport, with its spacious and modern terminal building.

“What do you want to do?” he said as Hayden moved past the approaches and found a parking place.

“Find out when’s the best time to get out of here.”

“What about the car?”

“I don’t want to turn it over to the agent here, not while there’s a chance they might already be looking for us. I can leave it parked anywhere around here and phone the office just before we take off. That way they can pick it up when they get around to it and bill me for the difference.”

He paused to light a cigarette. “I don’t even want to drive it up to the loading areas now. Too much light.... Why don’t you stay here and keep an eye on our bags until I can check things and find out what the score is?”

Corbin accepted the suggestion and Hayden started off, picking his way through parked cars and coming to the lighted entrance where an overhead clock told him it was five minutes of two. A policeman, who was talking with a taxi driver, gave him no more than a passing glance as he went on into the main waiting room, which seemed strangely quiet and empty at this hour.

He slowed down here to inspect the unfamiliar area, noting signs and directional arrows as he tried to orient himself. There was a little movement on the floor, but mostly people huddled on benches in couples and family groups, silent, sleepy-eyed, and half-comatose as they waited for early-morning departures or friends who were coming in on flights from South and Central American countries that terminated here. No one paid him any attention as he continued on his way, and he was grateful for this when he came finally to the information counter.

What he learned from the lone attendant was not encouraging; neither was it unexpected. There would be no more flights to New York until morning. The first and best of these left at nine o’clock, but to find out about space he had to continue on to the airline counter, where a clerk, who had been working on a carton of coffee, put it aside long enough to give him his attention. He consulted his charts when Hayden asked his question and shook his head.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “That flight is sold out. We already have two stand-bys and I’d be glad to add your name if you would like to take a chance on some cancellations.”

“What’s my next-best bet?”

“We have a conventional flight at nine-twenty that makes two stops and puts you into Newark.” He hesitated in order to consult another sheet. “Also one at nine-forty with one stop that terminates at Idlewild.”

“Which one gets there first?”

“The nine-forty flight.”

“Have you got two seats?”

“Yes, we have.”

“Can I pay for them in the morning?”

“Yes, but they must be picked up an hour before takeoff.” He picked up a pencil. “The names?”

“J. Hastings and T. Cannon.”

Hayden thanked him, and as he turned away and his mind moved on, a thought which had been submerged in his consciousness suddenly demanded attention. Once considered, it took on a new urgency, and he walked to the newsstand near the main entrance and bought a pack of cigarettes, offering a five-dollar bill and asking for as many quarters as the clerk could spare.

For he knew now that he had to talk to Marion. He had to know how she was and what had happened; he had to tell her about Corbin. It was, he knew, a hell of an hour for a man to call his wife, especially a pregnant one--the difference in time meant that it was after three o’clock in Connecticut--but he had to let her know that things were going to be all right. He wanted to do it at once, but the thought of Corbin took him through the doors and across the parking area. He saw again the sign of the Hilton Motel he had noticed earlier and decided this would be the place to spend the night....

The thought dissolved as he came to a stop beside the sedan. Without actually moving he could feel his nerves recoil as he glanced quickly about and the first thrust of panic hit him. He knew then that he had the right car, just as he knew both seats were empty. Not understanding this, not daring to speculate, he stood where he was, shocked and incredulous, and this was long enough for the seed of suspicion he had felt earlier to send out new roots. He started to curse as the anger grew swiftly inside him, but even as he felt the impact of his discovery he heard the soft whistle that came from one side.

He spun about at the sound, peering into the shadows until he found the pale outline of a face. It took shape as Corbin moved down from behind another car, and suddenly he felt all weak inside as relief provided a swift and certain antidote to his fears. When he was sure he expelled his breath and his voice was rough and uneven.

“What the hell have you been doing?”

“Ducking a cop,” Corbin said calmly. “Just to make sure.” He pointed. “I saw him start down the line of cars, heading this way. I thought he was casing them. I didn’t want to take a chance. I got out and ducked.”

Hayden took another breath as he regained his composure. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I guess he was looking for his own car. He walked on by just before you came, got into this Ford, and drove off.... What did you find out?”

Hayden told him, and while the suspicion that had become rooted in his mind still remained, he could find no fault with Corbin’s defensive measures. It was the same way with him. Until the last couple of days the law and its enforcers had been necessary adjuncts to society, designed to keep people in line. His own experience had been limited to a warning for a traffic violation. Now he not only was a prime suspect in a murder case but he had been forced to consider such things as bigamy and fraud. It was no wonder that he felt continually jumpy and on edge, and he was a little amazed that he could still carry on and do the things that had to be done. Even Corbin, whose character suggested that he was not an unduly imaginative man, felt the pressure, but now it was Hayden who had to do the thinking and take charge. He was at once aware of this as the big man said:

“Do we check in at that motel?”

“We can’t sit up all night in the terminal.”

“That’s what I mean. Do you want to drive over there and leave the car?”

“We’ve got this far with it,” Hayden said. “Let’s leave it right here.” He glanced over at the loading area and saw the three taxis parked there. “Get your bag and take a cab,” he said. “Register for both of us. I’m traveling as John Hastings--and tell the clerk I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

Corbin did not argue. He pulled his suitcase off the back seat and started through the cars without a word. Hayden stayed where he was until he saw the other get into the taxi and drive off; then he got his own things, rolled up the windows, and put the ignition key over the sun visor, reminding himself that he must telephone the rental company before he boarded the plane in the morning.

It was cool enough now to wear the topcoat, and when he had put on his hat, he walked over to the lead taxi and put his bag in the back. He told the driver to put down his flag and wait while he made a phone call, and then he was inside and stepping into the booth. He knew that it was possible that his own telephone might be tapped, but he intended to give away nothing that would help locate him. All the odds were in his favor now. He kept the thought in mind as he deposited a coin and gave the local operator his home number.

He heard the number being relayed to a second operator, apparently in New York, and with it came a request for payment. He listened to the _bong_ of the quarters as they registered, the more metallic sounds of the smaller coins as he made the exact change. Then he could hear the distant ringing of the telephone, and he counted six times before a voice that was sleepy and remote and familiar answered.

Marion came awake at once when she heard his voice and the words were hurried and urgent as she asked how he was and where he was and what he had been doing.

“Did you find him?” she asked finally.

“He’s with me now,” he said. “Never mind where. Let’s just say we’re still in the deep South.”

“Will he come?”

“Tomorrow. What about you? Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Has the baby--?”

“It’s not the baby, it’s the police.”

He could hear her catch her breath and knew she was fighting her tears. The sound of it made his heart turn over, but before he could speak she said:

“Oh, darling, don’t you understand? They’re looking for you.”

“I know that.”

“They think you killed that man. Or I did. They say it was our knife--”

“What?” Hayden heard the word distinctly but in the shock of his surprise he could not accept it. “How can they think that?”

“They say it belongs to that set we have in the kitchen.... They could be right,” she added, her voice rough with emotion. “One of ours is missing. I can’t find it anywhere.”

She said other things along the same line, but he was too stunned to absorb them until she said: “And there’s something else, John. That girl at the tavern, Doris Lamar--”

“What about her?”

“She came to see me this evening. She said she knew something that would help us.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“She says if I tell the police she’ll deny everything. She--she wants money,” she added. “She doesn’t know who killed Adler but she says she can help us.”

“All right.” He stopped and made a desperate effort to evaluate what he had heard. He did not understand how this could be nor know just what to say but he wanted to offer some words of comfort and encouragement until he could get home. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her she’d have to wait until you came home.”

“Good girl,” he said.

“She warned me again not to go to the police--”

“That’s all right too. Sit tight, baby. You’re wonderful. I’ll call you from New York sometime tomorrow afternoon, maybe late. Stick to your story. And call on Roger Denham if you need him.”

“But suppose the police find you first.”

“They’re not going to find me. I’ll be back and so will Corbin. We’ll work things out. Now please go back to bed and go to sleep. I’m going to do the same.”

Some odd reaction born of strain and tension and uncertainty made her giggle softly. “I’m already in bed.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

“Try hard.... I love you.”

_18_

The flight to New York’s Idlewild Airport was a few minutes late taking off from Moisant but lost no more time en route to Washington. Hayden and Corbin, both wearing dark glasses now, did not sit together and exchanged no words until they reclaimed their bags at the terminal. As they stood waiting, Corbin came up to Hayden with a cigarette in his mouth and asked for a light.

“Do we get a car?”

“We do.”

“You or me?”

“Have you got a credit card?” Hayden watched the big man nod. “Then you’re elected. They won’t be looking for you here but they could be looking for me. I’ll make a phone call and meet you out front when you’re ready.”

He moved away, heading along a corridor that would take him to the taxi stand, and stopped at the first public booth he came to. There was no delay in getting the call through and Marion answered almost at once.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes, John. Is Ted with you?”

“He’s renting a car. Have you been out today?”

“This morning. To do some shopping.”

“Do you think you were followed?”

“No.”

“No police cars out front or down the road?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he said, and went on to tell her where to meet them. “We’ll be in a sedan with New York plates,” he added. “If you’re followed, don’t stop. Go back home and wait until I can think of something else. If not, take the next right and pull off the road. Got it?”

“Yes, I think so. What time?”

“Five o’clock....”

Luck stayed with them as they crossed the bridge and came sedately up the Hutchinson River Parkway and onto the Merritt. Corbin obeyed all speed laws and they turned north in the fading light of the bleak March day. This was a blacktop road and winding, and when they came finally to the intersection Hayden had specified, he saw the station wagon parked on the shoulder of the road just ahead.

Corbin drew in front of it and stopped. He looked at Hayden. “What does a guy say at a time like this?” he asked.

“You’ll think of something. Come on.”

They got out and walked back. Hayden opened the door and slid over on the seat and Marion’s arms went around his neck to give him a quick, spasmodic hug before she kissed him. She let go reluctantly as Corbin climbed in beside Hayden, her hazel eyes softly curious and a little shy as she inspected the big man who had once been her husband.

“Hello, Marion,” he said, and offered his hand. “I thought I could stay lost for good. I thought I was doing you a favor. I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way.”

She took his hand, held it momentarily, released it.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. “You were never cruel or mean or spiteful.”

“Just stupid,” Corbin said wryly.

“Not that either. I’m awfully glad you came back.”

“I owed you that much. But that’s not all of it. I have a girl in Alabama,” he said, an odd huskiness in his voice. “I was going to marry her. I made a new life as Ted Cannon. I thought it would be all right. It would have been if it hadn’t been for--”

He stopped here and they all knew what he meant.

“Maybe you still can,” Marion said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Hayden believed what he had heard, but there was a growing impatience nagging at his brain and he knew there could not be much more time left. He pressed his wife’s arm to get her attention.

“Anything new since last night?”

“I heard from Roger,” she said and looked at Corbin. “Did Adler phone you Monday night?”

“Me?” Corbin’s blue eyes opened slowly and just as slowly narrowed again. “No.”

“Why?” Hayden asked, the old but not forgotten suspicion finding new nourishment. “What did Denham say?”

“The police were checking public telephone booths. They started around here and widened the area. They found the record of a call made to Fairview, Alabama from a booth just outside the Log Cabin Restaurant on the Post Road. I wondered--”

“Not to me,” Corbin said.

The denial was no longer good enough for Hayden. Not any more. Monday was the night Adler had taken Doris Lamar out dancing, the night he had slugged George Freeman. Adler had tried to blackmail Corbin in Alabama. He had been thrown out and threatened....

“What about Doris?” he said, new ideas forming in his mind now but wanting to get as much information as he could. “Do you know _how_ she can clear us?”

“I don’t know if she’s telling the truth,” Marion said, “but I know what she said. When she came last night she was embarrassed but she was defiant too. It was as if a part of her was ashamed of the way she was acting while another part insisted that she had a right to make the proposition. She said you had already spoken to her about it and she was accepting your offer. She said she knew she was going to be in for some trouble in one way or another, but she might as well get paid for it.”

“She must have seen something the night Adler was killed,” Hayden said.

“She did. She told them at the tavern that she had a headache and asked for time off to go home and get some special pills she had.”

“But she didn’t go home,” Hayden said, remembering what the woman had told him when he had called at her cottage.

“She started over to see Adler. She thinks it was about twenty-five minutes after eight or maybe eight-thirty. She had just started through that parking space in the center of the motel when she saw Adler’s door open. She stopped and stepped behind a car. She saw me come out and hurry past her on my way to get back to where I had parked the station wagon.”

“Ahh--” Hayden said.

“What?”

It took him a moment to reply because he had to be careful not only of what he said but how he sounded. His first thought, which was one of overwhelming relief, was mixed with other emotions more difficult to analyze. He had at no time believed that Marion could have killed Adler, but she had lied to him and the business of the knife that she had told him the night before had been burrowing insidiously in the back of his mind ever since. Now, taking a small breath and concentrating on keeping his voice steady, he said:

“I mean, that’s wonderful. She went in to see Adler after you’d gone and he was alive. That’s perfect. How long was she there?”

“She says it was only a few minutes. Adler started to make a drink. He squeezed a lemon and was looking around for some sugar when they heard this knock at the door. Adler didn’t know who it was. He said he wasn’t expecting anyone, but Doris thought George Freeman might have seen her and had come there to make trouble. So Adler told her to step into the bathroom and close the door. He said if it was Freeman, he’d get rid of him in a hurry.”

She stopped to moisten her lips and her eyes were wide and fixed as they met his own. She seemed not to be trying to build suspense with her hesitation but only searching for words; finally they came.

“That was when it happened,” she said. “While she was still in the bathroom.”

Again the silence came and this time Hayden broke it. “How long was she there?”

“She’s not sure.”

“Didn’t she hear anything?”

“Just some voices that she couldn’t understand or even identify. She didn’t hear anyone raise his voice or cry out. She didn’t hear the sound of anything falling. All she remembers is that suddenly there weren’t any voices any more and she waited another minute or two and finally inched the bathroom door open to take a look. First she thought the room was empty, so she came out and then she saw him.”

She continued quickly, relating the things that Doris Lamar had told her and trying to re-create the feeling of shock and horror and fear that had come to the woman.

“When she realized he was dead she got out,” she said. “She didn’t stop to think whether it was the wise thing to do. She says she was too panicky to think, that she acted on the spur of the moment, and the only thing she had in mind was to get away from there as quick as she could. She came out and shut the door and started for the street and then she saw this man walking past the office and coming her way.”

“Yes,” Hayden said as he remembered the moment and the impression that had come to him that night. There had been a woman, but he had never seen her or known what had happened to her. “It was me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. She says she hid behind a car and watched you go into the room. The minute the door closed she ran.... Don’t you see, darling?” she said, a break in her voice that she could not control. “If Adler was dead before you came--”

He took her arm and squeezed it hard. He said he knew what she meant. Ted Corbin, who had been silent and still during the past minutes, shifted his weight on the seat and cleared his throat.

“You mean this dame knew about this all the time and wouldn’t tell the police? What the hell kind of a dame is that?” he demanded of no one in particular. “She knows neither of you did it and yet she’d let you stand trial for murder--”

“No, Ted,” Marion cut in, leaning forward slightly, so she could see him better. “She said if we were actually arrested and indicted she would tell the truth.... Oh, she wasn’t proud of what she was doing,” she added. “She said she wanted to get out of here and she had to have some money. She said she knew she would be in for a hard time with the police for not having told them the truth before, and now she thought she ought to get something for the trouble the police would give her.”

Because he knew a little about Doris Lamar, Hayden could understand the situation and accept the motives which had prompted the girl’s odd behavior. She could not make up her mind to settle down with George Freeman. There had been a chance to break out with Sam Adler and somebody had taken care of that too. He felt no resentment toward her for having kept her knowledge to herself; what was important was that her co-operation could be had, and now he straightened, his mind made up.

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll take it from here.”

A glance at his watch told him it was a quarter of six. That meant he would have to go to Jerry’s Tavern to find Doris, but he did not think it would be difficult to get her outside long enough to tell her how he felt. He mentioned this aloud as he started to lay his plans, and Marion contradicted him.

“She won’t be at the tavern,” she said. “She told me last night that she quit yesterday.”

“That’s all the better,” Hayden said. “I can talk to her at her place.” He looked at Corbin. “Do they know you at the motel?”

“No.”

“I’d like to use the rented car if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Marion can drop you off at the motel and you can register and stay in your room until I get in touch with you. It shouldn’t be too long.”

* * * * *

Once in the rented car, Hayden moved circuitously by back roads until he came to the highway approaching the village from the south. Starting about five miles out of town he made inquiries at three filling stations and each time he drew a blank. This brought him finally to Lee Cramer’s place, and as he pulled to a stop beside the gasoline pumps he was reminded again of that night four days earlier.

It was the same kind of day, windy and raw, and dusk was settling fast. Lee Cramer looked just the same as he hustled from the shelter of his cubelike office. The chief difference was that Cramer did not recognize the car, and when he was close enough to see who was driving it he seemed to falter and his gaze was both puzzled and curious. The expression suggested that he might well know the authorities were looking for Hayden, but that did not stop his friendly greeting.

“Evening, Mr. Hayden.... New car?”

“A rented one, Lee,” Hayden said. “But I don’t need any gas. I’m looking for some information and I thought maybe you could help me.”

“I can try.”

“I’m trying to check on a man that came into town Tuesday night.”

“Tuesday?” Lee nodded. “That would be the night the fellow was murdered down at the motel.”

“That’s right. And this man would be a stranger. He might have stopped to ask the same questions Adler did the night before. I checked at three stations down the road but no one remembers him and I thought you might. A big man, tall, well built, good-looking, with a tan and maybe a touch of southern accent.”

Cramer frowned as he considered the question. He looked up at the sky and then at Hayden. He shook his head.

“I can’t place him, Mr. Hayden. He didn’t stop here, at least not while I was on.”

“When do you go off?”

“Around six-thirty usually. My son-in-law--he works in Bridgeport--takes over for me most evenings.”

Hayden had to swallow his disappointment but, so long as there was a chance, he could not quit. “Could you call him, Lee? Would he be home now?”

“He should be,” Cramer said. “I’ll find out.”

He hurried off to disappear in the office and Hayden slumped down in the seat and tried to be patient. He needed further corroboration for the idea that had been forming in the back of his mind for the past twenty-four hours, and the expression on Lee Cramer’s blocky face when he hurried out of the office gave him new hope.

“That was a good hunch, Mr. Hayden.”

“He remembers him?”

“Just like you described him. He pulled in and asked if this was the way to The Shady Maple. He also asked if Frank knew you. Frank said not very well but he knew who you were.”

“Does he remember what time it was?”

“He says he thinks it was around eight-thirty but he can’t be real sure.”

Hayden thanked him. He said he would explain later why the information was important. Then he was accelerating back onto the highway, his confidence mounting as the new and essential part of the mental pattern fell into place. He drove swiftly but with care, and in his mind was the comforting thought that all he needed was a little more time. Give him that and he would be ready for the police and their questions, and it was this thought that took him past the tavern and the motel and brought him to the driveway on the left side of the quiet street.

The archaic and empty mansion had a long-abandoned look now, and it was too dark to read the For Sale sign as he drove past and came to the cottage at the rear. He parked under the trees and switched off his lights, hurrying now, aware that the shades were drawn but seeing a dim crack of illumination in the front.

He was on the step then, knocking, his impatience dominating him. He reached for the knob and when the door opened he pushed into the room. What happened then came without warning.

It was not that instinct failed him; he never gave it a chance. The urgency that had carried him this far had its own momentum, and he was forever grateful that there had been no delay or indecision on his part. For these minutes he had saved proved to be priceless, and in the end his occupation with his thoughts saved him.

There may have been a moment when he was intuitively aware that danger lurked beside him. He also realized too late that he had stepped into darkness and he knew that this should not be. There should have been no darkness, and he now found it both frightening and impenetrable. In that same brief instant he could have heard some movement close by, some whisper of sound that told him something was horribly wrong. Later he knew it must have been that way because he ducked automatically as he tried to check himself and turn toward the unseen threat.

Even as he made his move he was hit and this time the darkness was an ally. The blow missed his head but crashed solidly into the angle of his neck and shoulder, a shocking, vicious smash that knocked him off balance. The topcoat helped cushion the force of the impact, but his effort to turn was much too late and he went down heavily, not hurt but bewildered by the darkness and the unfamiliar surroundings.

He rolled instinctively as he hit the floor. He came to his knees, still not seeing anything. He swore aloud and tried to lunge toward the open door as he came to his feet, but he was moving blindly and fell again as an overturned chair tripped him.

He knew as he finally regained his balance that whoever had attacked him had gone. The night air was in his face as he felt his way to the door and he closed it, hearing nothing outside, knowing that the man had left the way he had come--by foot from the street beyond the wooded area at the rear.

Only then was he really conscious of the quiet surrounding him. Only then was he able to think of Doris Lamar, and he was suddenly so scared and empty inside that he called out to her. He called again, his voice rising, then fumbled frantically along the wall until he found the electric switch.

He blinked against the sudden brightness, and then he saw her, and now the fear was real and paralyzing. She lay crumpled near the center of the room, skirts high and twisted, her face turned away. But even then, unable yet to think or even to move, he could see the stocking knotted about her neck and the dark stain that discolored the bright yellow hair.

_19_

The fear that held John Hayden rooted to the floor in those next awful moments was two-edged and stunning in its impact. For it was not just the sight of the girl and the instant understanding of what must have happened here; it was the realization that without her there would be no testimony to be bought and paid for, no chance for the truth that would clear Marion and himself to be told.

He was moving as the thought hit him, shucking off his coat and tossing it aside, then dropping to one knee and lifting the limp torso while he supported the back of her head. He could feel the warmth of her body against him and he could see now that the stocking held no knot but had simply been twisted across her throat, apparently from the back. He saw the blood above and in back of the temple even though the thickness of the blond hair obscured the wound itself. But it was the color of her face that shocked him most.

There was a grayness beneath the make-up, and he spoke her name again, not knowing that he did so. He touched her cheek and there was warmth there, and he found a wrist and thought he sensed a pulse beat. But she did not seem to be breathing, and he lowered her and turned her face-down, frantic now and driven by a desperation that had as its focus the determination to make her breathe again.

Without experience, not daring to take the time to call a doctor, he moved astride her hips and put both hands beside the rib cage, low down, his fingers pressing and relaxing as he shifted his weight. He found a rhythm of sorts and hoped it was right. He counted, aware of nothing but the warmth of her and the movement he induced.

He was not sure how long it was before he felt a stirring beneath his fingertips. He was not even sure there was a movement at first. He made himself keep to the rhythm but more gently now. Then he felt the response and leaned close, his head beside hers, and heard the faint and labored and wonderful sound of her breathing.

His hands were sweaty and trembling as he caught a breath of his own, and it was then that he felt the cold draft sliding along the floor to touch his spine and make him wonder. Before he could understand this he heard the hoarse cry behind him and the sound of it made his scalp crawl. Somehow he managed to jerk his head around and for a long and terrifying second death stared back at him.

He saw the gun first and it was pointed right at him. He had no time to think, but his reaction was spontaneous and instinctive and he gave voice to it at once. He yelled, the words harsh and violent:

“_George!_ Wait! I found her like this. I just got here.”

He swallowed in an effort to speak again. He moved aside with great caution, an inch at a time, his gaze fixed on George Freeman’s white and twisted face. The back of his neck was cold and there was a great emptiness inside him as he saw the tension in the hand that held the gun and the wild unseeing eyes. He knew he had to get through to the man, to make him see, and now he spoke again, his tone rough, profane, and jarring.

“She’s alive,” he said. “Help me, goddammit! Put that gun down and give me a hand!”

The face that had always seemed so bland and boyish remained pale and twisted but something happened to the eyes. Something had registered in the mind and there was a flicker of movement, a faint gleam of recognition, as Hayden pressed his advantage.

“Call the police!” he snapped. “Get a doctor and an ambulance. Hurry, damn it!”

That time the words got through. The gun wavered slightly, its muzzle dipping, and he began to breathe again. He could feel the perspiration break out on his forehead, the trickle of it down his sides. He could hear the rapid pulsing of his heart as Freeman finally moved.

“Who did it?” he demanded hoarsely.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“All right. But call a doctor first.”

He turned back to the girl to make sure she was still breathing. There was no sign of consciousness and his helplessness dismayed him. He wanted to do something about the wound on the head, but when he saw there seemed to be no more bleeding he let it alone and listened to Freeman give orders over the phone.

* * * * *

The first person to arrive in response to George Freeman’s telephone call was a uniformed State Policeman, a stone-faced, competent-looking fellow who, after his first quick glance about the room, went directly to the girl. When he straightened he asked a minimum of questions as he stepped over to the telephone. He was still talking when the doctor arrived.

Hayden, who had sat down on the couch because of the odd weakness in the back of his legs, watched the man take off his hat and coat and then move over to kneel beside the girl. He spent some time parting the blond hair and examining the wound; finally he pointed to the mark on her throat. He picked up the stocking that Hayden had discarded and glanced around.

“Did somebody try to strangle her?”

Hayden said he thought so. He explained where he had found the stocking and what he had done.

“I thought she was alive,” he said, “but I couldn’t tell whether she was breathing or not, so I tried to give her artificial respiration.”

“It did no harm,” the doctor said, “and it might have helped.” He cocked his head and Hayden heard the distant wail of a siren. It faded as he listened, but now there was a sound of a car moving down the driveway and the doctor said: “If that’s the ambulance will you ask them to come right in?”

Freeman, who had been standing near the door and saying nothing, turned and went out. When he returned he was followed by two men with a stretcher and blankets. As they put the stretcher down beside the girl the State Policeman spoke.

“Maybe the lieutenant ought to see her, Doc,” he said.

“I think it’s more important that we get her into oxygen right away,” the doctor replied and gave a silent signal to the two men.

They lifted her gently onto the stretcher and tucked a blanket about her. At a nod from the doctor they raised the stretcher, and as they started out he said he would call the hospital and alert them.

He had just finished with the telephone when Lieutenant Garvey came in with another officer who was also in plainclothes, a blocky, black-browed man a few years younger than his superior. He saw Hayden in his first all-inclusive glance, but if he felt any surprise it did not show. He apparently had been given some information either by telephone or radio and he now turned directly to the doctor.

“How bad is she?”

“Hard to tell.” The doctor glanced at Hayden. “I believe he can give you the details. All I can tell is that she has a concussion, possibly a severe one. We can’t know about a fracture until we’ve taken some pictures.”

“Will she live?”

“I’d say she has a reasonable chance.” He gestured with one hand. “But concussions are tricky. It’s not a sure thing by any means.”

“How long before she’ll be conscious?”

“Maybe an hour. Maybe a day, a week, maybe never.”

When the door closed behind the doctor, Garvey gave his full attention to Hayden. He took his time, the deep-set gray eyes probing and intent, his lips compressed but not grim.

“Have a good trip?” he asked dryly.

“I think it was worthwhile.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I got what I went after,” Hayden said. “I brought Corbin back with me.”

“Corbin?” Garvey considered the name. “That would be Mrs. Hayden’s first husband? Where did you locate him?”

“In Fairview, Alabama.”

“That’s across the Bay from Mobile. You must have beat the local boys to it.”

“But not by much.”

“Did you fly out of Mobile?”

“New Orleans.”

“That was smart. You knew they were looking for him.”

“I knew they were looking for me.”

“How long have you been back?”

“About an hour.”

Garvey nodded and his attitude was suddenly more businesslike than skeptical. “Okay, we’ll get to that later. What brought you here? What happened?”

Hayden told him, and it was an easy thing to do because the scene was still so vivid in his mind. Garvey listened without interruption, his gray gaze speculative but attentive until the story was over.

“You thought you saw a light in here when you got out of the car,” he said, “but when you walked in it was dark.”

“That’s right. Before I had a chance to wonder about it he jumped me.”

“Then if you’d been a couple of minutes later he would have finished the job on the girl.” He thought it over a minute, his lips pursing. “You were trying to give her artificial respiration when George Freeman walked in on you, is that right?”

“I’d just finished.”

“And he had a gun?” He glanced about the room and suddenly his eyes narrowed and he looked at the plainclothes man who had come with him. “Where is he, Malone?”

“The last I saw of him he went in there.” Malone pointed to the bedroom. “I thought he was going to the john.”

“Take a look,” Garvey said and waited until the detective returned alone, a sheepish expression on his face. “Take a look outside.” He watched the other leave and turned back to Hayden. “What brought you here in the first place?”

“Is it important?”

“It could be.”

Hayden stood up and reached for a cigarette, his brown eyes somber and troubled as he considered his reply. Then, because it was something that had to be done, he decided to tell the truth.

“If Doris Lamar doesn’t live I can’t prove this,” he said, “but Doris came to my wife and told her she had information that would clear both of us. She said she would deny it if my wife went to you. She wanted money and she said she was willing to take her chances on any trouble you could give her if she got paid for what she knew. I came here to find out how much she wanted.”

The skepticism still showed on Garvey’s face. He asked other questions and Hayden answered them. He was still at it when Malone came back and shook his head and now Garvey said: “All right, we’ll pick him up later.”

Before he could continue Hayden spoke. “I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Such as what?”

“There’s a lot of talking to be done,” he said, “so why couldn’t we do it at my place instead of here?”

“Why?”

“I told you I brought Corbin back with me. He should be at The Shady Maple now. You’re going to want to question him because he knows a lot about Sam Adler. My wife still doesn’t know how Corbin happened to miss that plane in Capitol City two years ago. She doesn’t know what Corbin did and what was happening during those years.

“Also,” he continued, “I’ve got some ideas about Corbin myself. I understand that my wife and I are still under some suspicion of murder and I’d like to get out from under. So why not go down to my place and have it out in one session? If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my lawyer there too, just in case.”

Such arguments had a reasonable sound and even Garvey seemed impressed. He glanced at Malone, then back at Hayden. For another second or two he hesitated as the logic behind the request came through to him and a glimmer of something that might have been respect replaced the doubt in his gray eyes.

“Call your lawyer,” he said. “You may need him. Tell him to meet you at your place.”

He belted his trench coat as Hayden dialed Roger Denham’s number and stated his request. When he hung up, Garvey was waiting.

“Get your coat,” he said. “I’ll pick up Corbin. Would he be registered under that name?”

“He’s been using the name Cannon for the past couple of years,” Hayden said. “You could try that first, but whoever’s on the desk should remember him.”

Garvey nodded again. “I’ll get him, and Freeman if I can find him. Malone can ride with you,” he added. “Like you said--just in case.... Okay?”

_20_

John Hayden had hoped that he would be able to talk to Marion alone before Lieutenant Garvey took charge of the investigation, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He could see the uncertainty in the hazel eyes when she saw Malone, and he had no choice but to introduce the detective and tell her that Garvey was on his way over with Ted Corbin.

By the time he had taken care of their coats and Malone had settled himself on the divan, the doorbell rang and he went over to admit Roger Denham. The lawyer’s bespectacled gaze was bright and curious, but he shook hands warmly when he stepped inside.

“I’m certainly glad to see you,” he said. “When I got your note and found out what you intended to do I thought it was a foolish move, but Marion tells me you pulled it off. Where’s Corbin now?”

“At the motel. Lieutenant Garvey’s bringing him over--that is, if he hasn’t skipped.”

He introduced Malone and took Denham’s coat, and then he spoke of Doris Lamar. He kept his account of what had happened as brief as he could, seeing the surprise in Denham’s eyes and the look of shock and incredulity in his wife’s face. To give her some encouragement, he stopped beside her chair to take her hand.

“She’s still alive,” he said. “She has a chance.”

“But if--”

“Don’t think that way,” he cut in. “I’ve told the lieutenant what she told you and--”

“But I don’t understand. Who could have done it, John? Who?”

He had no chance to answer the question, and for this he was grateful because he was not ready for it. He came quickly to his feet as the doorbell rang again, and then Lieutenant Garvey and Ted Corbin were in the room and it was time for Garvey to take the floor.

Once again he declined Hayden’s offer to take his coat, but he opened it and sat down, putting his hat beside the chair.

“Detective Ball is at the hospital with the Lamar woman,” he said. “We may hear something, we may not. I understand one of you”--he glanced at Corbin and then back at Hayden--“is going to tell me why Corbin disappeared. You’re going to tell me what Adler knew about that disappearance. But first I’d like to ask _you_ some questions, Mr. Hayden.”

He paused, the gray eyes steady, and something in that look told Hayden he wasn’t going to like the questions.

“You went to Mobile and Fairview to look for Corbin. That means you knew he was alive.”

“I thought he might be.”

“What made you think so?”

It was Hayden’s turn to hesitate, and when he understood that evasion and temporizing would get him nowhere he decided to do the best he could with the truth.

“Adler came to my wife and told her so.”

“He wanted money to stay quiet about it?”

“Yes.”

“She told you. You went to Mr. Denham for advice and then you went to The Shady Maple. Now what took you to Mobile? How did you know Adler might have come from there?”

“You told me later.”

Garvey’s brows lifted. “So I did. All right. Now assuming Corbin lived in that area, how did you expect to find him? No one knew him by that name. You had to have some kind of a lead, a photograph or something--”

Hayden was already reaching for the snapshots and the enlargement of the insignia on the coveralls Corbin had worn when the picture was taken. He offered them, saw Garvey’s eyes narrow as he inspected them.

“You took them from Adler’s wallet,” the lieutenant said. “You denied being there that night.”

“I had to deny it. If you had known what Adler wanted then, and there was always a chance those negatives would turn up--as a matter of fact they did--then you would have known I had both a motive for murder and the opportunity. You might have arrested me that first night.”

“We might have.... So how did you finally locate Corbin?”

Hayden told him in detail about his search the previous day, and when he finished Garvey cleared his throat.

“Now that we’ve got that part straight let’s let it go for now and get back to Adler and how _he_ knew Corbin was alive.”

Hayden looked over at Corbin, who was sitting in his chair, supported by shoulders and buttocks, his long legs stretched out with ankles crossed.

“Do you want to tell it?”

Corbin lifted one hand, tipped it. A small smile twisted his tanned, good-looking face and his voice was unconcerned.

“Go ahead. You’re better with words than I am.”

Hayden reached for a straight-backed chair and sat down. He said what he had to say was going to take quite a while and to make any sense he would have to explain why Corbin had decided to disappear when the opportunity came to him.

He spoke as briefly as he could about the marriage that could no longer survive and the circumstances which had taken Corbin to Capitol City in the first place. Recalling all the things that the big man had told him, he re-created a verbal picture that included the money Corbin had won with his football bets, the trench coat, the offering of that coat to the man who had none, the timing of Corbin’s movements in the air terminal that made it possible for the stranger to board the plane in his place.

He did the best he could with Corbin’s thoughts and movements, once he heard the aircraft had crashed. He spoke of the bus trip from the airport to Capitol City and from there to Mobile. He told of Adler’s curiosity, his feeling that if he was patient and played his cards right he might someday be rewarded for what he knew.

“The newspaper accounts told him about Marion and the insurance money,” he said. “For two years he continued to check on her and Corbin. He knew she had married again; he knew about me. He also knew that Corbin had done pretty well and that he had a girl he expected to marry. He took a snapshot and got a photograph of Corbin’s fingerprints and then he was ready for the payoff.”

He stopped, aware that he had been talking a long time, that the back of his throat was dry. He glanced over at Roger Denham in his well-tailored, three-button suit. Corbin was still stretched out in his chair and Marion, sitting in the opposite corner of the divan from Garvey, had pulled her legs up under her, her knees bent. Neither Garvey nor Malone had interrupted him, and now he concentrated on arranging the facts as he knew them so he could bring the story up to date.

“Adler went to Corbin first,” he said. “He told him what he knew and promised to stay quiet for five thousand dollars. He had a gun with him but Corbin took it away and threw him out and threw the gun after him. He warned him if he opened his mouth again he would wind up in Mobile Bay with an anchor around his neck. I think Adler believed him. I think he’d had enough of Corbin, so he came North to see how much he could collect from us.”

He took a breath and said: “But Adler wouldn’t let well enough alone. He resented the treatment Corbin had given him and he was now fifteen hundred miles away. Being the kind of person he was, he couldn’t resist telephoning Corbin and telling him that he was going to collect anyway.... You found out about that phone call, didn’t you?” he said to Garvey.

Garvey considered the question and decided to answer it affirmatively.

“It came from a booth near the Log Cabin,” Hayden said. “It was made on the night Adler took Doris Lamar there, the night George Freeman tried to jump him. I think that call was to Corbin and it was a mistake because Corbin flew up here to stop him.”

“Now wait a minute.” Corbin pulled in his legs, put his hands on the chair arms, and lifted himself to a sitting position. He leaned forward slightly, brows bent and his jaw hard. “Just because Adler called me doesn’t mean I came.”

Hayden stood up and produced the baggage tag he had removed from the big man’s suitcase the night before when Corbin had gone to see his girl for a few minutes. He gave the tag to Garvey.

“Corbin had to stop Adler,” he said. “What was happening was his fault and he wasn’t just thinking about himself. He didn’t want Marion to get hurt for something he did if he could help it.”

Garvey inspected the tag, turned it over, and he needed no diagram. He looked at Corbin.

“This says you flew from New York to Mobile Wednesday morning. That means you were probably in New York Tuesday night.”