Part 10 (1/2)

You were a trifle--shall we say, crude?” He coughed.

”Then you may call in and advise Headquarters that evidence has been gathered and action is being taken in this case of Donald Michaels.”

He turned and went out the door.

Masterson watched as the door closed, then reached into the back of a desk drawer. He took out a small box with a number of switches mounted on its top. For a moment, he examined the object, then he got to his feet and went to the window.

He stood, looking out of the window for a few moments, nodded, and let his fingers play among the switches. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction and went back to his desk.

He looked contemplatively at the telephone for a moment, then picked it up and started flipping at the dial.

The sports flier dropped free for the last few feet, bounced, tilted, and finally righted itself. It was not a very good landing.

Don snapped the switch off and sat for a moment, looking out at the long, low house. Then he let himself out of the flier and walked across the courtyard and through the door.

The front room was empty. He looked over at the wide gla.s.s panels that formed one side of the room. A small, dark man came from between the bushes of the inner garden. He slid a panel aside and looked expressionlessly at Don for a moment. Then he slowly allowed his head to drop.

”Master Donald,” he said. He raised his head, looking at Don with brilliant yellow eyes. ”Your father did not expect you until two days.”

”I know, Dowro. But I came home early. I want to talk to him.”

”It is well.” The man motioned toward a curtained arch. ”He is below.”

”Thanks, Dowro. I'll find him.” Don swept the curtains aside and turned, to open a heavy door.

As he started down the steep flight of stairs, a sharp crack came from the bas.e.m.e.nt. He grinned. With this kind of weather, the range would be busy.

Kent Michaels stood on the plastic flooring, a rifle at his shoulder.

The front sight weaved almost imperceptibly, then steadied. He seemed completely unaware of his son's presence.

Suddenly, a spurt of smoke came from the muzzle of the rifle. There was another sharp crack and the muzzle swept upward then dropped, to become steady again.

At last, the shooter took the weapon from his shoulder and opened the action. He looked around.

”Oh, Don,” he said. ”Didn't expect you for a couple of days. There's no holiday down there right now, is there?”

Don shook his head. ”I made a new one,” he said. ”Permanent type.”

His father bent over the rifle action, examining it. Then he stepped over to place the weapon in a rack. Finally, he turned, to look searchingly at his son.

”Permanent?”

”Afraid so, Dad. I guess I sort of blew up.”

”Want to tell me about it?”

The older man motioned Don to a camp stool and pulled one over for himself. As Don talked, he listened intently. At last, he nodded.

”So that's all of that, eh?”