Part 17 (1/2)

”Oh, no!” Carol said, shrinking back.

”You're not frightened of me?” Hatty asked, and laughed.

”We belong to the same breed. We don't hurt each other. You needn't be frightened.”

Carol s.h.i.+vered.

”Please don't talk like that; I'm not mad. It's wicked to say I'm mad.”

”Don't excite yourself,” Hatty said. ”If you want to get away you must undo these straps; and you'd better be quick. We can't be far off now. Once they get you inside you'll never get out again.”

Carol walked slowly over to her, stood looking down at her.

”And if I do release you, how shall I get away?” she asked, and s.h.i.+vered as she saw the cunning that lurked in the bright little eyes.

”Get me out of this jacket,” Hatty whispered, ”and then start screaming and banging. He'll come in to see what's the matter. It's his duty to see what's happening. While he's attending to you, I'll go for him. The two of us can fix him easily enough.”

Sam Garland was a mile from Point Breese when he heard hammering and screaming from inside the ambulance. He scowled into the darkness, and after a moment's hesitation stopped the ambulance. He didn't want Carol to hurt herself. He wanted to hand her over to Doc Travers in good condition so there'd be no arguing about the five-thousand-dollar reward.

He climbed out of the cab and, cursing under his breath, walked round in the darkness to the back of the ambulance, unlocked the door, opened it and peered into the dimly lit interior.

Carol was flinging herself against the far wall, her screams reverberating in the confined s.p.a.ce.

Garland shot a quick look at Hatty Summers. She eyed him from under the blanket, giggled excitedly, but she looked safe enough. He climbed into the ambulance, pulled the door to, but not shut, grabbed hold of Carol, twisting her arms behind her.

”Take it easy,” he said. ”You lie down, baby. You're getting over-excited.”

Carol was terrified when she found how helpless she was in his experienced grip, and although she struggled frantically Garland forced her to a stretcher that hung on a rack opposite to the one on which Hatty lay.

”Let me go!” Carol panted. ”Take your hands off me!”

”All right, baby,” Garland said soothingly. ”No need to get worked up. Just lie down. I'll make you comfortable.”

He gripped her wrists in one big hand, suddenly stooped and caught her under her knees, lifted her and dropped her on to the stretcher.

At that moment Hatty pushed off the blanket and sat up.

Some instinct warned Garland of his danger, and he looked over his shoulder as Hatty swung her legs off the stretcher.

Still holding Carol's wrists, he faced Hatty.

”Be a good girl and stay where you are,” he said gently. He wasn't fl.u.s.tered, but he knew he would have to get out quick. He couldn't hope to handle both of them. ”Get back on to that stretcher,” he ordered, and at the same moment he released Carol's wrists, jumped for the door.

There wasn't enough s.p.a.ce for quick movement, and besides, Hatty was already on her feet. She grabbed hold of Garland's arm, swung him round and, laughing gleefully, she shot her hands at his throat.

Carol struggled off the stretcher, tried to force her way past Garland to the door, but he threw her back and, cursing, broke Hatty's stranglehold.

As he broke clear Carol caught hold of his arm, hung on. Hatty flew at him, her eyes blazing. He reeled back under her weight, his shoulders thudding against the stretcher. Then his foot slipped and he was down, and Hatty, screaming with excitement, reached for his throat again.

Garland didn't lose his head. He buried his chin in his chest, kept his neck stiff and hit Hatty with his clenched fist. He hit her very hard, driving her off him, and he twisted round, shoved the ambulance door back, threw himself into the road.

Carol sprang down beside him, began to run. She had only taken two steps when a hand gripped her flying ankle and she pitched forward, coming down heavily on the tarmac, the breath leaving her body.

Hatty sprang out of the ambulance as Garland was getting to his feet. She jumped straight at Garland, her feet thudding into his chest. He went over, rolled clear, struggled up, cursing.

He didn't give a d.a.m.n if Hatty escaped, but the Blandish girl was not going to get away if he could help it. She represented five thousand dollars to him-and he could use five thousand dollars. He imagined that if he left Hatty alone she would run off and he would only have to worry about Carol, but here he made a mistake. Hatty was after his blood.

And when he again shoved her off, and ran to Carol, Hatty paused for a moment while her blunt fingers scrabbled in the gra.s.s by the side of the road for a stone. It took her a moment or so before she found a heavy piece of flint, and in that time Garland had caught hold of Carol and was dragging her back to the ambulance.

Carol screamed frantically, but she was powerless in his grip, and when he swung open the ambulance door she suddenly gave up in despair.

Hatty waited until Garland had lifted Carol, then she ran up behind him on tiptoe, brought the flint down on his head with all her strength.

It was mid-day and the hot suns.h.i.+ne streamed down on the golden plantation and on the big white stucco house that stood on the hill.

Deputy George Staum sat on the white terrace, his hat at the back of his head, a cigarette dangling from his lips. This, he told himself, was the life. Guarding a place like Gra.s.s Hill was a cinch, especially when your hostess was as beautiful and as hospitable as Veda Banning. And not only that, but there was nothing to do except sit around and nurse a gun and sunbathe. It was a life of ease and luxury: something Staum had always wished to experience. His job was to watch out for the Sullivans, but then he knew the Sullivans didn't exist. Still, if Kamp thought they did and wanted him to sit around in the sun to look out for them, that suited him. In fact, he hoped Kamp would continue to believe in the Sullivan myth so he could stay here for the rest of the fall.

”You wouldn't have thought a smart fella like Magarth would have fallen for this baloney about the Sullivans,” Staum thought to himself, stretching out his short legs and shaking his head. It just showed that even a smart guy slipped up every now and then.

Staum wouldn't have sat in the suns.h.i.+ne so calmly if he had known the Sullivans were lying in the long gra.s.s not more than two hundred yards from him, and had been there for the past half hour, their white faces intent, their eyes watching everything that went on around the big house.

”I guess he must be in there,” Max said, his thin lips scarcely moving. ”If not, why the guard?”

”What are you going to do?” Frank asked uneasily. The sun was burning down on his back and he was thirsty.

”We'll stick around,” Max returned. ”I want to see just how many guards there are.”

Inside the big cool house Magarth was lolling on a settee, a highball in his hand. Veda, who had just come in from the packing shed, smiled her welcome.

”Well, there you are,” she said, coming over to him. ”I didn't expect to see you this morning. Have you got all you want?”

”You might freshen this up for me,” Magarth said, handing over his gla.s.s. ”I thought I'd look in and see how the patient is. Nurse Davies says he had a good night.”

”He is better,” Veda returned, adding more whisky to Magarth's drink and pa.s.sing it back. ”No news of the Blandish girl vet?”

”NO, nor of the Sullivans.”

”George Staum doesn't believe in the Sullivans,” Veda said, sitting down beside Magarth.

”He doesn't believe in anything. But he will if they ever turn up here-which I hope they won't.”

The telephone rang in the hall and a moment later the receiver near Magarth buzzed as the maid switched the call through.

”It's for you, precious,” Veda said, handing the receiver to Magarth.

It was Sheriff Kamp on the line.

Magarth listened to the deep growling voice, nodded his head.