Part 13

“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.”