“Does he drive to Omaha?”
“No. I think he goes ten miles to Geneva to catch the Chicago and North Western. He’ll probably go to the office as usual and then take a cab.”
Lark headed the car once more toward town. “Let him go his own gait.”
They rode for awhile in strained silence.
“Of course,” she said abruptly. “Just forget the whole thing. Gabe could be rather dangerous. It didn’t take him long to shake that private investigator last time.”
“Oh shut up,” Lark said irritably. “I’ll be on his tail.”
They were coming into the outskirts of Elgin. Overhead street lights hung, one to a block, casting yellow puddles of light. Heat lightning flickered on the horizon, highlighting clumps of trees and occasional houses with grassy lawns.
Her voice sounded remote. “We’re not far from the house. It would be wiser to take a cab, don’t you think? I see one on that side street.”
He nodded, pulling the wheel sharply. The cab was just drawing away from the curb. At his arm signal the driver stopped with squealing brakes.
She had the door open, but he caught her arm. “What would be the best way to get in touch with you from out of town. Phone — telegram? Can you trust the servants?”
“I told you to forget it! I wish I’d never—”
“I’ll phone you,” he interrupted decisively. “And, Red — why did you marry him?”
Color mounted high in her cheeks. “Do you care?”
His voice softened. “Tell me.”
“Dad made me promise. He always had Gabe picked out for me. He was dying, Lark. I... I married Gabe that same night while Dad watched from his bed. It was — horrible.” She shivered.
“But — you never came near me!”
She put her soft fingers over his lips, “Let me tell you in my own way. Gabe knew I was engaged to you. When he found out I’d have nothing to do with him, he blamed you — threatened to kill you if I ever tried to see you.
“The butler follows me everywhere. It’s been like a prison. I never knew you’d been hurt that first week. When I found out, I rushed to the station and Mac heard what I’d been going through. You couldn’t help me then, and we decided to wait until your eyes were all right. And we had no proof that Gabe—” she reached up, gently touched the scar on his temple — “did that.”
He caught her hand so tightly she winced. “Proof? What do I care about proof! He did it, Red. Tomorrow I’ll get the dirty—”
“Lark! Not like that. He’s up to something. Find out what it is. Lark, promise me you won’t—”
“I don’t know. I’ll see what shapes up as I go along.”
She jumped out, slamming the door, stood gripping it so tightly her knuckles went white. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Please be careful.”
He almost leaned toward those cool, red lips. Resisting the urge he sat stiff and motionless, one foot jazzing the accelerator.
She was gone, running toward the cab. He watched her climb into the back. The cab shot away — a red dot of light winking, growing smaller.
Sunlight slanted in through the doorway of the tobacco shop where he lounged. Outside, people were moving sluggishly along the walk. It was nine in the morning and the door of Varden’s ground-floor office across the street had opened and closed once, admitting his big, well-dressed shape, lugging a brown grip.
Clayt Fenlow, the proprietor, tossed a bag of peanuts across the counter, “Here, try some. Hot, ain’t it? Wish we’d get a good rain.”
Lark munched stolidly, his eyes on that distant door. He’d already told Mac he might be out of town a few days. Heat danced above the red brick pavement of the street, illusive, vague; then again as tangible as Jeri’s slim, curved body hovering like a mirage — a dream unfolding behind his eyes. He was right back where he left off four months ago. He turned, realizing suddenly that Clayt had spoken twice.
“I asked if those glasses were really doing you any good, Lark. What’s the matter? I never seen you woolgathering so much.”
“Oh? Yes, they help, Clayt. How’s everything with you?”
The other planted his elbows on the counter, waving a pencil airily. “Business? Just fair. Now you take that feller, Varden, that came out a second ago. He can afford to ride in cabs. Marrying a gal who’s pa left her just about half the town—”
“He came out!”
Clayt’s mouth fell open. “What’s eat-in’ you? Varden climbed into a taxi. You were lookin’ right at him. It headed down Fountain Street.”
Lark ran out front. The cab was turning a corner, heading west. He spun around, ploughing into a group of people, running toward his car parked on another street. He fell in beneath the wheel, jabbing his key at the ignition, crashed a stop light, heading on a short-cut for the Geneva road.
He made open country and tromped on the gas. With luck he’d be at the Chicago, North Western depot before Varden arrived. If Varden went somewhere else? Well, then he had lost him before the chase began. Blistering down the highway at eighty miles an hour, he cursed himself for an addle-brained amateur in this game of man-stalking.
The tires sang a mad song during those few minutes it took him to hit Geneva’s outer limits; then he was forced to a more moderate pace. Traffic hedged him in. He swore. There was nothing he could do about it. He ditched his car finally and was running a short block toward the depot when he saw his man.
Gabe Varden walked swiftly on the other side of the street, swinging his grip. He wore a gray-checked sport coat, gray crush hat, gray gabardines; and he moved in a fast stride, looking neither to right or left. Once he glanced at the watch on his left wrist, pulled a white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his coat, wiping pale, plump cheeks. Abruptly he turned into a small clothing store.
Lark loitered at a news stand. He could see a clerk stirring behind the plate glass window. Varden was purchasing a pair of black gloves, trying them on, smoothing them down over his fingers. He paid for them; opened his grip and tossed them inside. Emerging as abruptly as he had entered, he headed once more toward the depot where a heavy passenger train had already ground to a stop.
Lark quickened his step. This bird worked with split-second timing.
He began to worry about Jeri. What had happened since that moment last night when Jeri returned to her lonely estate? Had Gabe been waiting for her — suspicious? Chill urgency goading him, he longed to dash for a telephone, but there was no time. He manuevered, took his place in the ticket line, ears alert.
Varden’s low, precise voice carried quite plainly. There was the word “Omaha,” and “club car.” The man was moving briskly away.
When Lark’s turn came, he bought an Omaha ticket too, but chose a day coach. Redcaps dove for his grip but he shook his head.
The wheels clacked monotonously. Sprawling behind his paper, hat tilted well down over one eye, Lark stared out at the Lincoln Highway paralleling the track like a white snake, darting in and out, disappearing in hollows, plunging over bridges. On his last trip of exploration he had spotted Varden in the car ahead, intent on a magazine.
Fifty miles down the line they stopped briefly at Dixon, Illinois, again picked up speed after taking on a few bedraggled passengers, munching ice cream cones, and carrying their coats on their arms. The heat was oppressive.
Another hour dragged by. Lark rose, stretching, moving casually toward the other car. The rumbling sound of the wheels hurt his ears as he traversed the jolting, metal pathway between doors.
Varden was gone.
Heedless of the fact that he might be instantly recognized if he bumped into the man, he ran through the car, shouldering his way into the men’s rest room. Empty!