I got out of the car and there he was. Down on his hands and knees, looking like the guy on the railroad track ten seconds after the Twentieth Century went through. He was dazed but recovering fast, so I lifted ray foot and tapped him sharply with the toe of my shoe just above the right ear. I stepped over him carefully on my way toward the front porch because it’s a hard world and who likes to step on a buddy.
The front door opened while I was still a couple of yards away, and a girl came out on the porch. She was young, not yet twenty; dark, with a vibrant curiosity showing in her eyes. She didn’t look the sister type and I was glad about that—I need a sister the way the guy out cold on the grass needed a buddy.
“I heard the horn,” she said breathlessly. “Is there anything wrong?”
“Not a thing,” I assured her. “You’re Clemmie Hazel-ton?”
“That’s right,” she nodded eagerly. “Were you looking for me?”
“I’m Danny Boyd,” I said. “A friend of Martha’s. She said to look you up.”
“I’m glad you did,” she smiled warmly. “Any male friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine I”
“My pleasure,” I said politely.
“Didn’t Pete come out when you tooted?” she asked.
“Pete?” I asked blandly.
“He’s most of the help around here,” she said. “I guess he must have been busy some place else.” Her smile deepened as she looked me over carefully. “Won’t you come in?”
“Thanks,” I said. “Martha gave me a message for you.”
I followed her into the house, into the large, wide-beamed living room that was furnished a litde too selfconsciously in Early Colonial.
“Sit down, won’t you?” she said. “Can I fix you a drink or something?”
“Not right now,” I told her.
She didn’t have her older sister’s elegance—or arrogance. But she had the beauty all right, not matured yet but coming along fast as the full curves under the tight dress proved. It began to look like an interesting assignment.
“Is there any more hired help on the farm beside Pete?” I asked.
‘There’s only Sylvia, but she’s out on the farm someplace—I haven’t seen her the last couple of hours—I can’t think what’s happened to Pete.”
“O.K.,” I said. “I’ll give it to you straight, Clemmie. I’m a private detective.”
“How thrilling!” Her eyes shone with genuine excitement. “Is it something Martha’s done?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Your sister hired me to rescue you.”
She looked at me like I was something that fell out when you took the back off the television receiver.
“I beg your pardon?” she said carefully.
Right then I got that feeling, but I was in there, so I might just as well keep on pitching.
“Martha says if you don’t get away from here,” I said slowly, “you’ll be a statistic in the Missing Persons Bureau the way your brother is right now.”
“Philip?” She looked at me blankly. “Is he missing?” “That’s the way Martha tells it,” I said, but it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to me. “You want to get your hat, pack a bag?”
“This is a joke, isn’t it, Mr. Boyd?” She smiled doubtfully.
“It’s on me if it is,” I said. “Aren’t you being kept a prisoner here?”
‘That’s crazy!” she said flatly. “Of course I’m not— whatever gave you that idea?”
“You don’t want me to rescue you?”
“Of course not!”
The front door opened and I heard the sound of heavy feet thumping across the hallway, then Pete the muscleman came into the room, moving fast, heading toward me with a determined look on his face.
‘Til take care of you,’* he said venomously. “You lousy—”
“Pete!” Clemmie said sharply. “What’s got into you?”
It threw him off his stride, making us buddies again. Two Galahads riding in on white horses, with the damsel in distress telling us to go peddle our lances some place else. I knew exactly how he felt.
“But, Miss Hazelton!” He nearly choked with emotion. “This guy just busted in here and—”
“Mr. Boyd is a friend of my sister’s, and he’s just visiting,” she said. “It’s very rude of you to come into the house like this. I’m surprised at you, Pete! Please leave us.”
His face turned an ugly mottled color as he glared at her for a long, speechless moment.
“Pete!” she said crisply.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I heard you.” Then he shuffled out of the room, the veins standing out on the back of his neck in fury.
Clemmie’s face was flushed faintly when she looked at me, after Pete had gone.
“I’m sorry about that, Mr. Boyd. He gets excited sometimes for no good reason. He thinks it’s his job to protect me—against what I don’t know!” She bit her full lower lip for a moment. “You were serious, weren’t you, about Martha hiring you to rescue me from here?”
“So was she,” I agreed.
The color deepened on her face. “Poor Martha! Sometimes she—well—she imagines things. I’m terribly sorry you’ve been put to all this trouble, Mr. Boyd. I’ll mention it to my father—I’m sure he’ll cover your expenses for your wasted journey at least.”
I got out of the Early Colonial chair, feeling like an Early Colonial hick.
“It was no trouble,” I said. “I guess I might as well go right back to New York now. That story about Philip having disappeared, that was Martha’s imagination too, huh?”
“I haven’t seen him for the last two or three days,” she said mildly. “But he and Father only come up here on week-ends. I expect you’ll find him in our Beekman Place apartment when you get back, if you’re looking for him.” “I’ll tell Martha hello for you,” I said. “Along with a couple of other things I’ve got in mind.”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Boyd,” she said. “Don’t be hard on her, it’s ... not her fault.”
“Sure,” I said vaguely, then walked past her into the hallway and out the front door.
Pete had disappeared, so the only thing left to do was get back into the car and drive toward Manhattan. That was how I had it figured, but by the time I reached the car, something happened to change my mind.
The something was blonde, wearing a battered straw hat; a white cotton shirt with the top three buttons undone, and a pair of skintight citrus green pants. She walked with that wiggle which proves women smarter than men—they still know what a tail is for.
I leaned one elbow on the left front fender of the car and watched as she came toward me. She didn’t hurry because she knew she didn’t have to, nobody was going to get bored watching her walk.
Her eyes were the blue of Central Park lake in summer, and her skin was almost as bronze as the Seagram Building. She had high cheekbones, a tiptilted nose, and lips that looked lonely. Her high, full breasts made two sharp triangular outlines against the thin cotton shirt, proving that guy Isosceles knew what he was talking about.
“Hello,” she said in a softly pitched, slightly husky voice. “Are you looking for somebody—or did you find them already?”
“I found them already,” I told her. “I didn’t figure I was still looking for somebody until you came along.” 17
“I guess you must be a traveling salesman?” She fluttered her eyelashes extravagantly. “My Pa done told me about guys like you!”
“If you’re the farmer’s daughter, I’ll go plough a field some place,” I said.
Her lips parted in a smile, showing even white teeth. “Pete told me about you,” she said huskily. “That’s why I had to come see for myself—Pete is supposed to be the tough guy around these parts.”
“Are you part of the hired help, too?” I asked.
“I’m Sylvia West,” she said. “I’m a kind of housekeeper-companion. During the week I see Clemmie doesn’t get too lonely up here by herself.”