But later they both slept, and woke at eight-thirty the following morning when the hotel maid brought them coffee and rolls. She also brought in with her the atmosphere of suppressed excitement. It was more electric now than the previous night, but it didn’t affect Max. He sat up in bed, poured the coffee, passed a cup to Frank, who put it on the table at his side.
‘They’ll be coming for him in a few minutes,’ Frank said, betraying that he was still thinking of the execution.
‘The rolls aren’t hot enough,’ Max grumbled, got out of bed and went into the bathroom.
He had just finished shaving when the trap was sprung. The crash left him unmoved. He continued to clean his razor, his white, cold face expressionless. A moment after the trap was sprung a vast sigh came up from the street in through the open bathroom window, and he looked out and saw the huge crowd standing before the jail.
‘Vultures,’ he thought, and with sudden vicious hatred of them and their morbid curiosity he spat out of the window.
When he returned to the bedroom Frank was quiet. He was still in bed, and his pillow was dark with sweat, and sweat ran down his face so that his skin glistened in the sunlight.
The two men didn’t say anything to each other. Max noticed that Frank hadn’t touched his coffee nor his rolls.
While Max dressed the only sound came from the shuffling feet of the crowd as they broke up and returned to their homes. Frank stared up at the ceiling, listening to the shuffling, and sweat continued to darken his pillow.
‘I’ll be back in a little while,’ Max said at the door. ‘You’d better wait for me here.’
Frank didn’t trust his voice, so he didn’t say anything, and Max didn’t seem to expect him to say anything.
‘Any news?’ Magarth asked as he pushed open the door to the Sheriff’s office and entered the dingy little room.
Kamp glanced up.
‘I’ve just got back from the execution,’ he said. There was still a faint greenish tinge in his brick-red complexion. It was his first execution in five years and it had upset him. He grimaced, went on: ‘I’ve had a report that the Packard Clipper we want was seen in Kinston midday yesterday and was headed for Campville, but nothing else has come in — no trace of the girl. Campville’s sheriff is keeping his eyes open. We’ll hear if anything else turns up.’
Magarth sat on the edge of the desk.
‘I wonder if they have got her,’ he said, a worried look in his eyes. ‘Seems odd they should be leaving the district. I was willing to bet they’d have had a shot at finishing Larson. Of course, if they have got her, they might be taking her some place we wouldn’t think to look for her, and then come back here after Larson. Think we should comb the country around Campville?’
‘It’s being done,’ Kamp said. ‘And we’re watching all roads into Point Breese for the Packard in case they try to slip back here.’
‘Good enough,’ Magarth said approvingly. ‘Well, there’s not much else we can do. I’m going over to Miss Banning’s place to see how they’re getting on. I saw Doc Kober just now. He thinks Larson has a fighting chance, but he mustn’t be worried for a day or so. I sent young Riley up to the farm to look after his foxes.’
‘Hartman’s been in again,’ Kamp said, pulling a wry face.
‘That reminds me,’ Magarth said. ‘I told you we were investigating Hartman’s background. We’ve just received a report. He’s been playing the markets and has sustained some heavy losses, but he always manages to find enough money to meet his commitments and continues to plunge. No one knows where he gets the money from, but I can guess. It mightn’t be a bad idea if the Blandish girl wasn’t found until next week. If she comes into her money a thorough investigation could be made, and I bet we’d dig up enough to put Hartman away for a long time.’
‘You newspaper guys are the most suspicious men in the world,’ Kamp said, pulling at his moustache. ‘Anyway, the girl’s dangerous. We have to find her as quickly as we can.’
‘I wonder if she is,’ Magarth returned. ‘She seemed normal enough to me when I talked to her.’
‘Doc Travers explained that to me,’ Kamp said. ‘She has a split mind. She may go for weeks acting normal before she has an attack, but when she’s that way she’s highly dangerous.’
‘I can’t imagine it,’ Magarth said stubbornly. ‘I’ve talked to her; you haven’t.’ He shrugged, slid off the table. ‘I’ll be getting along. Give me a call if anything breaks. You can reach me at Miss Banning’s place. I’ll be there all morning.’
As he ran down the steps of the jail Jedson, the owner of the big service station close by, hailed him by name, crossed the street to speak to him.
Max, standing on the hotel steps, heard Jedson hail Magarth and without appearing to move, edged behind one of the big pillars supporting the hotel porch. He watched Magarth exchange a few words with Jedson, then climb into his battered Cadillac and drive off.
Jedson moved towards the hotel and Max strolled down the steps to meet him.
‘Was that Magarth, the newspaper man?’ Max asked as Jedson was about to pass him.
Jedson paused, looked Max over, nodded briefly.
‘That’s right, mister,’ he said, made to pass on.
‘That’s my bad luck,’ Max went on. ‘I’m supposed to do business with him. It’s my first visit to this town. Know where he’s gone?’
Jedson shook his head.
‘Maybe he’s gone to Miss Banning’s place,’ he said helpfully. ‘You could put a call through if it’s urgent.’
‘Thanks,’ Max said. ‘It’s urgent all right. Who’s Miss Banning?’
‘She runs a big orange plantation upon Grass Hill,’ Jedson said; then, realizing he was talking a lot, gave Max a sharp glance.
‘Grass Hill?’ Max said, and smiled, shoving his white pointed teeth. ‘Thanks.’
Jedson watched Max walk quickly into the hotel and up the stairs. He lifted his hat to scratch his head.
‘Now, I wonder who he is?’ he said to himself.
While the Sullivans had been trying to sleep in their hotel bedroom, Sam Garland drove his ambulance along the dark highway towards Point Breese. He was excited and jubilant. When his headlights had picked out Carol as she walked along the lonely road, and he caught a glimpse of her red hair, he had automatically slammed on his brakes. Surely there was no other girl in the district with hair like that? he said to himself. She must be Carol Blandish. And when he turned his spotlight on her he recognized her immediately.
Even now that she was securely locked in the ambulance he could scarcely believe his luck. The five-thousand-dollar reward was still unclaimed, and it would be his — and he could use five thousand dollars.
He wondered suddenly if he shouldn’t have strapped Carol to a stretcher. You never knew what tricks a nut would get up to. Garland had been a mental nurse for a number of years before he got sick of it and took on the job of Doc Travers’s chauffeur and ambulance-driver. He had learned how to handle dangerous lunatics and wasn’t scared of them. He half hesitated whether to stop and fix Carol before going on. Then as there was silence in the ambulance, he decided not to waste time, but to get to Glenview as quickly as he could. He was looking forward to seeing Joe’s face when he arrived.
But he wasn’t to know of the whispered conversation that was going on inside the ambulance.
The mad woman who was travelling with Carol — her name was Hatty Summers — had been in a home for years. At first she seemed harmless enough, but recently she had developed homicidal tendencies, and arrangements had been made to transfer her from the home in Kinston to Glenview, where the staff were better able to handle dangerous patients.