Ross turned and looked at her. She was shocked to see how he had aged and how haggard his face was.
“Hank’s been up that tree for just as long, Mary,” he said. “I don’t quit until this business is settled. Anyway, thanks for the coffee. I don’t want the pie.”
“Take a bite,” Mary urged. “It’s your favorite. It’ll do you good.”
“Don’t fuss!” There was a bark in Ross’s voice. “This is my job, Mary!” He looked at the wall clock. “I told Hank to call me every ten minutes. It’s now a quarter of an hour since his last call.”
“It’s you who are fussing, Jeff,” Mary said. She poured the coffee, added sugar and pushed the cup towards him. “Give him a little time. Something might have happened.”
“Yes, but what? Something might have happened to Hank! That Logan is as dangerous as a cobra.”
“Drink some coffee,” Mary said soothingly. “Would you like me to put a drop of Scotch in it?”
Ross sipped the hot coffee. “No. I keep thinking of Hank up there, alone. You know, Mary, he’s a fine man. The best deputy I’ve ever had.”
“I know. Be patient, Jeff. You’ll see, it’ll come out all right.”
Ross wasn’t listening. His eyes were riveted on the wall clock, watching the big minute hand crawl around.
“He’s overdue by nearly twenty minutes,” he muttered. “I’ll give him another three minutes, then I’m calling him.”
“Would that be wise, Jeff? You might be interrupting something.”
“I’m calling him,” Ross said firmly. “I can’t stand it, sitting here when Hank could be in trouble.”
As the minute hand of the wall clock indicated that three minutes had dragged by, Ross switched on the radio.
“Hank?”
Only the slight crackle of static greeted him.
“Hank?” Ross raised his voice.
No answering voice that he longed to hear came to him. “Hank! You hear me?” Nothing.
“His radio could have packed up,” Mary said. “It happens, doesn’t it?” She was watching with dread as her husband’s bulky body was stiffening. “Now, Jeff, please...”
Ross stood up, pulled his gun from its holster and returned it.
“I’m going down there, Mary. Now, don’t fuss! This could be the awful business all over again when Tom got killed. I’m going to see.”
“But not alone!” Mary exclaimed. “Now, Jeff, stop this! Call Carl. Get his men down there. Don’t you realise Hank could be wounded? He could be bleeding!”
“It’ll take Carl more than an hour to get anything organized. I’m going.” He touched her shoulder, then slamming on his Stetson hat, he ran out of the office and out to the patrol car.
Mary stood motionless, then, as she heard the car start up, she moved swiftly to the telephone, She hadn’t been a policeman’s wife for over thirty years for nothing. In any emergency, Ross had once told her, always keep your head. Never panic. With a steady finger, she dialled Carl Jenner’s number.
Jenner had checked through all the reports coming from the State police in their hunt for Chet Logan. The hunt was still going on, the results negative. Logan must be miles away by now, he thought as he got to his feet. He now looked forward to returning home where his wife was keeping his supper hot.
Then the telephone bell rang. Impatiently, he picked up the receiver.
“Jenner.”
“This is Mary Ross. Carl, please listen and don’t interrupt. We’re in trouble here, and we need fast action. Here’s what has been happening.” Concisely, she told Jenner that both Ross and Hollis had suspected Logan was hiding in Perry Weston’s fishing lodge, how Hollis had staked out the lodge in a tree, how he then confirmed that Logan was indeed there, that Mrs Weston had arrived, and it was agreed that to bring in extra help would mean both Weston’s and his wife’s deaths were certain.
Jenner had sat down, the receiver pressed to his ear, now and then uttering, “Jesus!”
“Hollis has been up this tree for seven hours. Weston collected ten thousand dollars from the bank and returned to the lodge. Jeff is sure Logan, with this money, is going to break out. Hollis was going to shoot him as soon as he appeared. He has been keeping in touch with Jeff every ten minutes,” Mary went on. “Now, there’s no answer on the radio.” Her voice began to shake, but with an effort, she controlled herself. “Jeff has just gone to find out what’s happening. Carl! You must do something quickly! Jeff is an old man. If Hollis is dead, Jeff can’t handle a brute like Logan. Please...”
“Take it easy, Mary. I’ve got men standing by,” Jenner said. “We’ll be down there in half an hour. Leave it to me.” He slammed down the receiver and switched on his radio.
With his blue light flashing, but no siren, Sheriff Ross drove down the highway at breakneck speed. At this hour, the traffic to Jacksonville was light. Seeing the flashing blue light, oncoming cars pulled to the side to let the patrol car flash by.
As he drove, Ross was thinking. He would stop at the footpath and make his way down the path to the river on foot. He was tempted to use the muddy road, but if Hank’s radio had failed and Hank was still up the tree, arriving in the patrol car at the fishing lodge would be a complete giveaway. If he went by the footpath, he would be faced with a two mile walk. He slowed the patrol car.
He was rushing things, yet he kept thinking of Hollis. Then seeing the lights of a garage ahead, he gave a nod. A bicycle!
He pulled into the garage, and an elderly man came out, wiping his hands on an oil stained rag.
“Evening, Sheriff,” he said. “Fill her up, huh?”
“No, Tom. Have you a bicycle I can borrow?”
The man gaped. “A bicycle?”
“Police business, Tom. Have you got one?”
Startled by the bark in Ross’s voice, the man nodded. “Sure. You want it?”
Ross got out of the patrol car and lifted the hatch back. “Put it in there, fast!”
Within two minutes, the bicycle in the car, Ross was again roaring down the highway.
Reaching the signpost “River” he pulled up, dragged the bicycle from the car, then walked with it to the footpath.
He couldn’t remember how long ago it was since he had ridden a bicycle. It was said once you have ridden a bicycle you could always ride a bicycle, like swimming.
Ross mounted the machine, wobbled, thudded against a tree and nearly fell off. He righted the machine, cursing under his breath, then started riding. By sheer willpower, he kept the bicycle going. Then as the footpath straightened out he increased speed. He pedalled furiously, feeling sweat running down his face, practically throwing the bicycle forward.
Three times, he nearly hit disaster, as the bicycle skidded in soft patches of mud, but he managed to keep going. He was aware the minutes were passing.
The two mile ride would remain in his memory until his death. With his breath rasping through his clenched teeth, his heart hammering from exertion, he saw ahead of him, the glitter of the river in the moonlight.
Slamming on the brakes, he skidded to a standstill, then, dropping the bicycle into the shrubs and drawing his gun, he moved slowly and cautiously down the path.
He paused when he could see the fishing lodge, brilliantly lit by the moonlight. He waited several minutes until his breathing returned to normal, then, crouching, he moved forward for several yards, then again stopped.
From where he was, he had an uninterrupted view of the lodge. He could see lights were on in the living room and in the major bedroom, then he realized the jeep had gone.