They walked out of the house, across the front porch, and down to where Mason had left his car parked. Drake said in an undertone, “Feel like running before they start shooting? It’s an even-money bet they’ll grab us before we get to the car.”
Mason laughed, said, “We’re okay, Paul. Something else is bothering me.”
“What?”
“I’d just like to know if Adele Blane’s car is still at the Acme Garage.”
Drake said. “We can soon find out. That garage is just one block over from the main drag. My man says you can’t miss it.”
Mason, starting the motor, said, “I’m suspicious of the things you can’t miss... Wonder who it was that telephoned in about that revolver shot.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t suppose they’re going to give us any information in case they do find out... Swing to the left at the next corner, Perry, and then turn to the right.”
Drake said, “Better let me go in, Perry. Two of us will make him suspicious. There’s a way of handling these things.”
Drake entered the garage, was gone for about five minutes, came back, jerked open the door of Mason’s car, slid in beside the lawyer and slumped down on the seat.
“Well?” Mason asked.
Drake said, “Adele Blane took her car out exactly forty-five minutes ago.”
Mason slammed the car into gear.
Drake, slumping dejectedly over against the corner of the seat, said, “One thing about a guy who works on your cases, Perry, he never needs to get bored... Where are we going now?”
Mason, putting the car rapidly through the gears, said, “This time I’m going to try to get an interview before the police do.”
“With Adele?” Drake asked.
“With Adele,” Mason said, pushing the throttle down to the floorboard.
Chapter 14
Utter silence surrounded the mountain cabin. The steady hissing of the gasoline lantern was the only sound that reached Harley Raymand’s ears. There was no wind in the trees. The air was cold and still with that breathless chill which polishes stars into glittering brilliance.
It was, of course, absurd to think that the aura of death could make itself felt. Harley Raymand had seen death strike around him, to the right and to the left. He had trained himself to disregard danger. And yet, try as he would, a feeling persisted that gradually grew into a nervousness — a feeling that murder was in the air.
Those other deaths he had witnessed had been violent, full-blooded deaths in the heat of combat. Men, seeking to kill, had in turn, been killed. It was a fast game played in the open, and for high stakes — victory for the winner and death for the loser. But this was something different: a cold, sinister, silent death that struck furtively in the dark and then vanished, leaving behind only the body of its victim.
Harley realized that nine-tenths of his uneasiness was due to the feeling that he was being watched, that someone was keeping the cabin under a sinister surveillance.
He slipped out through the kitchen to the tree-shaded barbecue grounds, climbed the three long steps to the rustic porch, walked around to the front of the house, and stood by the porch rail, looking out at the stars.
Something flickered. A mere wisp of light that shone like a fitful firefly in the trees, and then was gone. Harley waited, tense, watching. He saw the light again. This time it was stronger, sufficiently powerful so that he could see shadows cast on a pine tree. He knew then that someone was picking a surreptitious way through the forest, using a flashlight only at intervals.
Harley flattened himself in the shadows, and waited.
After some three minutes he saw two figures come out in the open. For a moment they were silhouetted against a beam of light flashed against the white granite outcropping. Then the flashlight was extinguished and all was darkness.
Harley thought he could hear the faint hiss of cautious whispers. Noiselessly he left the porch. Moving slowly, with the night stealth he had learned as part of his military training, he approached the rock.
The flashlight came on once more, shielded by cupped hands, throwing a spot of illumination on the ground at almost the exact spot where he had discovered the clock.
He was close enough to hear the whisper. “This is the place.”
There was something vaguely familiar about that whisper. It was a woman’s voice. Hands were scraping away at the ground. Harley caught a glimpse of those hands. Long, tapering fingers, slender, graceful hands and wrists—
“Adele!” he exclaimed.
The flashlight went out. There was a little scream, then a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, and Adele Blane said, “Harley! You scared ten years’ growth right out of me... Are you alone?”
“Yes. Who’s with you?”
“Myrna Payson... Harley, what happened to the clock?”
“I don’t know. We couldn’t find it. It isn’t there.”
“You searched for it?”
“Yes... How did you get here? Why didn’t you come to the cabin?”
“I went to Myrna’s. We drove down to the first hairpin turn, left the car there and took a short cut. There’s a trail over the ridge, only about half a mile of good walking... I’m keeping myself out of circulation... But if anyone offered me a hot drink, I could certainly use one.”
“Got tea, coffee and chocolate,” Harley said. “Why doesn’t Myrna Payson say something?”
Myrna threw back her head and laughed. “What do you want me to say? As far as the hot drink is concerned, I’ll say yes.”
“Let’s go up to the cabin,” Adele suggested. “You’ll have to keep the curtains drawn, Harley. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. I can’t tell you now. Harley, we’ve simply got to find where Jack hid that stuff he stole. It’s around here somewhere. That’s why he came up here with that spade... And I keep thinking the clock has something to do with it.”
“Well, let’s go to the cabin and talk it over. There’s no use looking at night.”
“I suppose not. I thought that clock would be here, and I could tell something from that. I’d been telling Myrna about it. She felt it was the best clue of all.”
“That’s one of the first things they looked for.”
“You told them about it?”
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t find it?”
“Not only that, but they can’t find any evidence that anything was ever buried there.”
“I wasn’t sure you were still here,” Adele said. “That’s why I was being so furtive. There’s no one else in the cabin, Harley?”
“No.”
“No one must know I’m here. Understand? Not a solitary soul.”
“It’s okay by me.”
They entered the lighted cabin. Myrna Payson frankly sized up Harley, grinned, and said, “Hello, neighbor. You remember me? I’m the cowgirl who has the ranch over on the plateau. The cattlemen all think I’m going broke because I’m a ‘fool woman’; and when I go to town, women look askance at me because I’m living ‘all by myself, cooking for three cowboys.’ On the one hand, I’m a fool; and on the other, a fallen woman. Pay your money and take your choice.”
“And a darned loyal friend,” Adele interposed.
Myrna Payson settled herself in a chair, thrust out high-heeled riding boots, fished a cloth sack of cigarette tobacco from her shirt pocket, and started rolling a cigarette, “Adele won’t admit it, but I think she’s wanted by the police, and concealing her will make me a real, sure-enough criminal.”
Adele said, “Don’t joke about it, Myrna. It’s serious.”
“I’m not joking,” Myrna said, spilling rattling grains of tobacco into the brown paper.