She paid me no attention. "I was shocked, of course," she said, "terribly shocked. He hadn't seemed like that sort of person at all, any more than you… Matt, do you think I have an… an affinity for men who do you think I really, subconsciously, under all my civilized ideas and ideals, want someone… someone violent…
"You mean," I said, "like the prissy schoolmarm type really wants to be raped?"
She flushed, and went on quickly: "Anyway, Larry saw on my face what I was thinking. 'I'm sorry, my dear,' he said, 'it was too much to ask, of course.' And he had exactly the same weary look that you had when you said we might as well call it a day. And I couldn't do it again, don't you understand? I couldn't do it a second time! I know you think I failed you, and I still think you had no right to expect… But I couldn't do it to him, too. I just couldn't!" After a while, she said quietly, "Maybe it would have been better if I had. I
I'm not very good at this sort of thing, Matt." Presently she added, with a touch of defiance, "I don't think anyone should have to be!"
I said, "It would be nice if thinking made it so."
I frowned at her for a moment longer, wondering if there could have been some basis for her theory about herself; it was odd that twice she should have picked men with dark secrets. Well, her subconscious was her problem. I yawned and put the atlas aside and started to eat. The drink had been a mistake. It had only reminded me of all the hours I'd been without sleep. When Beth spoke again, her voice seemed to come from far away.
I asked, "What did you say?"
"What did you do with that sexy little girl? That's her car outside, isn't it?"
I wished she hadn't asked. I had a sudden picture of the kid as I'd last seen her. I asked you what side you were on, Moira had whispered, and you kissed me. I asked you why we had to come here and you said because you wanted me safe. Safe! I had no trouble at all remembering the contempt in her voice and expression.
1 said, "I traded that sexy little girl for a safe-conduct pass for the kids. When young Peter checks in tomorrow morning, tell him it's okay to bring them home."
Beth frowned. "I don't understand-"
I said, "I'm not too proud to borrow a good idea. There was nothing wrong with the Duke's plan except its execution. I just went ahead with it after you left."
"You mean-"
"I mean," I said, "she's being held in a certain place. Fredericks has been notified that anything that happens to my kids happens to his kid, too. I think I managed to convince him that I mean it." I drew a long breath. "In other words, we've got the children off the streets. We've canceled them out. It's just a game for grown-ups, now."
Beth was still frowning. Then her forehead cleared. "I see. Well, I don't suppose she's very proud of her parent, and she seemed quite fond of you; I suppose she was glad to cooperate-"
"I didn't ask her," I said.
Beth's frown was back. "But then, how did you manage-"
I said, "I twisted her arm until she screamed. It was a very convincing scream. Anyway, I think Fredericks bought it."
Beth was staring at me wide-eyed. "You can't be serious! Why, the child was obviously in love with you! She'd have done anything-"
"Love, shmove," I said. It was like being in a foreign country, speaking a language nobody understood. "Look," I said, "that sexy little girl, as you call her, has very odd, almost biblical notions about family. You know, honor thy father and mother, that sort of thing. Her father happens to be a racketeer and her mother's a hopeless alcoholic, but as far as she's concerned that's strictly beside the point, and so is the fact that she's not really very fond of the old man. He's her old man, and that's that. Now, what am I going to do, kiss her gently and ask her to save humanity by casting her lot with the forces of truth and beauty represented by myself? And then have her spend the rest of her life remembering-with the old man dead or in jail-that she had a hand in putting him there; that she let herself be sweet-talked into turning against him? Nuts. So now she has a sore arm for a couple of days instead of a sore conscience for the rest of eternity. And she hates me, but that's not going to do her any harm; probably she's better off for it."
Beth was still staring at me as if I'd sprouted claws and fangs. It didn't matter, apparently, what you did to people's psyches, but twisting their arms was terrible. Then she thought of something else, and her expression changed.
"But if you have the girl-if you're holding her-then everything is all right, isn't it? I mean, Larry doesn't have to… to go through with it. We can trade her for-"
"For what?" I asked. "Do you think Fredericks is going to walk into a police station and sign a notarized confession of his crimes just because I happen to be holding his daughter somewhere? Don't be silly. All I've done is buy our kids a kind of temporary immunity, and don't think Fredericks isn't doing his damnedest to figure a way to hit back. Holding Moira Fredericks doesn't solve a thing. It just gives us a little time in which to operate more freely than we could if we had to worry about what might be happening to Betsy and the boys…"
"What about Peter?" she asked quickly.
I shrugged. "What about Peter Logan? He's old enough to vote and he's no kid of mine."
She stared at me, shocked. "You mean you didn't-" I drew a long breath. "It was a simple deal, Beth. It had to be drawn in simple terms that a guy like Fredericks could understand and believe. An eye for an eye, something of his for something of mine. If I'd tried to cover the whole world, he'd have known I was pulling a bluff on him. Peter's got a papa of his own; he's no responsibility of mine, and Fredericks knows it. Let the Duke worry about Peter. Okay?"
She said angrily, "No, it's not at all okay-"
"Well, that's the deal," I said. "It's better than nothing, isn't it? Now what about this clue that you picked up listening in on your husband's telephone conversation?"
She was still glaring at me. "I wasn't listening in-"
"All right, you weren't listening in, you were just listening. What did you hear?"
"Matt, really!"
I drew a long breath. "I'm sorry. I haven't been to bed for longer than I can remember-not to sleep, anyway- and I'm probably a little unreasonable. Now, having apologized, may I have the clue?"
She started to speak angrily, checked herself, and said, "It's the old Buckman cabin."
"What's the old Buckman cabin?"
"Where they're to meet afterwards. After Larry gets back."
"I see. And where's the old Buckman cabin?"
"About seventeen miles back down the road you came by, there's a little road that turns down into a canyon, Buckman Canyon. It goes on for miles, and meets the highway way out on the desert-"
"Show me on the map."
She showed me. I went to the window and looked out. There was still plenty of daylight left, but there wasn't anything left inside me. It hits you like that sometimes. I shouldn't have had that drink. I tried to think what should be done next, but my brain was made strictly from absorbent cotton of a very crude and unrefined grade. Well, fortunately there was time to do something about it. Even with the best luck in the world, Logan couldn't possibly be back until morning unless he took to the air, and I know these fast-car boys. Unless the wheels fall off, they'll stick to what they're driving, rather than entrust themselves to some crazy pilot and his dangerous flying machine.
I turned from the window. You mustn't ever show that you're so pooped you don't know what the hell you're doing. You must always act as if you had a wonderful plan and it was working out swell. Anyway, that's the theory.
I went to the gun rack on the wall. Logan had an adequate, but not spectacular, hunting arsenal. There was a handsome, light, double-barreled shotgun, 16-gauge, obviously of English make. There was an American 12-gauge with a long 30-inch barrel, a long-range weapon for ducks and geese that the little gun wouldn't reach. There was a bolt-action Winchester.270 with a scope, a nice, flat-shooting mountain rifle. And then, so help me, there was the Africa gun, the big double rifle, the.500 elephant buster, without which no real white hunter could stay in business. So he'd actually been there and done it. I made a silent apology to Mr. Lawrence Logan, wherever he might be and whatever speed he might be traveling at.