Terror comes creeping (6 page)

Hazelton studied the glowing end of his cigar for a few seconds. "Philip is a perfectly normal boy—and always has been," he said quietly. "The two girls seemed to be the same through their childhood, adolescence—it's only recentiy that they've become . . . eccentric."

"Are they having medical treatment—you've got a psychiatrist who can confirm this?" I asked him.

"No," he shook his head. "Not yet. Don't you see, if I take them to a psychiatrist, the family history has to be made known. It would be halfway toward condemning an innocent person—halfway toward having them committed! I won't do that untU I'm sure there is no other way." "So Martha imagines you've embezzled money from the trust fund, huh?" I said. "She imagines you keep Clemmie a prisoner on the farm—she imagines she hasn't seen Philip during the last several days? She didn't imagine she was being followed when she met me in that bar." "Harris overheard her calling you the first time," he said heavily. "He thought I should know. I called Houston and asked him to find out what Martha was up to. Don't you see, Boyd? She's developing a persecution complex. She's imagining people are conspiring against her—even me, her own father!"

"Yeah," I said bleakly. "How about Clemmie—what kind of complex has she got?"

"It started with Clemmie about three months ago," he said. "She seemed to alternate between moods of black depression and almost violent ecstasy. One day she'd stay in her room the whole time and refuse to speak to anyone in the house. The next day she'd be laughing and talking the whole time, and you couldn't get her to stop. That was why I sent her up to the farm. It's peaceful there, quiet, restful. I put Pete in to keep curious people away, and the nurse—who's both discreet and highly trained—to watch her. What more could I do?"

"That brings us back to Philip again," I said. "What's happened to him?"

"I don't know where he is at the moment," he said tersely. "As far as I know, he was still at the farm when I left with Martha on Monday morning. He could be anywhere—on his yacht, staying with friends—anything at all. He's of age and he pleases himself where he goes and what he does. I don't interfere—in a few months' time I expect him to come into my office and start work —learn the investment business thoroughly, and I know he will—I have his promise. Until then, his life is his own affair."

"Whose idea was Tolvar?"

"Tolvar?" he repeated blankly.

"The private eye Houston brought along with him last night when he picked up Clemmie from my apartment."

"That would be Houston's affair," he said stifBy. "I've been entirely frank with you, Boyd. Now you can see why you must stop interfering—for the sake of both my girls."

"Where is Martha now?" I asked him.

"I sent her up to the farm with Clemmie this morning. Do I have your word you'll forget all about them now?"

He flicked an inch of ash from his cigar, and I could see the wheels were still churning, so I didn't answer.

"You've been put to some trouble, Boyd," he added, at length. "It's only fair you should be compensated. I'll see a check is mailed to you today."

I got to my feet. "No dice," I told him. "I think you're a liar, Hazelton, a lousy liar at that! I'm sticking my nose into this deal until I find out the truth."

"Boyd!" He spread his hands wide in a pleading gesture. "You don't know what you're doing—believe me! Qemmie was bad enough last night after the day's excitement—^but if you keep on causing trouble it could be enough to send both girls over the edge. I'm asking you to forget it—for their sake, not mme!"

"It's still no dice," I said. "And I just might take you 47

up on that offer of checking over the trust fund accounts."

"What is it you want?" he said flatly. "More money? How much is enough?"

"Most times it would be the answer," I admitted, "and rd have a nice round figure all ready to quote. But not this time—you don't have enough money to buy me off, Hazelton, not even in that trust fund."

I'd nearly reached the door that led into the hall before he spoke again.

"You won't listen to reason," he said in a low voice. "You won't be bought off. . . . I'll protect my family, Boyd, under any circumstances. This means I shall have to take other steps to deal with you."

"I figure the steps you've taken already will lead straight into the deathhouse in Sing Sing," I told him. "I'll dance at your funeral, Hazelton, and so wUl your daughters!"

The manservant wasn't anywhere in sight, so I had to open the front door for myself—life can be tough here and there. I got back into the car and drove across town to my office.

Fran Jordan smiled sweetly when I walked into the office.

"Where was my wandering boy this morning?" she said. "And no prize if you guess it was the same place as last night and who was she, not that it's any of my business."

"If I told you you were wrong, you wouldn't believe me," I grinned at her. "How's the Midwestern investment project coming along?"

"Slowly," she said in a serene voice, "but surely. He has a Uttle trouble seeing the obvious. You know, like stocks are only pieces of paper, but a mink is a mink?"

"It must be lunchtime," I said. "Why don't you have lunch with me and this time I might even pay for it. You know I've usually got nothing left after I pay your salary!"

"That's a charming invitation," she said. "But I ac-48

cept. By the way—that man, Tolvar, left a package for you this morning. I put it on your desk."

"I'll take a look, then be right with you," I said.

The package was gift-wrapped. I opened it up and there was my .38. I put the gun in the top drawer of my desk and then went back to Fran who was still making final adjustments to her face.

We settled on the Chambord for lunch, and when we were comfortably established with a martini, Fran looked at me sideways with those luminous eyes of hers.

"Who is Sylvia, what is she?" she said.

"She's a girl who looks after pigs," I told her solemnly. "So now you don't need to ask why all the swine adore her."

"My God!" Fran said in a pained voice, and closed her eyes for a few seconds.

*How did you come to dig Sylvia, anyway?"

"She dug me," Fran opened her eyes again. "Trying to dig you on a long distance call from Providence."

"She say what it was all about?"

"More or less. She wants to see you urgently on a matter of vital importance—she's the original cliche-kid— but she can't make it to New York. If you can make it to Providence, she'll be in the Sheraton-Biltmore from eight till eleven tonight."

"Anything more?"

Fran shrugged her beautiful shoulders delicately. "That's all. Isn't it enough? You want the girl to promise to wear her best girdle—over long distance?"

It was two-thirty when we got back to the office. Fran found the number of Tolvar's office and I told her to call and find out if he was there. She did and he wasn't. I had her call again, and ask for his secretary this time— say it was Houston's office calling and was Tolvar expected back from Rhode Island today?

Fran handled it with casual efficiency, then after she'd hung up, looked at me with a spark of curiosity showing in her gray-green eyes.

"He's not expected back until after the week-end," she said. "What's Providence got that it's so popular so suddenly?"

"It'll have Danny Boyd by tonight," I said. "Maybe the word's got around already that I'm coming?"

"Big deal!" she sighed. "All right—if it's a secret, I guess I can't gouge it out of you."

"We could have a lot of fun while you tried?'* I said hopefully.

"Mink before fun," she said. "Are you going to stay somewhere in Providence, or has Sylvia taken care of that detaO already?"

"You could book me a room at the Biltmore," I said. "I might be gone a few days. While I get some things from the apartment, you'd better cash a check before the bank closes."

"How much, master?"

"Better make it five hundred," I said. "I'm crazy for seafood and I'm going to the right place to get it."

I went over to my apartment and packed a grip. I'd taken the .38 home with me, but decided finally not to take it along. Tolvar was in Providence, and I had respect for him, so I took the .357 Magnum and its harness along with me instead.

When I got back to the ofl&ce again, Fran had the cash waiting for me.

"You have a room at the Biltmore," she said, "double, naturally. Is there anything special you want me to do while you're away?"

"Call me if anything exciting happens," I said. "Anybody wants to know where I am, you don't know. That's about all, I guess."

"O.K." she said. "You'd better be on your way if you're not going to keep Sylvia waiting too long."

"Sure," I said. "See you."

"See you," she echoed. "And—Danny—^take care of that profile, will you? Somebody got a little careless with it last night."

Si

IX

I CHECKED INTO THE BILTMORE * JUST AFTER EIGHT-

thirty that night. After I'd registered, I followed the bellhop toting my bag up to my room. It took maybe twenty minutes for a fast shower and a change into a fresh suit. K I kept Sylvia West waiting a while longer, I didn't mind. Maybe it was the Boyd profile that had prompted her call, and maybe it was a guy named Tolvar. I didn't figure on taking any chances until I found out for sure, so I strapped on the harness under my coat, and checked the Magnum before I sUd it into the holster.

A lot of guys figure it's not worth lugging a Magnum around with you, because if you don't lean to one side, you start to give at the knees. My theory is it's worth the weight because a Magnum will stop an elephant and who knows what the hell you might meet out in the wilds of Rhode Island.

It was just after nine when I got down to the hotel lobby again. I lit a cigarette, then started wandering, looking for Sylvia West. She must have been wandering around looking for me—I turned a comer and there she was. I felt my eyes bulge as I looked at her.

She wore a gold lame sheath, a couple of shades lighter than her suntan. Two minute straps across her magnificent shoulders stopped it from falling to the floor. It had a square neckline cut low enough to reveal the begiiming of the division between her full breasts, and the slender, matching belt was drawn tight around her waist, emphasizing its smallness. On her feet were golden-colored kidskin pumps.

Her blue eyes brightened as she saw me, and for a moment there, her lips didn't look lonely any more.

"Danny!" she said thankfully.

"Wow!" I said limply.

She smiled. "Do 1 take that as a compliment?"

"And a tribute," I told her. "So it was you all the time?"

"What do you mean?"

"The dame who's been haunting my dreams. I've been losing weight, fading away into a gaunt shadow. But from here on out, things will be different."

"How different?"

"I'll stay awake and have my dreams at the same time," I said. "That way I don't waste any time sleeping, I'll be able to eat twice as much and put all the weight back that I lost—and talking of eating let's go some place and do that, otherwise I'll be making love to you right here in the lobby, and the management won't care for it."

"Just wait till I get my breath back!" she laughed. "Where do you want to eat?"

"Somewhere the seafood is caught right in front of your table," I said. "I want fish, lobster, clams . . ."

"What you want is a Rhode Island Shore Dinner," Sylvia corrected me. "We'll go to Cristy's at Newport if you don't mind the drive—it isn't that far away."

"I don't mind," I said. "We can clear up a couple of points on the way, like are you wearing anything under that sheath and if you are I don't believe it and if you prove it I should be disappointed but I won't be because of the compensations involved. It so happens I booked a double room right here in the hotel—why don't we just go on up to my room and have them send Cristy's over here with enough seafood to last a week and then—"

"Danny!" Her face was flushed a delicate shade of red over the bronze. "People can hear you!"

"The hell with them," I said. "They don't get any of our seafood!"

We got out to my car and I drove to Newport, which wasn't far, like she'd said. Cristy's was well worth the drive and the seafood was strictly out of this world. By

52

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the time we got to coffee and a cigarette, I was at peace with the world—well, maybe you could strike the name Tolvar off the list, otherwise it was true.

"Danny," Sylvia leaned across the table toward me earnestly and I made a quick check with a downward glance.

"No bra, anyway," I said thoughtfully. "I can't wait till you prove the rest of it to me."

"Be serious for a moment!" She started to blush again.

"Hell!" I was genuinely shocked. "You figure I'd joke about that?"

"Please!"

"O.K.," I shrugged my shoulders. "So I'll be serious."

"It was good of you to come all the way up here again," she said. "I didn't really think you would. I kept hoping, but it didn't make any sense for you to come just because I called and said it was urgent."

"I figured it could make sense," I said. "When I saw that gold sheath there, I knew right away it made a hell of a lot of sense. Sylvia, honey-chile, I—"

The tiptilted nose lifted a couple of inches, and there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"Danny Boyd," she said in a gritty tone, "you promised to be serious for a moment!"

"I'm a serious Boyd," I assured her. "An albatross, no less."

She winced, then lit herself another cigarette to help her recovery. "Since you left with Clemmie yesterday j afternoon," she said in a low voice, "so much has happened that I'm confused—and just a little scared, Danny. Yesterday I thought you must be crazy, but now I'm wondering if you're the only one who's sane."

"What happened?"

"You remember, just when you were leaving, you told me to take a look at Sweet William's pen?"

"Did you?"

She shook her head. "I was going to, but Pete stopped me. He said he'd take care of it and for me to go into