The Flesh of The Orchid (19 page)

“You wouldn’t have thought a smart fella like Magarth would have fallen for this bolony about the Sullivans,” Staum thought to himself, stretching out his short legs and shaking his head. It just showed that even a smart guy slipped up every now and then.

Staum wouldn’t have sat in the sunshine so calmly if he had known the Sullivans were lying in the long grass not more than two hundred yards from him, and had been there for the past half hour, their white faces intent, their eyes watching everything that went on around the big house.

“I guess he must be in there,” Max said, his thin lips scarcely moving. “If not, why the guard?”

“What are you going to do?” Frank asked uneasily. The sun was burning down on his back and he was thirsty.

“We’ll stick around,” Max returned. “I want to see just how many guards there are.”

Inside the big cool house Magarth was lolling on a settee, a highball in his hand. Veda, who had just come in from the packing shed, smiled her welcome.

“Well, there you are,” she said, coming over to him. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning. Have you got all you want?”

“You might freshen this up for me,” Magarth said, handing over his glass. “I thought I’d look in and see how the patient is. Nurse Davies says he had a good night.”

“He is better,” Veda returned, adding more whisky to Magarth’s drink and passing it back. “No news of the Blandish girl vet?”

“NO, nor of the Sullivans.”

“George Staum doesn’t believe in the Sullivans,” Veda said, sitting down beside Magarth.

“He doesn’t believe in anything. But he will if they ever turn up here—which I hope they won’t.”

The telephone rang in the hall and a moment later the receiver near Magarth buzzed as the maid switched the call through.

“It’s for you, precious,” Veda said, handing the receiver to Magarth.

It was Sheriff Kamp on the line.

Magarth listened to the deep growling voice, nodded his head.

“O.K., I’ll be right down. Thanks, Sheriff,” he said, hung up.

“Now what’s happened?” Veda asked. “You’re always running away just when I think I have you to myself.”

“There’s another nut loose,” Magarth said in disgust. “She was being shipped from Kinston to Glenview last night, but somehow she got loose and murdered the attendant and now they’re looking for her. They thought I might like to cover it. I don’t want to, but I suppose I’ll have to earn my living.” He stood up. “I’ll be out here tonight if I’m not too busy,” he went on. “Think you’d like to have me?”

“I think so,” Veda said, slipped her arm through his and walked with him on to the terrace.

“Enjoying yourself?” Magarth asked Staum.

Staum opened one eye, nodded.

“You bet,” he said. “It’s fine out here.”

“Well, don’t go to sleep. Your job is to watch for the Sullivans.”

“Sure,” Staum said, and laughed. “I’ll watch for them.”

“You don’t really think they’ll come?” Veda asked as Magarth climbed into his car.

“I don’t, but we may as well be on the safe side,” he returned. “I think they’re out of the district by now. So long, sugar. See you tonight.”

The Sullivans watched him go.

“That’s a nice-looking frail,” Frank said, staring through a pair of field-glasses at Veda as she made her way along the terrace. “I bet you wouldn’t have to be a piano-mover to push her over.”

Max fished out a bottle of lemonade, snapped off the cap and drank from the bottle.

“Get your mind off her,” he said, passing the bottle to Frank. “You think too much about women.”

“Got to think about something,” Frank said sullenly. “You intend to kill this guy?”

“If he’s there,” Max said quietly. “We’ve got to kill him unless you want to sit in a cell and hear them knock up a scaffold for you.”

Frank’s face twisted.

“After this we’d better quit,” he said in a low voice. “We’ve had the breaks up to now, and we’ve got dough. We’d best quit.”

Max smiled thinly to himself.

He had been waiting for Frank to say this for some time.

“We’re not ready to quit yet,” he said.

“Well, I am,” Frank said.

There was a long pause.

“I organized this racket. I said when we’d start, and I’ll say when we quit,” Max said softly.

Frank said nothing. He stared down at the sleeping Deputy Sheriff as he sat slumped in the deck-chair and his face twitched again.

“And we’re not quitting yet,” Max added.

Magarth whistled softly under his breath as he drove rapidly along the hill-road leading into Point Breese. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he appointed himself manager of Veda’s orange plantation he could live in the house, be near Veda all the time, and yet still have his freedom. It didn’t bother him that he knew nothing about the production of oranges. Veda was an expert, and she could look after that end of it. He could ride round on a big white horse and urge the workers to greater effort. Such a job would suit him. He wondered if Veda would react favourably; decided that she would.

If he found the Blandish girl and got her settled, he’d put the idea up to Veda. But the Blandish girl would have to be found first. She had been at liberty now nine days and only five more days remained before she could claim her freedom and her money. Magarth grinned to himself, thinking of Hartman: he would be gnashing his teeth by now.

Then suddenly he slammed on his brakes, skidding the car right across the road, and came to a stop perilously near a ditch.

He sat there staring, not believing his eyes. Then with a suppressed exclamation he threw open the car door, ran to meet Carol as she staggered towards him, her dress in tatters, her hair dishevelled, her face drawn with exhaustion.

Magarth grabbed her as she swayed into his arms.

“All right, kid,” he said, lifting her. “Don’t try to talk. You’re safe now. Just take it easy.”

“Steve . . .  Steve . . .” she murmured. “Where is he? Is he all right? Please tell me. . . .”

“He’s all right,” Magarth said, settling her into the car. “He’s ill of course, but he’s out of danger. I’ll take you to him right away.”

Carol began to cry weakly.

“I never thought I’d get to him,” she said, her head falling against the cushioned back of the seat. “It’s been dreadful. . . . I never thought I’d get to him. . . .”

Magarth reversed the car, drove furiously back to Grass Hill.

*     *     *

At one o’clock the same afternoon they caught Hatty Summers as she came out of a saloon bar on the outskirts of Point Breese.

She had always had a liking for neat rum, and with the money she had found on the dead body of Sam Garland she had been indulging her weakness.

She was in an amiable and conciliatory mood when they surrounded her, and she displayed to the horrified crowd the big bloodstained flint with which she had battered Garland’s head to pulp, delighted to be the centre of attraction.

Dr. Travers and two white-coated attendants took charge of her and hurried her into the waiting ambulance, and there, behind closed doors, expertly put a strait-jacket on her.

Sheriff Kamp, who had been present at the capture, looked around in vain for Magarth.

“That fellow’s never where he’s wanted,” he complained to one of his deputies. “I wanted my picture taken arresting that female. Now where the blazes has the pesky fellow got to?”

Dr. Travers climbed out of the ambulance, hurried over to Kamp, his eyes alight with excitement.

“My patient tells me that Garland picked up Carol Blandish a few miles from Point Breese, and it was to help Carol escape that she murdered poor Garland,” he said.

Kamp blinked.

“Does she know what she’s talking about?”

“Her description of Carol Blandish is unmistakable. It looks as if the girl’s come back to Point Breese.”

Kamp lifted his sweat-stained stetson to scratch his head.

“I’ll get working on this right away,” he said, but as he prepared to move off, Simon Hartman drove up in a glittering Cadillac.

“Here’s Mr. Hartman,” Travers said, his face darkening. “You know him, Sheriff?”

“I know him,” Kamp growled, and the two men waited for Hartman to join them.

“I hear a lunatic has been captured,” Hartman said abruptly. “Is it Carol?”

“No, Mr. Hartman,” Travers replied. “It was another of my patients.”

“You seem to specialize in losing patients,” Hartman grated, his face taut with disappointed anger. “Just when do you propose finding my ward?”

“We have just received news that she has returned to Point Breese,” Travers said. “The Sheriff is organizing another search party.”

Hartman gave Kamp a contemptuous look.

“Your search parties, up to now, have been singularly unsuccessful,” he said, then abruptly, “Where’s this man Steve Larson?”

Kamp managed to look a little vacant.

“Probably in Waltonville Hospital,” he said. “Why?”

“From what I hear from Mrs. Fleming, Carol appears to have fallen in love with him. It’s possible she will try to find bun. You’d better put a guard at the hospital in case she shows up there.”

“Could do,” Kamp said, stroking his moustache.

“Then do it,” Hartman barked. “The girl should have been found days ago. Get your men to work. She’s got to be found before the week-end or I’ll see this is the last job you’ll have the chance to make a mess of!” He turned sharply to Travers. “Come along, Doctor, I want to talk to you.”

Kamp watched them go, tipped his hat and winked at his deputy.

“Getting pretty hot under the collar, isn’t he?” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe I’d better have a word with that pesky Magarth.”

“Want me to go over to the Waltonville Hospital?” the deputy asked.

Kamp shook his head.

“No. Somehow I don’t think Larson’s there,” he returned, winked again and then set of with long, unhurried strides to his office.

*     *     *

“I think she’s a darling,” Veda said, as she came into the big lounge where Magarth was pacing up and down. “She’s seen Steve for a moment. He was sleeping, but it was wonderful to see the expression in her eyes as she looked down at him. I only hope I’ll be able to look like that if ever you fall ill.”

“So do I,” Magarth said, “and I hope I won’t be too ill to appreciate it. Is she all right?”

“She’s had an awful time, but I think she’ll be all right after a good rest,” Veda returned, sitting on the arm of an easy chair. “Do give me a drink, honey, all this excitement has frayed my nerves.”

“What’s she doing now?” Magarth asked as he mixed a dry martini.

“She’s having a bath,” Veda returned. “Don’t you think Dr. Kober ought to look at her? He might give her something to help her sleep.”

“She won’t need anything to help her sleep,” Magarth said, carrying the drink over to her. “I don’t want any doctors or nurses messing her about. They might scare her into one of her turns.”

“I’m quite positive there’s nothing the matter with her,” Veda said. “Now I’ve talked to her I think the way you do. She’s as normal as I am, and she’s such a sweet kid.”

Magarth grunted.

“It won’t do any harm to keep an eye on her,” he said. “But I agree: I can’t imagine her being dangerous.”

Veda eyed him over the top of the cocktail glass.

“There’s something on your mind,” she said. “What is it?”

“She said the Sullivans left last night for Point Breese. They intend to finish Larson,” Magarth said quietly. “I’m wondering how they managed to slip through Kamp’s cordon. We’ve been watching for them and all the roads are guarded.”

“They can’t possibly know he’s here, can they?” Veda asked. “You’re not worrying about that, are you?”

“Well, I am worrying, although I don’t think they’ll come here,” Magarth returned, mixed himself a highball. “It won’t do to underrate these two.” He took a drink, set the glass on the table beside him. “Maybe I’m getting your complaint— frayed nerves. All the same I’ll have a word with Staum. He and his boys will have to wake up their ideas now.”

The telephone rang.

“It’ll be for you,” Veda said. “Everyone in the district seems to know we’re living in sin together.”

“And I bet they’re green with envy,” Magarth said with a grin, reached for the receiver.

It was the Sheriff.

“Why didn’t you come down like I asked you?” Kamp complained. “I had a nice photograph all lined up for you.”

“I’ve more important things to do than to waste plates on your ugly mug,” Magarth returned. “What’s biting you?”

“I’ve got news the Blandish girl is back in town.” Kamp went on to tell Magarth what Hatty Summers had told Travers. “And Hartman thinks she’ll try to find Larson.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“We’re searching the district again. I thought I’d tip you off in case she shows up at Grass Hill.”

“I’ll know what to do.”

“Do you still want my deputies up there?”

“You bet I do. They’ll have to stick right here until Larson’s well enough to give evidence.”

“O.K.,” Kamp said. “It makes it hard for me, but I guess no one cares what happens to an old guy like me.”

“I don’t for one,” Magarth returned, hung up.

“And what did he want?” Veda asked, finishing her drink. “Not more trouble, I hope?”

“No. I guess he likes the sound of my voice,” Magarth said, stood up. “Maybe you’d better see how Carol’s getting on. I’m going to have a word with Staum.”

The Sullivans, from their hiding-place, saw Magarth come out on to the terrace and sit down by the side of Deputy Staum.

Max was now certain that Steve was in the house. He was also sure he knew which room Steve was in, having caught a glimpse from time to time of a nurse as she moved before a window on the second floor.

But, in spite of the careful watch, he had not seen Magarth arrive with Carol. Magarth, anxious that neither Staum nor his two guards should know that Carol was in the house, had brought her in the back way, a long detour through the plantation, up a little-used by-road.

“As soon as it’s dark we’ll move in,” Max said, and stretched out in the long grass. “We can fix the guards easily enough.”

“You mean we’ve got to kill them?” Frank asked.