terror comes creep

I figured if Philip Hazelton had left the farmhouse late on Sunday night he hadn’t gone very far.

CLEMMIE HAZELTON'S EYES SPARKLED AS SHE LOOKED AT

me when I walked into the living room.

“I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to stay awhile, Mr. Boyd,” she said. “It’s nice to have someone visiting.”

“Can I fix you a drink?” Sylvia West asked. “We have Scotch, rye, vodka—”

“Scotch on the rocks will do fine,” I said.

I lit a cigarette which tasted like the aftermath of Doomsday. Sylvia was busy making the drinks and Clem-mie sat watching me, her hands clasped around her knees.

“Lunch is going to be a little scrappy,” she said anxiously. “You don’t mind taking potluck, do you, Mr. Boyd?”

“Sounds fine,” I said.

“I know we’ve got a freshly cured ham,” she said brightly. “Home-grown, and everything.”

My stomach lurched suddenly. “Don’t worry about me,” I mumbled. “I’m not hungry.”

Sylvia distributed the drinks and I swallowed the Scotch gratefully. I closed my mind to the thought of food—any food, and concentrated on the whisky.

“Clemmie was telling me you’re a private detective, Danny,” Sylvia said. “I guess that accounts for your suspicious mind?”

“It must be terribly exciting!” Clemmie looked at me with wide eyes. “Is it very dangerous?”

“Not as long as you stay out of the pigpens,” I grinned at her glassily.

“Pigpens?” It obviously didn’t register with Clemmie. “He’s had a close look at Sweet William,” Sylvia gurgled with laughter. “Danny is strictly a nature boy from the asphalt jungle.”

I thought about a second drink and decided against it —business before pleasure, as the actress said to the producer when he wanted her to read a script before she relaxed on his couch.

“I figure we’ll miss lunch,” I said to Clemmie. “We can eat somewhere on the road.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said blankly.

“We’re leaving,” I told her. “I just decided your big sister isn’t crazy after all. You’ve got ten minutes to pack your things.”

“You’re joking?”

“Not me,” I said wearily. “I’m no private eye from television with a couple of scriptwriters in my pants pocket I have to make up the dialogue as I go along—so no jokes.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that Clemmie leave with you, Danny?” Sylvia asked curtly.

“I like the way everybody catches on so quick around here,” I said. “Yeah, I’m serious. We’re leaving.”

Clemmie jumped up onto her feet, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“It sounds wonderfully mysterious!” she said. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can hide out for a while,” I said. “Some place you’ll be safe.”

“Are you out of your mind, Clemmie!” Sylvia said harshly.

“Maybe!” Clemmie looked at her happily. “I just know I’m not going to miss out on the chance. This is the first really exciting thing that ever happened to me!” She looked back at me quickly. “I’ll go pack a bag, Danny, and I won’t be more than ten minutes, promise!”

“Fine,” I told her.

She ran quickly out of the room, and I picked up my glass and thought maybe I'd have that second drink after all.

“You can’t mean this?” Sylvia said. “It’s kidnapping! I’ll call the police, I’ll—”

“Why don’t you do something useful, like make me a drink?” I suggested, and tossed the glass at her.

She caught it awkwardly, then walked over to the bar and began to fix the drink.

“You must be mad!” she said tensely.

“Crazy like a fox,” I said.

She brought the new drink across to me and I took the glass out of her hand. There was a worried look on her face as she stood in front of me, biting her lower lip gently.

“Listen,” she said finally in a low voice. “Fm not really a housekeeper or a companion, I’m a nurse.”

“I bet that made all the difference to the pigs,” I said thoughtfully. “Knowing that, they can sleep nights.”

“Mr. Hazelton hired me to look after Clemmie!” she said in a harsh whisper. “She doesn’t know, of course. But he’s worried about her mental health. He hired me to watch her, look after her. She’s easily excited—you can see that for yourself. If you take her away with you, there’s no telling what could happen!”

“No telling what can happen if she stays here, either,” I said.

“How can I make you understand the importance of this!” she said desperately. “There’s a history of insanity in the family—that’s why Mr. Hazelton’s so worried about her!”

“There’s also a history of administering estates in the family,” I said. “I’m looking forward to meeting this Hazelton creep—he must be a real nice guy. Martha hires me, so he sends his lawyer around to tell me she’s 24

got fungus in the attic. He hires you and says the same thing about his other daughter. I wonder if a head-shrinker’s had a look at him lately?”

It didn't mean a thing to Sylvia West—she wasn't even listening.

“I can’t let you do this, Danny!” she said in a tight voice. “I’ll stop you leaving with her.”

“So you want a fight?” I said resignedly. “O.K.—I’ll let you throw the first punch.”

She stared at me for a moment longer, then turned suddenly and ran out of the room. I heard her footsteps race down the hallway and the front door slam shut behind her. Then I heard her calling frantically, “Pete! Pete!”

I finished the new drink slowly and thought the hell with Sylvia West and the hell with Pete—she could go find him, he was no special problem.

Clemmie Hazelton came back into the room a few minutes later, carrying an expensive-looking grip in natural hide.

“I’m all packed, Danny,” she said. “Where’s Sylvia?” “She just remembered she had to see a guy about another guy,” I told her. “I think we’ll go.”

We walked out of the house and there were the two of them waiting for us. Pete stood a few feet in front of the car, his arms folding their muscles across his chest, looking like something out of an old De Mille epic, with the sun hitting him full in the face. Sylvia stood to one side, watching anxiously, her whole body tensed.

“Is there something wrong?” Clemmie whispered nervously.

“Nothing I can’t take care of,” I told her. “They don’t think you should go with me, that’s all. Let me handle it. Don’t worry about what happens, just go sit in the car and wait for me, huh?”

“Sure, Danny,” she nodded quickly. “Whatever you say.”

We kept on walking until we got close to the muscleman.

“You’re not leaving, buddy,” he said coldly. “Not with MLss Hazelton, anyway!”

“Pete!” Clemmie said in a shrill voice. “You don’t know what you’re doing—I’m leaving of my own free will with Mr. Boyd and—”

“Sorry,” he said flatly. “Miss West don’t think it’s right, and neither do I. You go on back to the house, Miss, and I’ll take care of this guy.”

“Move over, Pete,” I told him. “Before you finish up a heap of pigfood.”

“Not this time, buddy,” he said with an ugly grin on his face. “This time I’m ready for you.”

He started to walk toward me slowly, his arms held out in front of him—anybody who didn’t believe in evolution needed just one look at Pete right then to be convinced. I remembered those tiny white scars across his eyebrows as I watched his hands change into fists and saw him come up on his toes as he swayed toward me like a ballet dancer. He was an ex-pro all right, and my guess was he knew all the dirty tricks along with the rules laid down by the Marquess of Queensberry.