The Flesh Of The Orchid Part 8

"Keep to your left, Roy," Steve bawled, seeing his brother was running towards the lake.

Roy swerved, bounded towards the pine woods.

"Now I wonder what he thinks he's doing?" Max asked, and laughed. He raised his gun.

Steve made a movement, but Frank's gun rammed into his ribs, winding him.

There was a sharp crack and a flash and Roy pitched forward on his face. He lay there for a moment, then began to crawl over the ground, his left leg limp.

"I'll fix him now for good," Max said, and walked down the steps of the verandah, across the yard. He overtook Roy, kicked him savagely, walked on to where the Packard was parked.

"You're going to see something in a minute," Frank said to Steve. "He's got brains, that boy; and style-you've never seen such style."

Roy was still crawling desperately towards the lake. He left a thin trail of blood behind him on the sandy ground.

Max reached the Packard, took from the boot a can of gasoline, walked after Roy.

Roy heard him coming, cried out, tried to crawl faster, fell over on his side.

"Don't touch me," he moaned as Max came up. "Leave me alone . . . for G.o.d's sake, leave me alone . . .!"

"Little Bernie says he hopes you rot in h.e.l.l," Max said, poured the gasoline over Roy's shuddering body.

"No!" Roy screamed as the gasoline ran over his head. "You can't do this to me! Steve! Help me! No. . . no. . . no . . .!"

Max fumbled in his pocket, found a match, struck it alight on his shoe.

"Here it comes, ol' man," he said, and laughed.

"Ever seen a guy burn?" Frank asked Steve. "Even when they're dead they jump and twitch . . . like a chicken with its head chopped off. We burned a guy a couple of weeks ago. He went up like a firework and the crazy lug ran right back into his own house and set that on fire too . . . burned his wife and kids." Frank shook his head. "Take a look at that," he went on, suddenly excited. "That's what I call a blaze. He's cooking fine now, ain't he? Now watch him run . . . they always run. There! Didn't I tell you? . . . Watch him!"

Steve shut his eyes, put his hands over his ears.

Something happened inside Carol's head. It was as if her brain had turned completely over with a deafening snap! and at once the shadowy dream world in which she had been living suddenly came to life. Things which a moment before had blurred edges, dim colours and faint sounds became sharp-etched and vivid: like a film out of focus on the screen that has been suddenly adjusted. It was like bursting up into fresh air after diving too deeply in green silent water.

Carol thought she must have been dreaming that she was out in the pine woods, but now she realized that she had walked there in her sleep; it seemed to her to be the only explanation. She was surprised she could accept the shock of awakening so calmly and looked around for a familiar landmark to lead her back to the cabin. She saw through the trees the lake glittering in the moonlight and she walked towards it.

As she walked she tried to remember what she had been dreaming about before awakening. She had a vague recollection she had dreamed that Roy had come into her room, but it was nothing more than a vague recollection. She thought it was when Roy had come into her room that she had heard the snap inside her head. She wasn't sure about this, but she knew some time recently a shutter or something like that had fallen inside her head. It had happened in the past, but she could not remember exactly when. When she thought about it she had a vague recollection of a room with blue-quilted walls and an electric lamp high up in the ceiling which was covered by a wire basket. It must have been something that had occurred in a dream, because the nurse was there: the nurse with the horrible look in her eyes, who said nothing, did nothing, but stared and pointed at her. Carol knew she had many such dreams, although she couldn't remember them clearly. They were a jumble of dissociated figures and faces and rooms.

She wondered why she had come out here into the pine woods, and realized, with dismay, that she was half naked. She wondered if Steve had missed her and was looking for her, and she became anxious to get back to the cabin and find her pyjama jacket that had so mysteriously disappeared. She experienced a strange confused feeling of tenderness and embarra.s.sment at the thought of him finding her like this. She wanted to tell him about the noise inside her head. That worried her. He might know what had happened: might be able to explain it to her.

It was when she was walking up the path from the lake that she saw the Sullivans. They were standing by the lake, looking away from her, talking. In the moonlight she could only see their black sharp-etched outlines, but it was enough.

She had no idea who they were, but they frightened her-as they would have frightened anyone who came upon them suddenly in the dark. So she stepped behind a tree, her arms across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and watched them walk quickly and silently into the woods, past her, down the path along the lake.

She saw their white, hard faces: faces that looked as if they had been carved out of cold mutton fat, and she s.h.i.+vered, knowing instinctively that they were dangerous and evil. Her thoughts flew to Steve, and she felt weak, wondering if they had harmed him.

When they had gone, she ran towards the cabin, her heart beating so fast that the beat was like a hammer-stroke against her side.

As she crossed the yard she came upon what was left of Roy: something that twitched and was arched back from the heat; a burned up, shrivelled object that was human only in outline.

To her this scorched nameless thing was just another dream figment, and she scarcely looked at it, believing it existed only in her mind, and anxious only to reach the lighted cabin to make sure that Steve was safe.

She ran up the steps, stood in the doorway and looked into the lighted sitting-room.

Steve was lying on the floor, tied hand and foot. He tried to sit up when he saw her.

She came to an abrupt stop, forgetting she was half naked, staring at the cords that bound him, horror in her eyes.

Seeing her like that: wild, beautiful, her skin like the smooth l.u.s.tre of a pearl, Steve realized how much he loved her: that he had loved her almost from the moment he had found her, lying in the wrecked track: that he wasn't going to restrain his feelings for her any more: that she was the only woman he could ever love.

"Carol!" he said. "Quick, darling. Get me free."

She ran to him, dropped on her knees beside him, her arms going round him.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her face close to his. "Tell me you're not hurt."

"It's all right, but get me undone quickly. We're in bad trouble, kid."

"Dear Steve," she said, her lips brushed his cheek. "I was so frightened."

"It's all right," he a.s.sured her, "but get me undone."

She pulled at the cords, but the knots were too tight and she ran to the kitchen, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a knife. On her way back to the sitting-room she picked up Steve's jacket, struggled into it, b.u.t.toned it across her.

"Hurry, Carol," Steve called as she ran into the room. "They'll be back."

She slashed the cords and Steve struggled up, rubbed his wrists, smiled at her.

"It's going to be all right," he said. "But we've got to be quick. . . ."

She went to him, her arms going round his neck.

"I love you, Steve," she said. "I was so frightened when I saw those two. I thought . . . I don't know what I'd do without you. . . ."

He drew her to him and kissed her.

For a moment of time they stood close, their lips touching, then he gently pushed her away from him.

"I've loved you all along, kid," he said. "But we mustn't waste time. Come on, we've got to get away. Get your clothes on and be quick."

She ran into her bedroom, and Steve went out on to the verandah, looked across the yard. There was no sign of the Sullivans. He stood there, waiting, and in a moment or so Carol joined him. She was wearing her wool dress and there was a serene trusting look in her eyes as she ran to him.

"We've got to get their car," Steve said, slipping his arm round her. "Keep in the shadows and run. . . ."

Together they ran down the verandah steps and across the yard. They could see the outline of the big Packard at the top of the road.

"We're going to do it," Steve said, slipped his arm round Carol and rushed her across the open ground into the moonlight.

The Sullivans, coming out of the wood at that moment, saw them.

Max shouted.

"Quick, Carol!" Steve panted. "Can you drive?"

"Yes," she returned, "but we go together. I won't leave you. . . ."

"I'm coming, but go ahead. I'll try to stall them. Get the engine started. Run like h.e.l.l, kid!"

"Stop!" Max shouted, a sharp threatening note in his voice.

Steve paused, turned to face them.

The Sullivans began to run towards him. He heard Carol start the Packard, and he spun on his heel, ran to the car.

Max shot from his hip.

Steve lurched, stumbled, reached the open door of the car as Max fired again.

"I'm hit, kid!" he gasped, pitched forward into the car, falling across Carol.

Blood from him ran across her hand.

Frantically she pushed him upright, saw the two Sullivans coming across the moonlit yard very fast. She roared the engine, released the clutch and the car swept forward.

Max stopped, raised his gun, but Frank grabbed his arm.

"Have a heart," he said. "Not at her . . . not at six million bucks."

"But she's getting away," Max said, lifting his shoulders in a disgusted shrug.

"We'll find her again," Frank returned. "We always find 'em. She's worth a little trouble. . . she and her dough."

They watched the tail light of the Packard flash down the mountain road to the valley.

chapter three.

To the north of Point Breese, spotted among the lowlying hills at the foot of the mountain range, are the country estates of the wealthy.

Phil Magarth drove recklessly along one of these hill roads, swung his battered Cadillac with a scream of tortured tyres off the road and down a long twisty carriage-way that led to Veda Banning's s.p.a.cious Spanish-style house with its white stucco walls and red tiles.

Veda was known as the bad girl of Point Breese, but in spite of her reputation she was liked and she had a lot of fun. She was rich; ran a five-thousand-acre orange plantation with smart efficiency, and was crazy about Magarth. She wanted to marry him.

As Magarth stopped the Cadillac before the ornate front door he glanced at his watch. It showed 3.5 a.m. He opened the car door and slid out on to the white-tiled terrace. The house was in darkness, but he knew where Veda slept and walked quickly across the flower-ladened patio, climbed four broad steps to the verandah, stopped short before open french windows.

"You awake?" he called, peered into the dark room, where he could just make out the huge ornate bed in which Veda slept.

No movement came from the bed and he entered the room, sat on the bed and slid his hand under the bedclothes. There was a sudden flurry, a stifled shriek and Veda sat up, snapped on the light.

"For heaven's sake!" she exclaimed, flopped back on her pillow. "This is too much . . . how dare you come in here at this hour?"

"What's too much?" Magarth asked, grinning at her. "You always say you'll be glad to see me . . . well, here I am; be glad."

Veda struggled up in bed, stretched, yawned. Magarth admired her figure, which was exceptional.

"You look swell; good enough to eat, but things are popping. Is that little thing you call your brain awake yet?"

"There are times when I wonder what I see in you," Veda said, reached for a hand mirror on the table beside her, studied herself. She had green-blue eyes, thick lashes, gold-brown hair, hanging straight down past her shoulders and curling under at the ends: hair that looked like burnished copper. She was beautiful, and she knew it. There was a sultry, sulky look to her mouth and dark smudges under her eyes. She could have been younger than twenty-six, but not much.

"At least I don't look a fright," she said, yawned again, flopped back on her pillow. She had on a low-cut nightdress of blue crepe-de-Chine and black lace. "You are h.e.l.l, Phil," she went on. "You might have awakened me in a more gentlemanly manner: I bruise so easily."

"You should worry: it won't show," Magarth grinned, got up and walked over to the cupboard. He found a bottle of Canadian rye and a gla.s.s. "The stock's running low, sugar. You'd better get in some more."

"I will," Veda said, watching him and thinking how handsome he was. "Give me a cigarette, you beast."

Magarth came back with the bottle, gave her a cigarette, took a drink, lit a cigarette for himself.

"I'm on to something big," he said, sitting on the bed close to her. "I could make a fortune out of it if I handle it right. And if I do I might marry you, so listen carefully."

Veda eyed him from over the top of the blanket.

"I've heard that so many times I could play a flute obbligato to it," she said scornfully.

"But this is the McCoy," Magarth told her. "I'm after the Blandish girl."

"You're . . . what?" Veda demanded, sitting up, her eyes snapping.

"Now don't get your nightie in a knot," Magarth said hurriedly. "This is strictly business. Six days from tomorrow morning she comes into her money . . . if she isn't caught before then. I thought at first it'd be smart to help capture her and get an eye-witness account for my syndicate. But now I've a smarter idea. I'm going to help her avoid capture, help her get her money. If I steer her right she'll be grateful, won't she? I'll be in on the ground floor. The great American public will want to know what she'll do with all that dough . . . six million dollars! And I'll be there to tell them. I'm going to bring her here. Then when we've got the money, we'll take her around, get her a car, buy her a house, buy her clothes, take a cameraman around with us . . . it'll be terrific! Exclusive to my syndicate. I can ask my own terms."

Veda closed her eyes.

"I guessed it," she said wearily. "Of all the dumb ideas this is the dumbest. The girl's a lunatic, my pet. Remember? She's dangerous. She might kill us. Do you think I want to be killed?"

Magarth snorted.

"You wouldn't let a little thing like that stop me getting some money, would you?" he asked reproachfully. "Besides, I can handle her. Remember the time I spent two hours in an orangutan's cage to get a sensational story?"

"Well, the orangutan wasn't in the cage, so I don't see that makes you very brave," Veda said.

"Never mind," Magarth said impatiently. "It must prove something. Anyway, I'm not scared of a girl. Ever since I was knee-high to an ant-"