By Hillary Waugh

--JS f

O.O.T.R.
$3.95

Girl on the Run

Hillary Waugh
The town of White River hadn’t had
a crime like this in 100 years. Local
Sheriff Jim Shapely called it “the most
cold-blooded, brutal act I ever come
across,” and the townspeople had
promptly collected $1000 with which
to hire a private detective to find the
murderess. They knew who she was:
Cathy Sinclair, the twenty-year-old
niece of the victim, who had stabbed
her aunt with a breadknife, taken $800
from the sugar bowl, and fled to Flor-
ida. There her trail ended.
Steve Gregory, from the Brandt
Detective Agency, thought he knew
where Cathy might be headed. Steve
was a trained operative, and, more
often than not, a good guesser. It
seemed a relatively simple matter to
bring the attractive, strangely aloof girl
back from Panama. But how wrong,
how deadly wrong, could a trained
operative be?
Scene: New Hampshire, Florida, Pan-
ama
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Girl on the run
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Girl on the Run
Also by Hillary Waugh

GIRL ON THE RUN

END OF A PARTY

THE MISSING MAN

PRISONERS PLEA

DEATH AND CIRCUMSTANCE

BORN VICTIM

THE LATE MRS. D.

THAT NIGHT IT RAINED

ROAD BLOCK

SLEEP LONG, MY LOVE

THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLF

THE EIGHTH MRS. BLUEBEARD

RICH MAN, DEAD MAN . . .

A RAG AND A BONE . . .

LAST SEEN WEARING . . .

THE ODDS RUN OUT

HOPE TO DIE

MADAM WILL NOT DINE TONIGHT

*
 A CRIME CLUB SELECTION

The town of White River hadn’t had a crime like this in 100 years.
Local Sheriff Jim Shapely called it “the most cold-blooded, brutal
act I ever come across,” and the townspeople had promptly col-
lected $1000 with which to hire a private detective to find the
murderess. They knew who she was: Cathy Sinclair, the twenty-
year-old niece of the victim, who had stabbed her aunt with a
breadknife, taken $800 from the sugar bowl, and fled to Florida.
There her trail ended.
Steve Gregory, from the Brandt Detective Agency, thought he
knew where Cathy might be headed. Steve was a trained opera-
tive, and, more often than not, a good guesser. It seemed a rela-
tively simple matter to bring the attractive, strangely aloof girl
back from Panama. But how wrong, how deadly wrong, could a
trained operative be?
SCENE: New Hampshire, Florida, Panama

CHASE AND ADVENTURE

HILLARY WAUGH
til

Girl on the Run

PUBLISHED FOR THE CRIME CLUB BY

DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC. GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK 1965

8URLJNGAM
PU^LiC
All of the characters in this hook are fictitious, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 65-23791

COPYRIGHT © 1965 BY HILLARY WAUGH

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FIRST EDITION
2107 0 9

To Sandy
I should like to thank Boh and Shirley Smith for
help beyond the call of duty in the preparation of
this book.
HILLARY WAUGH
Girl on the Run
CHAPTER 1

When the conductor stepped into the coach and

bawled, “White River,” then went down to the middle of the car
and bawled, “White River,” again, Steve Gregory lowered his
newspaper and looked through the dusty window at the rolling
New Hampshire countryside. There were newly plowed fields
ebbing and flowing over the rises, there were orchards bathed in
sunlight. Here and there a farmhouse with accompanying barns
and silos marked the existence of humanity. Farther back, the
green-clad hills turned into purple mountains. Only the rattle of
the ancient coach and the low-hanging puffs of engine steam that
shimmered and rose slowly in the heavy air upset the peace of
solitude that lay over the land.
The train slowed with a lurch, rolled on and lurched again,
braking down. Steve exhaled the sooty air of the car and got up,
holding the seat against another sudden braking. More houses
were in view now but still sparse and scattered. A narrow mac-
adam highway went by, blocked off by the black and white
striped safety fence, and a bell tinkled wamingly but no car was
in sight.
Steve reached to the cream painted rack and pulled a small
suitcase down onto the seat, a cloud of dust rising on impact. He
buttoned his topcoat about his waist and started toward the rear
of the car, passing a grizzled old man who was the only other
occupant. When Steve pulled the red wooden door closed, the
man was at the seat he had left, picking up the discarded paper.
White River station was not much larger than a log cabin nor,
for that matter, much younger. Its clapboard sides were painted
a seamy yellow which years of grime had turned to sickly gray.
Its two doors opened onto a platform which ran a hundred yards
along the tracks, covered in part by the station roof, and the
 14 Girl on the Run
shadows there contrasted abruptly with the bright sun on the
dirt parking space behind.
Steve swung down from the car, the sole arrival, and started
across the rough planks. There were three men on the platform,
one unloading a mail sack from the baggage car, another wheel-
ing cartons on a two-wheeled rack, the third leaning against a
loading wagon whittling on a piece of white pine with a hunting
knife. The others wore overalls but the whittler was dressed in
different garb. His pants were dark and the shirt that covered a
beefy stomach was gray. He had on a black tie and a papier
mache sun helmet. Around his waist was strapped a gun belt
loaded with slugs and holding, in addition to the revolver holster,
a sheath for his knife. A gold badge was pinned on his left shirt
pocket. Steve walked over to him, carrying his suitcase easily.
The man with the badge saw him coming but he kept his
weight back against the wagon and the knife busy. He was close
to six feet in height and his hands were meaty. He had a wide
mouth with thick lips, a flat nose and dark eyes set deep in the
surrounding fat. His chest was big, but his belly was enormous
and his flesh was solid and heavy. He gave the appearance of
being somebody to cope with and he seemed to know it.
“You the fella from the agency?” he said in a voice that had
the edge of a rasp. His manner was cool and casual but his eyes,
under black brows, were alert.
“That’s right. Steve Gregory’s the name.”
“Got any identification?”
Steve set down the suitcase and brought out his wallet. Behind
him the engine chugged and wheels spun. Steve flipped the wal-
let open and held it out, showing his license, not trying to talk
above the roaring and grinding of the departing train.
The big man nodded, pushed himself away from the wagon
and sheathed his knife. The half carved chain he had been work-
ing on, he shoved into a hip pocket. “I’m Jim Shapely, the County
Sheriff,” he bellowed over the din and put pressure into his hand-
shake. The trace of a wince that flitted over Steve’s face seemed
to please him. “I got a car out back,” he said and started off, let-
ting Steve fall in behind.
The car was a three-year old dusty black Pontiac with the
word POLICE on the side in gold letters six inches high. Shapely
Girl on the Run 15
squeezed his stomach behind the steering wheel and choked her
into being. “How old are you?” he said, running down the dirt
slope to where the main road crossed the tracks.
A trace of a smile touched Steve’s cold gray eyes and impassive
face. “Thirty-four.”
“Kind of young, seems to me,” said Shapely turning left up an-
other grade and past the scattering of buildings which formed the
town. There were half a dozen stores, a church, fifteen to twenty
houses, and that was all.
“Kind of experienced,” Steve said.
“Think you can find her?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“It’s a big world.”
“That’s right.”
Shapely shot him a sharp glance. “Maybe you think this is all
pretty silly?”
“Me? I don’t think anything. I don’t know enough about it yet.”
“Wal, let me tell you something, Gregory. Nobody in my
county pulls anything like this girl and gets away with it, I don’t
care where she goes. You carry a gun?”
“No.”
Shapely looked disturbed. “You better carry a gun, Gregory.
That girl will kill you quick as look at you.”
Steve grinned briefly and showed the glint of a tooth. “I take a
little killing,” he said, “especially from a girl who doesn’t have a
gun herself.”
“Yeah?” The sheriff wasn’t quite convinced. “Wal, don’t turn
your back on her. That’s what her aunt did, bless her soul.” Pie
swung out to avoid a chicken wandering on the country road.
Steve didn’t bother answering that. He looked around at the
countryside. “Where’re we going?”
“Tom Addison lives out this way and he’s off today. He’s the
man was with me when we discovered the body. Thought maybe
you’d like to talk to him.”
Steve reached in his pocket and produced a pipe and packet
of tobacco. “Can he tell me something you can’t?”
Shapely said, “Wal, no, I don’t guess so.”
“Then I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Oh.” Shapely was silent a moment. “Then maybe you’d like to
 16 Girl on the Run
go to police headquarters down in Springfield and see the evi-
dence? We got her nightgown with all the blood down the front
where she got spurted on. We got the breadknife she used.”
Steve put the loaded pipe between his teeth and reached for a
lighter. Tm not trying to find out who killed the woman, Sheriff.
We already know that. I’m trying to find out where the murderer
went. A bloodstained nightgown isn't going to help.”
Shapely was a bit miffed. “All right then, what do you want to
do?”
“I thought we might go out and look at the house.”
The sheriff scowled. “Wal, that’s the scene of the crime. I
thought you weren’t interested.”
“It’s also where she lived, Sheriff. That’s the main point. And
don’t think I’m not interested in the crime. I want to hear about
that too, but you can tell me about the evidence. I don’t have to
see it. What I’ve got to do is build up a picture of the girl. As you
say, it’s a big world. Knowing where she wouldn’t go and where
she might go will cut it down a little.”
“Wal,” the sheriff grumbled, “if that’s all you want to know, I
can tell you everything about her. I’ve known her ever since she
come here.”
“That’ll help,” Steve said, contentedly puffing. “But I still want
to see the house.”
“Wal, why?”
“Because it might tell me some things even you don’t know.”
He glanced sideways at the man. “What’s the matter, Sheriff?
Don’t you want me to see it?”
“You can see it if you like,” Shapely grumbled, “but it’s five
miles back and out the other road. We’d have to turn around.”
“Let’s do that then, and you can tell me about her on the way.”
Shapely skidded to a halt and backed around. “Seems like a
funny way to do things to me,” he muttered, then added aloud,
“Personally I think your agency should’ve sent someone older. I
don’t think they appreciate what’s involved here. This isn’t look-
ing for a missing husband, this is looking for a murderess. That
girl did the most cold-blooded, brutal act I ever come across and
she’ll do it again if it strikes her fancy. Brandt’s ought to know
better than send up a man who don’t even carry a gun. I’m telling
you, Gregory, you may be sorry.”
Girl on the Run 17
“If I think I need one I’ll take one,” Steve said calmly. “Now,
Sheriff, tell me about the girl. What’s her name again?”
“Cathy. Cathy Sinclair.”
“And she killed her aunt?”
“That’s right. Last Monday night. Stabbed her with a bread-
knife. In the back, too. I’m telling you, she’s going to regret it.”
“Know why she did it?”
Shapely shrugged. “Money, looks like to me. Tillie had over
eight hundred dollars in the sugar bowl. She told me so herself
not a week before she died. Cathy took it all.” He lowered his
voice. “If you want my opinion, I think she liked the bright
lights.”
“Eight hundred dollars wouldn’t buy very many of them.”
“Maybe not, but she wouldn’t know that. Around here eight
hundred dollars is nigh onto a fortune.”
“Why kill the aunt? Why not just take it?”
The sheriff let out a grim smile. “Now you’re starting to get the
idea, Gregory. No reason. No good reason anyway, except I think
she likes to kill.”
Steve said, “You mean she’s wrong in the head?”
“That’s right. Wrong in the head. Very wrong. Just ask anybody
in town.”
“She should have been put away.”
Shapely nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess we can say now she
should’ve. The trouble was, Tillie needed her. And the fact of the
matter is, we didn’t expect nothing like this. It’s my fault, I guess.
I should’ve seen it coming, me knowing her’n Tillie better’n any-
body else, so I guess you can say I’m responsible Tillie’s dead.
But you can’t just put somebody away in an asylum less’n you
got a good reason. I mean the girl’s a little cuckoo and everybody
knew it. Tillie used to shake her head to me about it, but Tillie
was ailing. She needed her. And the girl seemed harmless
enough. Unless she does something that shows she’s dangerous
you sort of let her alone. And Cathy was smart. She didn’t do
nothing. Or I should say what she did do she covered up so good
that nobody ever knew for sure she was responsible.”
“What else did she do around here?”
“Wal, it wasn’t around here and that’s the catch, but it was the
way her folks died.” Shapely’s face was grim and his little eyes
 18 Girl on the Run
were like steel. “Seems they were burned to death in a fire.
Cathy, she wam’t even singed, but they were burned alive. That
was out in Chicago, Gregory, before she came here and all I know
about it is the Chicago police never pegged her for it, but it looks
kind of funny when you think about it. A nine year old kid gets
out scot free but two adults are trapped!”
Steve relighted his pipe. “Did she have any grudge against her
parents?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Shapely said. “Any more’n I’d know what
she had against her aunt. Like I say, the Chicago police never
pegged her for it so I never suspected her of doing anything up
till I found Tillie’s body. If I had suspected her, if those Chicago
cops had sent just one little warning along, I’m telling you, I
wouldn’t’ve left Tillie alone with her for a minute.”
“Tillie took her in after her parents died? Is that it?”
“That’s the size of it. Tillie was the only relative and she was
that kind of a person. Mary Whittemore, she was Mathilda’s sis-
ter and she married this businessman from Chicago named Sin-
clair. So she moved out there and left Tillie with the chicken farm
their parents had started. Tillie had a tough time of it, having to
do everything herself, but she scraped along and never com-
plained but I think it broke her health a little. Then the fire came
and Cathy was an orphan so there was nothing for Tillie to do
but take her in. She might’ve let her go to an orphanage and an-
other woman would have, but not Tillie. She insisted on the kid
coming in with her. She didn’t have it in her heart to do anything
else and I guess that was Tillie’s biggest fault. She had too big a
heart. The moment I first laid eyes on the kid I felt that.”
“Why?” asked Steve. “What did you see?”
Shapely said grimly, “I saw her eyes. That told me. Tillie knew
there was something not quite right about her and the rest of the
people caught on that she was a little ‘tetched’, but they didn’t
see what I saw because that’s my business and I’m trained that
way. Also, I probably seen more of the girl than anyone else out-
side of Tillie. You see, I got elected county sheriff and that’s a job
where you get around and meet people. The nearest police force
is down in Springfield. There ain’t no crime and there ain’t no
need so about all there is for a sheriff to do is circulate around,
sort of keep an eye on things, and the way I work it, I drop in on
Girl on the Run 19
this person and that person here and there, maybe have a cup of
coffee or a little chat and that way you keep up with what’s going
on. Tillie’s was one of my stopping places and I’d drop around
two, three times a week. She didn’t get much chance to see peo-
ple and I figured it give her a boost—kind of make the day a little
better for her. Sometimes I’d give her a hand on the heavy work,
loading her eggs in her truck or something.
“Anyway, that was where I first saw Cathy and I’m telling you,
she chilled me. She was a scrawny kid with big eyes and a serious
face. I don’t think she ever laughed in her life. I know I never
even saw her smile. But it was those eyes that bothered me. She’d
just look at you. You could feel it when your back was turned,
her eyes going right through you and even though she was only a
kid it made you uneasy because you didn’t know what she was
thinking.
“Wal, Gregory, I don’t scare and I kept thinking I was crazy,
feeling that way. I figured all that was the matter was shock over
her parents, me not suspecting she had anything to do with it. I
didn’t take any liking to her but just the same I tried to be
friendly with her. Might’s well make things easier for her, I fig-
ured. But that kid wouldn’t be friendly with nothing, ’cepting
maybe a rattlesnake. She wouldn’t say nothing, she wouldn’t do
nothing, and it was that way with all the other people in town.
They tried to make her feel at home on account of what they
thought had happened, but she just gave them all that same
stare and it bothered them too and pretty soon they just steered
clear.”
Steve said thoughtfully, “She didn’t have any friends at all?”
“Not a one, boy nor girl, Gregory. That’s your tip-off right there.
A kid can fool grownups but she can’t fool another kid. Kids and
animals, they got second sight and if they don’t like you, there’s
something wrong. Like I say, I put it down to shock but a kid gets
over shock and Cathy never changed one whit. She grew up just
as strange as ever. She went to school but the other kids didn’t
play with her. When other girls started dating, she stayed home.
I think a couple of guys tried to take her out a time or two, but
they quit fast.
“As for me, I was watching all the time on account of my job,
but there wasn’t a time I dropped in on Tillie when the kid was
 20 Girl on the Run

around that I didn’t feel uneasy. And Tillie would look bothered
because Cathy wasn’t like everybody else but she didn’t talk
about it. I think she was afraid I’d have the kid put away and,
with her health going and Cathy growing up, she was depend-
ing on the girl to help her out. So me, I didn’t say nothing. The
last few years Tillie couldn’t’ve run the place alone. So, after
Cathy graduated from high school, Tillie kind of handed over
everything to her and she’d just set in the sun on the porch most
of the time.” Shapely shrugged. “I couldn’t take the kid away.
Sure she was fetched’ but she could do the job. I thought she
was harmless, so let well enough alone. Let her live there as long
as Tillie lasted and worry what to do with her after.”
Shapely sighed then. “I made a mistake, Gregory. But so did
Cathy and I’m telling you, Tillie’s going to be avenged.” The
muscles of his jaw tightened and a rasp of hate came into his
voice. “I don’t care where in the world that kid goes, I’m going
to get her back. And that’s why you’re here.”

CHAPTER 2

Mathilda Whittemore’s house was more shack than any-

thing else, unpainted and weatherbeaten to the point of decay.
It was a low two-story clapboard building of modest size with a
porch in front that bore a railing composed of two-by-fours and
was held off the sloping ground by low brick supports. The grass
was sparse and untended around the house and down the bank
to the macadam road that went by fifty feet in front. Paving
stones formed a path to the road and a dirt drive ran up the slight
grade to the bams and coops in back. A few stray chickens which
had escaped through holes in the wire were pecking at the
ground in front.
Shapely pulled into the drive and the two men got out. “Pretty
rundown place,” said the sheriff with a gesture. “In fact, part of
that eight hundred Tillie had saved was going for repairs.” He
Girl on the Run 21
led the way, climbed a loose step to the porch, pulled open the
flimsy screen door and turned the knob of the dingy red, glass-
paned door behind. It opened into a living room dimmed by
drawn shades.
“You didn’t lock up the place?” Steve asked, following.
“Heck no. What for? Nobody around here ever does. There
ain’t no crime in this county. Leastways till now.”
The living room covered the front of the house. Behind it a
bedroom opened onto the hall through to the kitchen. A staircase
was to the left of the hall and to the left of that was a doorway to
what was originally a small dining room but was now the den
where Tillie kept her books. Inside was a roll-top desk, a chair,
a cabinet and a lot of papers. The papers were stuffed without
system into pigeon holes, scattered on the desk top and piled
loosely in the cabinet.
The bedroom door was near the foot of the stairs and opened
in, disclosing a stripped bed against the wall by the window, a
rag nig with bloodstains on it, a washstand, a small rocker, and a
bureau in the corner with a toilet set, lamp and leather picture
folder on top. The shades were drawn and this room too was
dim.
Shapely’s voice was low now at the scene of the crime. “This is
where Tom and I found her,” he said. “My car was getting fixed
and we rode together that day. So we were driving by and
stopped in as usual. Tillie wasn’t out on the porch getting her
sun like she’s been doing since the weather got warm and not
seeing her there got me thinking she might be ill abed again like
she was for a month last winter. So Tom and me, we walked
around back to see Cathy. Tillie’s old pickup was setting in the
barn so Cathy should’ve been around and we gave a yell or two
but she didn’t show up. I got scared Tillie was real sick and Cathy
was inside taking care of her so we knocked on the door and
then we went in.
“Cathy took care of her all right. She was lying half out of the
bed with blood all around and the breadknife sticking out of her
back. Tom, he was taken back pretty much. Then he was all for
going in to see if she was still alive but me, I stopped him. No-
body had to tell me she was dead and I wasn’t letting him mess
up any clues. I got on the nearest phone to call Springfield police
 22 Girl on the Run

headquarters and had them send out a photographer and a doc-

tor and a fingerprint man and Tom and I looked around real
careful like while we were waiting and there weren’t no Cathy
around and the sugar bowl was lying empty on the kitchen table.
“Well, sir, we got some pretty good photographs of the body if
you’ll be wanting to see them, and Silas Teidjen got fingerprints
off the breadknife and the sugar bowl and got some of Cathy’s
out of her room upstairs and, in view of her being gone and all,
it warn’t no surprise to me or anybody else that they checked.
“What’s today? Monday? Well, that was last Tuesday and by
afternoon we had it on the teletype who she was and what she’d
done and in comes a report from the station agent in Springfield.
That’s the county seat ten miles down the fine where you
changed trains coming up. So the report says Cathy’d bought
passage to New York.
“Wal, it took us a while to find out where she went from there
but the New York police finally said Miami and by the time the
Miami police found her hotel, she’d skipped the country. That
was Saturday and we’d be in a pretty pickle if I didn’t get the
idea of calling in your agency to go after her.”
Steve came away from the room, his face solemn. “She wouldn’t
stab her like that just for the money, I wouldn’t think. That
sounds like a hate killing. Was there a grudge between them?”
Shapely shook his head. “Darned if I know. Not on Tillie’s side.
That’s for sure. I couldn’t tell about Cathy. Maybe she wanted to
get away from White River and Tillie wouldn’t let her. Maybe
she thought she was owed the money. Who knows what goes on
in the heads of crazy people?”
Steve went into the kitchen frowning. He looked into the small
bathroom on the right, opened the door under the stairs to peer
into the dim cellar, wandered around opening drawers and cup-
boards. The place was too neat and tidy to tell tales. “Eight hun-
dred dollars,” he said, re-entering the hall. “That’s a pretty small
stake. Are you sure the aunt didn’t have more than that?”
“Eight hundred’s what Tillie told me she had—a little over, and
I don’t think she’d be a-lying to me. Couldn’t get no more than
that into the bowl, she said. That’s how she’d know when she had
enough to afford tilings.”
Steve nodded and started up the stairs, followed by the lum-
Girl on the Run 23
bering hulk of the sheriff. The second floor consisted of three
small rooms and bath, the rooms all having once been bedrooms
but two now only used for storage. It covered only the rear half
of the house and the front windows overlooked the sloping roofs
of the living room and porch.
Cathy’s room, the one still used for sleeping, was over the den
and the door was adjacent to the staircase. The shades were up
and the room was cheerier and more attractive than those below.
Flowered curtains adorned the dormer and side windows and the
walk, though cracked, sported gaily colored paper. Cathy’s bed
was made and the room was neat and clean.
“Tidy person,” Steve observed. “She kills her aunt but doesn’t
forget to make her bed.”
Shapely shook his head. “She forgot all right. She had clothes
on the floor and her bloody nightgown buried at the bottom of
the hamper and the bed all mussed when we got here. Reckon
Millie Hastings straightened up. She’s the one lives in the next
house and is kind of looking after things—feeding the chickens,
till we get it straightened out what’s to be done with it all.”
Steve opened the drawers of the bureau and looked at the
plain, inexpensive, but well-kept clothes they contained. He
looked around for other evidence of her character and habits but
there was little to go on. “She didn’t keep any pictures of her
parents?”
“The only pictures in the whole house are those on the bureau
downstairs, her as a baby and her folks out in Chicago. Tillie’s
pictures they are.”
“That means you don’t have any of her? The way she is now?”
Fraid not.
“That’s not going to make her any easier to find.”
“If it was easy, I’d go get her myself.”
Steve passed in front of the sheriff who stood in the door.
“Well, let’s see what she looked like when she was a baby.”
The pictures in the little leather frame were useless. Cathy
was no more than six months old and it was impossible to tell
what her hair was like now nor what her face had become. All it
showed were big solemn eyes and a small solemn mouth. The
snapshot of her parents helped no more. It was faded with twenty
years of time and while it showed her mother at a comparable
 24 Girl on the Run

age, a wide-brimmed summer hat shadowed her face. He could

tell nothing.
Steve put it down with a shrug. “Unless her picture is in her
highschool yearbook I won’t be able to tell her when I do find
her.”
“Want me to take you over to the school?”
“Might’s well.”
They returned to the car and Steve pulled out his pipe. “One
thing I’m going to have to have, Sheriff, and that’s a photostat of
her fingerprints. That’s the only sure way I’ll have of identifying
her.”
“Sure thing. I’ll have them made up. You won’t have no trou-
ble with them. If I do say so, we got some good ones.”
“Fine. Now, what’s the story on Miami?”
Shapely started back down the dusty road. “She registered in
a hotel down there Wednesday night and was there over Thurs-
day. We would have had her but the dumb newspapers printed
the stoiy and we figure that tipped her off we knew where she
was. She changed her name and hopped a plane out.”
One corner of Steve’s mouth curled and he looked at the sher-
iff. “Changed her name? You mean she registered in Miami as
Cathy Sinclair?”
“Yep. There, in New York and on the plane down. Like I say,
she wasn’t too bright. I guess she didn’t know how far the police
could go to get her. She probably figured she was safe. When the
papers down there ran the story she woke up and beat it fast to
the airport and off. She was remembered there when the police
got around to checking. Some ticket agent she was quizzing
about passports. But it was too late and nobody knew what name
she used or what plane she took where.”
“Or if she took a plane at all?”
“That’s right, though we don’t figure she was smart enough to
double back. But there’s no telling what she did. That’s what
makes it so tough.”
Steve smiled. “She won’t be hard to find. The way she goes
about it it’s a wonder she got away at all.”
The sheriff looked at him out of the comer of his eye. “You
just find her, that’s all. You just find her and bring her back here.”
CHAPTER 3

The highschool was a converted Victorian home sit-

uated on the outskirts of White River, a five minute walk from
the center, and boasted an average student body of sixty, or fif-
teen to a class. Mr. Rivers was the principal and he was an oldish
man, slightly stooped, on whom glasses failed to give the air of
intellect. His office was what had been the parlor of the old house
and his desk in the comer overlooked the paved street in front
and the dirt yard at the side.
Shapely introduced the two men and told Rivers Steve was the
agent the Brandt Detective Agency had sent up to bring back
Cathy Sinclair. “Good. Good,” Rivers said. “She’s a wanted
woman. This whole town wants that girl. She’s a bad one. I al-
ways said she was a bad one.”
Shapely asked for her classbook and Mr. Rivers shuffled over
to a cupboard with glass doors and produced a slender volume
entitled, WRHS Yearbook, and dated two Junes before. Its pages
contained photographs and information not only about the senior
class but all the other classes. There were pictures of club and
activity groups, special portraits of class officers Regina Hall,
John Durham, Eileen Adams and Eliot Norton, as well as indi-
vidual photographs of seniors.
In the space allotted to Cathy Sinclair, however, there was no
picture, only her name and below, in italics, the prophetic if un-
imaginative description, “Still waters run deep.” The other stu-
dents had a list of extra-curricular activities under their names
but there were none under hers. Catherine Sinclair did not, it
appeared, engage in anything other than her studies.
“No picture here,” said Steve. “What happened?”
Little Mr. Rivers looked and sat back, putting on an expression
that denoted concentration. “I don’t know. Perhaps she never got
around to having her picture taken. That happens, you know.”
“How about the other books she’d be in?”
 26 Girl on the Run
“I don't know. I’ll see.” He got irp and shuffled to the cup-
board again.
Steve thumbed through the book page by page and found one
other reference to the young fugitive. She was recipient of the
scholarship prize. Ten dollars.
Mr. Rivers brought back three other volumes for the years
when Cathy was a freshman, sophomore and junior respectively
and set them in front of the detective. Steve went through them
all in turn and her name was there but never her picture. “She
must have a grudge against photographers,” he said wryly.
“I can describe her for you,” Mr. Rivers offered. “Perhaps that
would help. Of course it would be as she was when she was here
for I don’t believe I’ve seen her since, but I’m sure she wouldn’t
have changed very much.”
Steve nodded and said, “I see she was good in her studies.”
Rivers scratched his head and said slowly, “I guess she was. I
—ah—believe she won the scholarship prize all four years. But
then, aren’t people with a predilection,”—he caressed that word
with pleasure—“for murder quite often brilliant?”
“Not as a rule,” said Steve. “By the way, how brilliant do you
have to be to win the scholarship prize around here?”
“Oh quite smart. Quite smart indeed. I’d say you’d have to be
college material. Quite definitely college material.”
Steve smiled faintly and glanced at Shapely but the sheriff
was sitting forward, dangling his hands between his knees, star-
ing grimly at some point beyond the principal. The detective
looked out at the warm May sun and said, “What courses did she
take? Ever have geography, history or languages?”
That caused a little more bustle as Rivers had to go into his
files again. “Yes,” he said at last, holding up several cards.
“United States history, ancient history, two years of geography
and she had four years of Latin and three of French.”
“Ever take Spanish?”
“We don’t teach Spanish here. No need. What would anybody
here want to learn Spanish for?”
Steve passed that one and said, “Her geography courses cover
Central and South America?”
“Oh yes. The whole world in fact.”
“Puerto Rico?”
Girl on the Run 27
“Yes. We cover Puerto Rico.”
“How about the Virgin Islands and the Panama Canal Zone?”
“Certainly. In fact, the children study all about how the canal
was built.”
“What else is taught about these places?”
“Oh, what they export and import, the names of their principal
rivers, their capital and major cities.”
“And you said you could describe her?”
“Oh yes. She’s—.” Rivers turned to Shapely. “How tall would
you say she was, Sheriff? About five and a half feet?”
“Five four,” rumbled Shapely, staring into space with a bitter
look in his eye. “About a hundred ten to a hundred fifteen, long
dark hair below her shoulders, dark eyes, solemn expression.”
“I suppose some would call her pretty,” Rivers conceded. “In a
way she was rather striking.”
“Unusual looking,” Shapely put in.
“Very withdrawn. Very, well, unworldly. Almost childlike.”
Steve said, “She must be twenty years old. Do you mean she’s
naive?
“Yes, naive. That’s just the word. But you could see murder in
her now that I look back on it. Her type is dangerous. Watch
out for misfits, I always say.”
Shapely shifted in his seat. “You ain’t kidding. She wears that
innocent expression but you read behind that and you see things.”
“What shape face does she have?” asked Steve.
“Oval,” said Mr. Rivers.
“Square,” said Shapely. “With a thin neck. Very unattractive.”
“Well,” Rivers said, “I suppose some people might think it
was a beautiful face. I didn’t, of course, but some people might.”
“Not beautiful,” Shapely growled. “Unusual looking, that’s all.
Break it down and there’s not a beautiful thing in it. Her eyes
aren’t bad but that’s all and if you look at her eyes closely, you
won’t like them.”
Steve sighed audibly. “Can we agree on her hair? It’s shoulder
length. What’s the exact color?”
“Black,” said Mr. Rivers.
“Brown,” said the sheriff.
“Dark brown,” said Mr. Rivers.
 28 Girl on the Run
“And it’s not shoulder length. It’s below the shoulders. Straight
hair with a little curl at the end, halfway down her back.”
“Bangs too. Straight bangs.”
Steve made shorthand marks in his notebook and looked from
one to the other. “What about her figure? Well developed, under-
developed, what?”
Mr. Rivers looked uncertain. “Well developed as I recall.”
Shapely rather sneered. “On the skinny side,” he said. “Not
much figure.”
Steve got up dissatisfied. “Could I speak to her teacher?”
Mr. Rivers got up too. “Which teacher, Mr. Gregory? She had
them all.”
“Her senior teacher.”
“She’s teaching at the moment.” Mr. Rivers made a serious
decision. “I think, in view of the circumstances, the ghastly mur-
der and everybody wanting to get that girl, it will be permissible
to interrupt the class.”
“The parents won’t mind their kids missing some school,”
Shapely said. “Not for this.”
Miss Vickers, the teacher in question, was a tail severe woman
with an unbending air. Steve wanted to talk to her privately and
Rivers showed them to an adjoining room. Though Miss Vickers’
age and looks mitigated against her being assaulted, she insisted
the door be left ajar and, inside the room, kept her distance from
the detective. He smiled at her with light amusement, gave her
ample room and explained his purpose. What was Cathy Sin-
clair like? What were her habits, looks and manners?
Cold hate came into Miss Vickers’ eyes. “A dreadful girl,” she
said. “Not even human. Of all the dear ladies in this town, Ma-
thilda Whittemore was the dearest, the kindest, the sweetest, the
most self-effacing. For all she suffered privation, never did she
make things unpleasant for those who couldn’t pay their bills on
time. Let anyone in town be ill, she was there to help. She gave
of herself, Mr. Gregory, unstintingly, and that she should be
struck down, stabbed in the back by that ungrateful, sadistic,
thieving child whom she took to her bosom and treated as her
own, this is—well, the town showed its mettle. This town and the
people of this town showed what Tillie Whittemore meant to us
all.”
Girl on the Run 29
Steve looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Saturday. Last Saturday. That’s when Sheriff Shapely
found she’d fled the country. She thought she could get away.
Well, he spoke to the selectmen and they called a special town
meeting right that afternoon. Everybody phoned everybody and
we were all there. Just about everybody in this whole town, even
children. The grange hall was packed. And Sheriff Shapely told
us how Cathy had escaped and he told us about this detective
agency in Philadelphia that specializes in missing persons and
how he proposed to hire them to track her down and bring her
back. Well, town funds couldn’t be authorized until a legal meet-
ing could be held but the sheriff said we couldn’t afford to wait
so they raised money by subscription right there on the spot and
they raised more than a thousand dollars. Everybody contrib-
uted.” She raised her chin proudly. “I gave ten dollars myself.
And we’ll get whatever more is needed from the town treasury
just as soon as we can hold a proper meeting.”
Steve, leaning on the back of a chair, said, “Nobody in town
liked the girl?”
Miss Vickers shook her head. “She wasn’t one of us. City-bred
she was. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t fit in. She was a wrong
one.”
“Would you have suspected, when Cathy was in your classes,
that she would be likely to kill someone?”
Miss Vickers compressed her lips. “Yes and no. Let me say that
since she’s done it I’m not surprised. I can’t say I could have pre-
dicted it. I’m not a fortuneteller. But she was a strange one. All
along she was a strange one and what went on in that brain of
hers I don’t like to think. I only know her thoughts never
showed.”
“Do you think she was insane?”
Miss Vickers’ eyes narrowed in a frightening manner. “I hope
not,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to see her escape punishment
through that loophole.”
Steve made a wry face and looked down at the seat of the
chair. “Miss Vickers, Cathy won the yearly scholarship prize all
through highschool. Was she what they call a ‘grind’?”
“No,” Miss Vickers answered bitterly, “and more’s the pity. I
don’t think she studied at all. There were all those boys and
 30 Girl on the Run
girls born and raised here, hard working young folk who studied
their books, and in comes this girl from outside who never opens
a book. Well, there’s one thing about us White River folk. You
can’t say we aren’t fair. She won and she got the prize, though
I’m not the only one who thought it was a shame it had to go to
such an indolent person.”
“I see. I’m trying to find out what she did with her time. She
did not go in for extra-curricular activities and apparently had
no hobbies and no friends. Now it appears she didn’t spend her
time studying. Do you know how she did spend it?”
Miss Vickers didn’t. “I believe she spent all of her time at home,
perhaps helping Miss Whittemore with her business. I don’t
really know.”
“What was she like physically? I seem to be getting a variety
of opinions about her looks.”
“She was rather pretty,” Miss Vickers said grudgingly. “Pretty
in an unusual way, not the way the other girls were pretty. Her
hair, for instance, was not in the current styles. She didn’t do any-
thing with it, just let it grow. Long and straight.”
“Was she careful about her personal appearance?”
Miss Vickers admitted it reluctantly. “Yes, she seemed to be.”
“How about her subjects? What would you say her favorite
was?”
The teacher shook her head. “I couldn’t tell you. She did not
display excessive interest in any of them. That’s what I mean
about it being a shame she had to win all the prizes. She didn’t
even try.”
There seemed to be little more that Steve could get from the
woman and he brought the interview to a close. He was tempted
to ask if the bitterness toward Cathy Sinclair stemmed from her
crime or if it had been felt when she was a student at the school.
However, he despaired of obtaining an impartial answer and he
could not see that it made any difference anyway.
Miss Vickers’ answers had not brought the picture of the girl
into clearer focus and he wanted a few other views so Steve
walked into town from the school, leaving the sheriff to go get
photostats made of Cathy’s fingerprints. This brought better re-
sults. In the tiny town of White River everyone was known, even
as retiring a person as Cathy. From Mr. Buchanan, the owner of
Girl on the Run 31
the hardware store, he learned that Cathy seemed nice man-
nered and polite but there was “something about her”. In the
small department store he ran into one of her highschool class-
mates behind a counter. Cathy, she said, had gone out to a few of
the highschool dances in her first year or two but not after that.
The boys didn’t like her. She, herself, hadn’t cared for her either.
It was not because Cathy was an outsider. Nobody minded that.
It was Cathy herself. She was too different. She didn’t share the
other girls’ interests in clothes and boys, styles and dates. She
was the town oddity and again there was something strange
about her and the way her mind worked. You could never tell
what she was thinking and there was the feeling that you
wouldn’t like it if you could.
The news of Steve’s presence in town and his mission was not
long in spreading and by the time he stopped for lunch at a bar
and grille he no longer had to accost people. They were accosting
him, eager to hand out information, anxious that the girl be found
and brought back to stand trial for her crime.
When Shapely returned from Springfield police headquarters
with the photostats, Steve was waiting for him in the small room
in the town hall set aside as a local office for the county sheriff
and his White River deputy. There the town authorities were
taking it upon themselves to give him more information, all of it
highly repetitious, to the effect that Cathy was a strange girl and
what she had done was not surprising. The only trouble with that
view, Steve found, was that nobody could point to anything else
the girl had done and, for all the people who had anticipated
trouble, not one of them had made any move to prevent it.
Shapely gave him the photostats in an envelope and Steve
drew them out, looked them over, was satisfied and slid them
back. “They’ll do,” he said.
Shapely nodded. “Now all you have to do is find her.”
“It shouldn’t be hard.” Steve glanced at the one or two others
in the room, intent on hearing all. “Could I talk to the sheriff
alone?”
They filed out reluctantly and the last one closed the door.
Shapely said, “What do you want?”
“I want to be sworn in as a deputy.”
 32 Girl on the Run
Shapely sat down at the desk and tilted back his chair. “Yeah?
What for?”
“You want the girl, don’t you?”
His eyes became black, hard shiny stones. “You bet I want that
girl. I’m not going to sleep till she’s back here.” He sat up straight.
“I don’t know your views on crime, Gregory, but I’ll tell you
mine and I’ll tell you this town’s. We haven’t had a crime like this
in a hundred years and maybe nobody gives a darn about mur-
der down in Philadelphia, but here in White River we do. And
when someone commits a crime in White River they’re gonna
get punished.”
Steve smiled. “You’re going to have a harder time finding an
impartial jury than I am finding the girl.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said Shapely. “The people
around these parts are square and honest. She’ll get a fair trial
all right. In fact, I’m going to have my brother-in-law down in
Springfield act as defense lawyer. He’s the best in these parts and
if anybody can get her off on an insanity plea, he can.”
“I guess he won’t be at a loss for witnesses. Now, if you’ll depu-
tize me—”
“Yeah. I still want to know what for.”
“So I can arrest her if I have to. So I can get her back in the
country.”
“What do you mean get her back?”
“She doesn’t have a passport unless she paid for a forged one.
She fled the country under a false name. If she wants to get back
in she has to prove she’s a citizen. That means a birth certificate
and it means immunization papers. There can be a lot of delay
getting all of these things but if I’m a legally authorized arresting
officer, I can bring her right through as long as my own papers
are in order.”
“You got papers? You got your own?”
“Brandt’s specializes in missing persons. Anywhere in the
world. We always carry everything.”
Shapely dug in his pocket for a ring of keys and unlocked the
middle drawer of the desk. He pulled out a deputy’s badge,
tossed it on the blotter and relocked the drawer. “O.K. I’ll make
you a deputy. I don’t want no delays getting that girl back.”
The administration of the oath took only a moment and Steve
Girl on the Run 33
pocketed his deputy’s badge. “Now can I see your file on the
case?”
Shapely shrugged and produced that from a locked cabinet.
He stood over Steve while the detective read it through slowly
and transcribed the pertinent bits into his shorthand notebook.
“Can you really read those marks?” Shapely asked when Steve
finally closed the slim folder of data and picked up the notebook.
“I can read them.” He tucked the book away and stood up.
“All right, Sheriff, I’ll see what I can do to locate her. My office
will get in touch with you when and if I do.”
Shapely shook his head. “I don’t imderstand red-tape,” he said.
“I’m hiring a man, not an organization. Let your office know if
that’s the way you have to work, but call me first. I don’t want
none of this secondhand stuff.”
Steve shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Don’t see, do it. I don’t give a damn about organization. I
want that girl and I want her as fast as you can get her. You’d
better carry a gun too. I’m warning you, she’s dangerous.”
The detective smiled. “I’ll get in touch with you and I’ll bring
her back, but don’t try to tell me how.” He opened the door and
went out.

CHAPTER 4

From the phone booth in the White River railroad sta-

tion while waiting for his train, Steve called Philadelphia and
got his agency. He closed the folding door against the gaze of the
woman in the ticket window who looked as if she were trying to
lipread, and stuck his empty pipe in his mouth.
“Hello, Chief,” he said when he got his connection. “I’m ready
to roll.”
“Did you get the story on her, Steve? What’s the deal?”
“Just what the sheriff said. This twenty year old kid, who’s a
mental case judging from what little the people around here
 34 Girl on the Run

know about such things, got some idea she didn’t like the old
hometown and stuck her aunt in the back and stole her money.
Why she did it that way I don’t know, but maybe she had some
imagined grudge against the aunt.”
“Sure it wasn’t a real grudge, Steve?”
“Could be but I doubt it. It’s universally agreed that the girl
was a nut and the aunt was a saint. You don’t get either of those
reputations in a small town for nothing.”
“O.K. So much for that. What’s the girl like?”
“Five four or five, hundred ten to fifteen, slender build. There
isn’t a picture of her to be had and the only description I could
get is that she’s unusual looking. I gather the unusual look is in
her eyes and ties in with the insanity angle.”
The chief snorted. “What kind of a description is that? You
won’t get anywhere trying to find somebody with nothing more
than that to go on.”
“She’s got one distinctive characteristic,” Steve said. “She grows
her hair long, down her back. Straight hair and bangs. She’ll
stick out in a crowd like a lighthouse.”
“If she doesn’t cut it. Let her get her hair done and she’ll be
lost for keeps.”
“7/ she gets it done. Stop fretting, Chief. This child doesn’t
know how to creep yet, let alone walk. She registered under her
own name in New York, on the plane and in the hotel in Miami.
She didn’t use an alias until she discovered the cops were looking
for her down there. And she doesn’t have too much money. It’s
my guess she won’t even think about her hair.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” growled the chief. “Do you have any
idea where she went?”
“Some place that doesn’t require a passport or visa and where
English is spoken. That makes it Puerto Rico, the American
Virgin Islands, or Panama. I lean toward Panama myself.”
“Why?”
“Her geography classes spent more time on Panama because
of the canal. It would seem more familiar to her. Also there’s the
escape motive. On an island she’s trapped if somebody comes
after her. In Panama she can disappear into the jungles if need
be or take a train somewhere. She’s not in a comer.”
The chief said, “Speaking of escape motives, personally I’d
Girl on the Run 35
take the first plane anywhere and the hell with geography. Don’t
overlook that angle.”
“I won’t. I plan to poke around Miami a little before following
any hunches. I might get a better picture of things down there.”
“Don’t look too long. I don’t want to come across any pictures
of you in some magazine cavorting around Miami Beach with a
broad on each arm.”
“It’s May, Chief. The broads are all back north.”
“You’d better not pick up any strays. And don’t forget to report
daily whether you find anything or not.”
“Right, and speaking of reporting, this guy Shapely wants me
to report to him direct. He doesn’t want his information second-
hand.”
“The hell with him. You report here first. If he’s so eager he
can’t wait to get his information through the proper channels, all
right, give him what he wants afterward, but watch what you
pass him. Don’t tell him anything about how you do it. Keep it
simple.”
“Right, Chief. I’ll contact you from Miami.”
“Do that. How much expense money did you draw?”
“Five hundred. I’ll wire you if I need more.”
“You’d better not need more for a damned long time.”
“And make a reservation for me on a morning plane out of
Boston. I’ll call for confirmation when I get there.” Steve hung
up and went out into the sunlight on the platform.

CHAPTER 5

Tuesday morning was another bright and warm one

with only a scattering of clouds to mar the deep blue of the sky.
Steve rode the airlines bus out to the field from his Boston hotel
and spent the trip reviewing the previous day’s collection of
notes, the record of White River, the people, and what they had
to say.
 36 Girl on the Run
The plane took off a few minutes after ten and Steve, settled
in an aisle seat beside a middle-aged and uneasy woman, passed
up breakfast and continued to review his notes until he had them
committed to memory. Then he pulled out a book, Einstein’s
theory of relativity in paperback, and started to read. For the
last hour he slept.
Toward one o’clock the slight dipping of the plane as it lost
altitude awoke him. He fastened his seat belt and lay back, let-
ting the sleep leave him slowly as the plane circled and glided
smoothly to earth, bringing its passengers into the world of the
Miami International Airport.
Steve climbed down the steps and stretched his legs and arms,
noting that the warmth of Boston had turned into the heat of
Florida and the kindly sun of the morning north had become
pitiless in the southern noon. The pavements were baked and
his topcoat was unbearable. He set his watch back to Miami’s
standard time, then shed the coat and slung it over an arm as he
went into the terminal and engaged a cab. “Colombo Hotel,” he
said and sat back on the cushions to reacquaint himself with
Miami scenery.
The Colombo was in the downtown section, near Flagler and
Biscayne, and was the one that boasted the signature of Cathy
Sinclair on its register. He found himself wondering as he paid
the cabby and walked up the steps of the modest building what
possessed the girl to give her real name. It seemed incredible
that anyone, no matter how inexperienced or crazy, could pos-
sibly be so stupid as to believe mere distance would be enough
to protect her from paying for a murder. He had had some inter-
esting and unusual people to track down during the course of his
career. He’d even had his share of maniacs, but this one took the
prize. She was too extraordinary to be real and he found he rather
relished the idea of cornering her if for no other reason than to
meet at first hand this weird and contradictory creature.
Steve crossed the carpeted lobby to the desk and waited briefly
until he was alone with the clerk. Then he leaned on an elbow
and said conversationally, “I suppose the police have been all
over the place since they found out Cathy Sinclair stayed here.”
The clerk pushed out his lips and made a thoughtful face.
“Not so much. They looked at her room and that’s about all.”
Girl on the Run 37
“Find anything?”
The clerk grew wary. “You know anything about her?”
“Only that she skipped the country.” Steve brought out his
deputy’s badge and laid it on the desk quietly. The clerk looked
and said, “I see.” Then he went on. “The Miami police could
tell you more than I can. If they-found anything in the room they
didn’t say anything to me about it.”
“Still got her name on the register or did they take that?”
“They took it for handwriting analysis.”
“Ever see the girl yourself?”
The clerk shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Were small but we
have a big turnover. I might have. I probably did. She might
have signed in with me for all I know.”
“She was pretty young looking. Like a kid. On the pretty side
with big eyes. Wore her hair long and straight, hanging down her
back with bangs in front.”
The clerk nodded. “I think I did, then. Can’t tell you any more
than that but seems to me there was a girl in and out the lobby
last week with hair like that.”
There wasn’t much else Steve could gain from him so he went
next to police headquarters. There he produced his badge and a
copy of the advance telegram he had sent and he was closeted
with the detective who had handled the Cathy Sinclair search.
The detective’s name was Don Reynolds and he was a burly
southerner with a red face composed of two parts sunburn and
three parts high blood pressure. “Nothing in the girl’s room,” he
drawled, “except a Miami newspaper. Seems like she was job-
hunting on the face of it. Paper was folded open on the help-
wanted page.”
“Any pencil marks on it?” asked Steve.
“You got it right, son. She’d circled some of the ads.”
“Which ones?”
“Maid work, store clerk, waitress wanted, things like that.”
“No secretarial positions or jobs requiring experience or train-
ing?”
“That’s right. She didn’t mark any of the good-paying ones.”
“So what happened? She saw the story you were after her and
high-tailed it to the airport and away?”
“That’s about the size of it. That story broke in Friday morn-
 38 Girl on the Run
ing’s paper and it was Thursday's she left behind. We got there
before the maids cleaned up but not before she’d had a good
headstart. She was paid up and checked out by half past eight.”
“And a ticket agent saw her at the airport?”
Reynolds shrugged. “Well, yes and no. What really happened
was I talked to a ticket agent at Pan-Carib out there who remem-
bers a young kid, looked like too young to travel alone, wanting
to know about planes and she didn’t know anything about pass-
ports or visas or inoculations. She was a real dumb kid. She
thought leaving the country was like leaving the city, you just
buy a ticket and go. So he had to set her straight and it took a
long time for her to get it just what places require a passport or
what-all and he was with her long enough to remember she had
long straight hair and bangs. So we guess that was the girl.”
“Is that all he can remember about her?”
Reynolds smiled. “You gotta understand, son, he’s married
with eight kids and she was really pestering him. He’s doing this
all day long.”
“And what did she finally decide to do?”
“He don’t know. She went away. If she bought a ticket some-
where it wasn’t from him.”
“And he’s the only one who remembers her?”
“The only ticket agent. A young lad behind the lunch counter
out there remembers her. Long dark hair, white dress, very
pretty, all alone. It takes the young ones. They’re the ones with
an eye out for a pretty face. Trouble is that’s all he remembers.”
“So there’s no clue as to what plane she took?”
“Or even that she took a plane for that matter. We only guess
she left the country because of that girl asking all those ques-
tions, and we guess she changed her name because it isn’t on any
passenger fists going anywhere. We got a sample of her hand-
writing from the hotel but couldn’t match it with anything. Of
course that don’t mean much. We aren’t experts and there were
half a dozen tourist cards where the signature might have been
hers. But for all we know she might have given up the idea of
leaving the country and gone back to New York. Or she could
be hiding out right here in town. It’s not something we got
enough men to investigate, though.”
“She might have,” Steve said, “but you don’t think so?”
Girl on the Run 39
“Not after talking to the ticket agent. He thinks she was pretty
set on getting out.”
Steve said, “Could you get me a photostat of her signature?
Wherever she is she must have registered for a room—and what-
ever name she used she probably wrote it herself.”
“Sure thing and I hope you have more luck with it than we
did. You gonna be around Miami for a while?”
“Not unless something says she’s still in town. I’m inclined to
agree with you she went south and I’ll be heading that way too.”
“O.K., Mr. Gregory. I’ll have a photostat ready for you tomor-
row morning. You can pick it up any time.” He made a note and
spoke again in a lowered voice. “You know tills guy Shapely
well?”
“I’m just working for him.”
Reynolds shook his head and frowned. “Seems to me that guy’s
going to a lot of trouble. The girl got away. Why don’t he leave
it alone? What’s he want to kidnap her back into the country for?”
Steve lifted his shoulders. “Search me. He says he’s a bug on
not letting criminals escape just because they cross a boundary.”
“Yeah, but out of the country? Private detectives? I don’t get
•it.« »
“Maybe he’s afraid of the next election. Maybe the town is
pressuring him. Maybe he was more than fond of the woman the
girl killed.”
“You think there was something between them? Love or—
something else?”
Steve smiled. “I didn’t ask. That’s not what I was hired for. I
don’t even know how old the aunt was. All I know is her health
wasn’t good. Make what you want out of that.”
Reynolds spread his hands. “I’m not going to make nothing out
of it. Why borrow worries? All I’m saying is we’ve never had a
case like this one before, all this stir over a little old murder. He
acts like a man obsessed.”
“He’s obsessed.” Steve got up. “But that’s not my business. My
job is to bring the girl back.”
Reynolds grinned. “All I can say is, I wouldn’t like to be in her
shoes. Not if he gets his hands on her.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes either, but remember. She
did stick a knife in her aunt’s back.”
 40 Girl on the Run
“True,” Reynolds said, rising. “True. So I guess it don’t much
matter whether she gets executed, stuck in an asylum or lynched.
If you can find her. Personally I wouldn’t know how to go about
tracking somebody like that. With all there is south of Miami to
go to, it’d be like looking for a needle in a haystack to me.”
“Even finding a needle isn’t too hard,” Steve said, moving to
the door, “if you know who put it there and why.”

CHAPTER 6

Steve Gregory did not cavort on the Miami beaches

with a girl on each arm. In fact, that evening he didn’t even go
nightclubbing with a girl on one arm. Pie spent it instead in the
company of officials from all the airlines at Miami International
going over the previous Friday’s passenger fists. The Miami po-
lice had already done tins but all they’d had to go on was a name
and a piece of handwriting and it wasn’t enough. Steve knew her
background and he knew where to specialize. The earliest planes
out after 8:30 were his first consideration with Pan-Carib and
bookings to Panama following in that order.
One of the earliest flights anywhere was the noon Pan-Carib
daily jet to Tocumen Airport in Panama City and Friday’s listings
carried the names of six unaccompanied female passengers: Mar-
ilyn Roos, Henrietta Converse, Shirley Mann, Regina Adams,
Charlotte Little, and Florence Doolittle. It was enough to make
Steve shake his head. What land of a fugitive was she? Did she
have so little sense she would advertise her presence to a ticket
agent at Pan-Carib and then fly their fine? Did she have nothing
better to draw on for an alias than a combination of her high-
school class officers’ names? It was really too easy.
Steve, however, was too old a hand at the game not to hedge
his bets and though Regina Adams of San Diego, California (as
far from New Hampshire as possible) hit him between the eyes
at the beginning, he didn’t close the books and let the airlines
Girl on the Rim 41
officials go home until he had recorded and considered every
name on every flight to every destination not requiring a pass-
port, visa, or other proof of identity that had taken off on Friday.
No other name had meaning, however, and Steve went to bed
that night with passage to Panama booked for the morrow and a
slight disappointment over the lack of challenge in the case. No
other tracing job had been so simple.
When Steve boarded the Pan-Carib jet the following noon he
had, in addition to Cathy Sinclair’s fingerprint photostat and the
fingerprint kit that was part of his standard equipment, the pho-
tostat Reynolds had got of her signature. These were all he
needed to wrap up the case.
The sky was overcast when the big plane took off but they
climbed up above and leveled off in sunlight. Steve unfastened
his belt, pulled out the science book and started to read. He had
not caught the girl yet and though the trail looked hot it could
turn cold in a moment. Let Regina Adams turn out to be real and
he was in difficulty. If he were torn by doubts, however, it did
not show. Steve Gregory was not one to cross any unnecessary
bridges or worry about anything that hadn’t actually happened.
Right then he read with concentration, oblivious of his surround-
ings, undisturbed by other thoughts. It was a 2V2 hour trip and
that was too long a time to spend biting his fingernails.
They left the overcast behind when they passed the south shore
of Cuba and there was a clear view down to the water nearly six
miles below. Then the deep blue of the sea gave way to the deep
gray green of Grand Cayman. After that there was nothing to
see but the circular sweep of water disappearing into the distant
haze.
Steve had a cocktail and lunch and read again until the plane
lost altitude and he found himself over the dense, mountainous
jungles of Panama. More clouds obscured the view and when
they broke out below, they were over the waters of the Pacific,
circling for the landing. The plane touched down on the Tocu-
men runways, slowed and turned along the taxi strips to the Pan-
Carib terminal and hangars and came to a stop. Steve, his book
tucked away, slid his traveling case out from under the seat and
picked up his coat.
As soon as he had disembarked and gone through the formali-
 42 Girl on the Run
ties of arrival; health, immigration and customs, he sought out
the offices of Sehor Julio Corsi, head Pan-Carib representative in
Panama. These were on the second floor in an air-conditioned
section and Sehor Corsi came to the door to the outer office as
soon as his secretary announced Steve’s arrival. “Si, Sehor Greg-
ory,” he said, shaking hands and leading Steve into a comfortable
suite. “Sit down. Miami informed me of your coming and the—
ah—unfortunate nature of your business. It is true, what they tell
me, that you wish to speak to the stewardesses who made the
trip on Friday?”
Steve said it was true.
Sehor Corsi, a dark plump man with flashing teeth and a black
mustache, depressed the intercom key and rattled Spanish to his
secretary with the speed of a machinegun. He sat down behind
his desk and smiled. “Pan-Carib is not an American airline but
we are always anxious to cooperate with the American police. I
have both stewardesses standing by. Let us pray they can help
you.”
Steve thanked him. “I hope you haven’t had to hold them off
any flights.”
Sehor Corsi shrugged. “No importe. We switch here and there.
A minor matter.”
They made small talk for a minute or two about Steve’s trip,
the plane, the speed of modem travel, and then the door opened
and two cute Spanish girls, dressed in the green and white uni-
forms of Pan-Carib, entered nervously and stood together waiting
for some unknown axe to fall. Both men rose and Sehor Corsi
looked upon them solemnly. “This is Sehor Steve Gregory,” he
said to them. “He is with the police department in America del
Norte. He is interested in a girl who flew in from Miami on your
trip Friday last, a Miss Regina Adams.” He looked at Steve for
confirmation. “I want you to tell him everything you can remem-
ber. Sehor, this is Sehorita Sanchez and Sehorita Jimenez. You
wish to ask them questions?”
“Thanks, yes.” Steve smiled reassuringly at the girls. “First, do
either of you remember Miss Adams?”
Both girls frowned prettily. “Last Friday?” one began. “I do
not know, Sehor. I do not remember. There were sixty passen-
gers.”
Girl on the Run 43
“The girl I’m looking for was very young. Twenty years old.
She was traveling alone. She had dark hair halfway down her
back and bangs. Hair across here.” Steve lined his forehead with
a finger.
The other girl, Sehorita Sanchez, brightened. “Si. Yes, Senor”
She turned to her companion. “At the back. She sat alone at the
back.” The other nodded, recalling, and Sehorita Sanchez said,
“She looked—.” She shrugged. “Lonely. Very—ah—nervous?
Frightened?”
“That would be the girl. Did you talk to her at all?”
The sehorita nodded. “Si. Between times I sat with her. I felt
sorry for her. She looked so young.”
“Did she say where she was going? Did she tell you anything
about her plans?”
“She had no plans, Senor. She said she hoped to find a job.”
“Here? In Panama City or Balboa?”
“Anywhere. But I think she went to Colon. I think she went
across the Isthmus.”
“Why? Why do you think so?”
The sehorita smiled nervously. “I live in Colon. That is my
home. So there is a new company from your country that is open-
ing offices there and I told her they would be hiring a lot of peo-
ple. I told her there would be a good chance of a job there.”
“Did she tell you she’d go to Colon?”
The stewardess shook her head and gestured uncertainly. “No,
Senor, but I think that is what she did. She asked how one got
there, and I told her how to go to the railroad station from here
and I told her when she got to Colon she should go to the Hotel
George Washington and I told her where that was and where the
offices of the company were and she wrote it all down.”
Steve had his notebook out. “What’s the name of the com-
pany?”
“It’s Rossano’s. It’s an export-import firm and the offices are on
Front Street right near the railroad station.”
Steve made notes. “This Washington Hotel,” he said. “Is this
the only hotel in Colon?”
“It’s the only one for her—for the—norteamericanos.”
“What about Cristobal?”
“No, Senor. Cristobal is the North American section of Colon.
 44 Girl on the Run

Across the railroad tracks. But that’s only where people live, the
nortcamericanos who work for the companies or the military of
your country.”
There was nothing more the two stewardesses could tell him
and Steve thanked them and Sehor Corsi. The girls eyed each
other and Senorita Sanchez said timidly, “Did the girl do some-
thing bad?”
Steve smiled at her sadly. “I’m afraid she did,” he said.

CHAPTER 7

The rattlely train Steve took across the Isthmus steamed

into the yellow brick and wood trimmed railroad station in Colon
a few minutes before five and he left it quickly for the new Ros-
sano Export-Import Co. building half a block up Front Street. It
was a quick quest and another strike. They remembered the
girl, they told him. Long hair, bangs, and a suitcase. She was
fresh from the train and looking for a job. It was crazy, they said.
She knew no Spanish, she couldn’t type or take shorthand, she
had no experience and no training. They turned her down, of
course. She should have known better than to ask. No, they didn’t
know where she’d gone from there.
Steve guessed it wouldn’t be far. He thanked them and went
out again. Across the street he found himself a rundown car
which passed itself off as a taxi. It was driven by a very black
Negro who showed white teeth in an insincere grin and said,
“Where to?”
Steve got in back with his bag and topcoat and said, “The
Hotel Washington.”
“That’s back the other way. I’ll have to go around a few
blocks.”
“Go ahead.”
The Negro pulled out and turned the next corner away from
the Front Street shops and the grid-laid thoroughfares grew clut-
Girl on the Run 45
tered with vehicles. There were people everywhere, crossing the
streets, strolling the roof-covered sidewalks, vending on the cor-
ners. Most of them were natives, a population of varying mixtures
of Negro, Spanish and Indian blood, but there were plenty of
outsiders too, American tourists with cameras around their necks,
sailors from the Navy base, Army soldiers, and seamen from far-
off lands in foreign vessels making port.
The town, as they passed through, looked like one big slum
and the smell of it was one of rot and decay. The buildings, cheek
by jowl, were streaked and dirty, many in advanced stages of
disrepair, their pastel colors faded and soiled. Everywhere there
were bars and from them all came the clashing jar of conflicting
jukeboxes. The town, especially under the gray skies that hov-
ered over it, was dingy and depressing.
They turned on Central Avenue and went by the mall which
sported a miniature edition of the Hollywood Bowl, continued
past better buildings at the other end of town, turned back on
Second Street and entered the gates to the neat, well-trimmed
grounds of the Washington Hotel, circling the drive to its en-
trance. The building itself, rectangular, with arched colonnades,
was made of stone and looked out over Limon Bay with its canal-
bound ships and distant breakwater. It was large by Colon stan-
dards, attractive and well-kept, a far nicer place than Steve was
now daring to hope for. The cabby had gone around a good deal
more than one block and the short, circuitous trip had prepared
him for the worst.
Steve got out into the warm moist air that threatened rain and
paid the man, picked up his bag and topcoat and went into the
cooler interior of the hotel. An open porch, set with arches, ran
across the face of the building and, inside the screen doors, al-
most equally open, extended a parallel corridor. Directly ahead
was the lobby and Steve approached the desk where a man who
was more Spanish than Negro was sorting letters beside a counter
sign that said, “Cable Office” in two languages and another which
said, “English Spoken.”
Steve set his bag down and said, “Any chance of a room?”
The clerk looked up. “Sure. Where you want it?”
“Easy as that, eh? I don’t know yet. Any other Americans
here?”
 46 Girl on the Run
“A few. You want to sign the book?”
Steve nodded and the clerk brought out a ledger from under
the counter, opening it to a spot marked by a ribbon. The left-
hand page was nearly full of names and Steve scanned them
rapidly while the clerk handed him a pen and put a finger on the
next blank space. Regina Adams’ name was halfway down and
there was no checkout date. That put her still in the hotel but
what was even more important to Steve was that her signature
strongly resembled the handwriting sample Cathy Sinclair had
left in the Colombo Hotel in Miami.
The room number against Miss Adams’ name was 203 and
Steve skimmed the rest of the listed rooms as he scribbled his
right name but a wrong home state in the blank space. “Let’s
see,” he said, pushing the book to the clerk. “How about some-
thing on the second floor? 204 or six or something?”
The clerk turned to the mail slots and lifted a key off a hook.
“I can give you 204 if you want it.”
“That’s good.” Steve picked up the key and the clerk rang the
call bell.
204 was a clean, tile-floored room with a private bath and
plenty of ventilation. Its main advantage, however, was that it
was directly across the hallway from 203. Steve went in, leaving
the door open, paid off the bellhop, a coffee-colored man of
forty, and lay down on the bed where he wiped the perspira-
tion from his forehead, removed his tie and coat and listened for
sounds of occupancy across the hall. If Cathy Sinclair didn’t have
that room, he was going to be a very surprised man.
After listening to twenty minutes of silence across the way,
Steve rose and washed Iris face in the tiny bath, replaced his tie,
put on his coat and went downstairs. He hadn’t really expected
Cathy to be in at that time of day, not while offices and shops
were still open. If he had correctly judged her aims and purposes,
she was out looking for work.
He went onto the porch at the rear of the hotel and looked
across the grass and through the palm trees at the entrance of
the drive. Above, the sky was very gray and rain was imminent.
She should be back before long. He took a chair, pulled out his
pipe, stuffed and lighted it and sat back contentedly to wait.
In a few minutes the rain started. It wasn’t rain such as he
Girl on the Run 47
was used to in Philadelphia. This came down with a roar. Pie
could hardly see the driveway gates through it and minutes went
by without letup. The day was dark now, though it was only six,
and it seemed as though night were coming on. Then, finally, the
rain slackened its pace and relaxed its beating and the gray
lightened somewhat. Steve restuifed his pipe and smoked some
more.
When the rain at last had diminished to a drizzle, a cab came
up to the hotel steps and two women got out laughing. They paid
the driver and hurried up onto the porch, casting a glance at
Steve and going inside. One was a brunette but her hair was too
short and her eyes lacked the strange look Steve had come to
expect in Cathy Sinclair.
Dinner was being served in the dining room. Steve could hear
the sounds over the now silent rain, the rattle of dishes, the low
murmur of people gathered together. The sky was dark gray and
the earth even darker though the sun was still up, beyond the
clouds. The rain was depressing and the dampness in the air,
added to the heat, made the climate enervating.
Then, out by the entrance, he saw her. A flash of white in the
gray, running quickly through the raindrops, the young figure of
a girl. He didn’t know how he knew, he was too far away to see
her face or the straight bangs, and her long hair wouldn’t show
from the front, but Steve knew. Some inner sense told him this
was the moment he’d been waiting for and he removed the pipe
from his mouth and held it while he sat there, staring at the lithe
figure that approached. On she came, her head ducked against
the rain so he could not see her face but as she drew nearer, he
could discern the bangs and the straight dark hair and he knew
long before she dashed up the steps and in the door that it went
nearly halfway down her back.
He had only a flash of a soaked, bedraggled figure, the wet
hair plastered, the dress clinging to a pretty body and then she
was gone from sight. It was enough, however. Steve’s guesses had
paid off the first shot. She was the easiest person he had ever had
to trace, like taking candy from children. Cathy Sinclair was
pathetically inept at concealing herself. He had never found any-
one as transparent as she.
In spite of the ease of his mission, however, Steve’s heart was
 48 Girl on the Run
pounding and he found his breath coming quicker. It was the
way he had felt after a two-year job tracking down the elusive
Mr. Alexander, bank-robber extraordinary. Then his heart had
beaten fast like that when he first sighted his prey, but that was
after two years of matching wits against a past-master at the art
of deception. This was his easiest case and the reaction was the
same. He couldn’t understand it. From the moment she had first
shown herself at the road out front, before he even knew it was
she, until long after she had disappeared, still his hand trembled
around his pipe. Then it came to him. It was too easy! It seemed
as though all he had had to do was close his eyes and reach out
and there she was. A warning signal sounded inside him and he
got up, reminding himself not to be careless. He was outwardly
calm and casual as he knocked the ashes from his pipe against
the stone railing and stepped inside.
The lobby was deserted, except for the clerk, and the sound
of the scattering of early diners was loud in the quiet. He strolled
to the arched entrance to the dining room and let his eye sweep
the lamp-lighted tables and their occupants. Cathy was not
among them but he had not expected her to be. She would need
a change of clothes before she ventured out for a meal.
Steve refilled his pipe and patted his pockets, apparently un-
able to find his fighter. He climbed the stairs but when he found
the second floor hall to be empty he did not enter his room. He
lighted the pipe instead, standing close enough to the door of
203 to hear faint sounds of occupancy. It was just a check.
Satisfied, he went down to the lobby again and out onto the
porch. There he shifted a chair to a spot where he could watch
the staircase without being observed by the desk clerk and sat
down to wait.
CHAPTER 8

It was a long wait. Occasionally people drifted through

the lobby, entered and left the hotel, climbed and descended
the stairs, but none of them came tripping down the steps like
Cathy. Steve was patient. There was no reason for her to hide
out, no reason for her to flee down the back way. She suspected
nothing. It was only a matter of time and, though he found his
pulse quickening whenever some new party came from the stair-
case into his range of vision, to an observer he had no interest in
anything but the pleasure of his pipe and a damp evening on a
hotel porch. He was not puzzled by the delay. She might be
taking a bath. She might not yet be hungry. The only tiling that
did give him pause was the breathless feeling he experienced at
each new arrival and the letdown that followed when it was not
Cathy. It was as if he’d never staked out a quarry before.
And then, shortly after seven, suddenly it was she, coming
directly from the stairs, disappearing in a flash as she crossed the
lobby to the dining room. Now she was wearing a green print
dress and looked as sparklingly trim and neat as a silvery jet, her
hair, though freshly combed, still wet. Steve settled back in satis-
faction and the slight hint of tension left him. She was as predict-
able as the sun, as easy to calculate as basic arithmetic. She wasn’t
smart enough to be furtive in Miami. She was totally ingenuous
in Colon. He was hardly earning his money.
He gave her time. He waited till he had finished his pipe,
knocked the embers out and let the bowl cool. Then he got up,
pocketed it and went in to the dining room arch.
The girl was at a table by the windows with her back to him,
her attention on the menu. She didn’t even watch the door! Steve
shook his head at her ineptitude and made his way through the
room, still but partially filled, to her table.
She didn’t look up from the menu until he took the facing chair
and when she did her expression was momentarily startled. Steve
 50 Girl on the Run
was ready and smiled at her disarmingly. He leaned forward,
keeping his voice low. “Excuse me for butting in,” he said, “but
could you do me a favor? A friend and I have a bet about you.
Would you settle it for us?”
She frowned at him in bewilderment and her voice was low
and soft and troubled. “Why, I—”
Steve, putting his elbows on the table, smiled. “All you have to
do,” he said, “is answer a question. Is your name Candy Martin
and do you sing with an orchestra in a nightclub in Balboa?”
Her dark eyes widened and the frown stayed. “No,” she said.
“You’ve made a mistake.” She lowered her gaze.
He peered at her closely and she flushed. “You’re sure?” he
said. “You don’t sing in Balboa?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been to Balboa.”
“But your name is Candy—”
“No,” she said. “That’s not my name and I don’t sing. You’ve
mixed me up with someone else.”
“It’s my friend who mixed you up.” Steve laughed and waved
at the empty doorway in a gesture of dismissal. When the girl
turned to look, he said, “That was Jack. He’s gone now, off to lick
his grievous wounds. We did it, you and I. Shake.”
She turned back, still puzzled, and hesitated at his outstretched
hand. She slowly put hers in it and said, “I don’t think I under-
stand you.”
It was a soft hand, warm and vibrant. Steve took it solemnly
and almost forgot to let go. It was the hand that had wielded a
breadknife but he was only aware of the sensation it sent through
him.
When she started to withdraw it he recovered and released
her. He wanted to be flippant then, in retaliation, but he knew
she wouldn’t respond to flippancy. He leaned closer. “Don’t you
see? You helped me win my bet. Jack was sure you were the girl
who sings in a Balboa nightclub he frequents and I was sure you
weren’t. We made a bet and you’ve just done me the favor of
winning me fifty dollars.”
Her eyes widened in real surprise. “Fifty dollars?”
Steve nodded. “That’s right. Fifty dollars. Now do you see why
I’m beholden to you?”
“That’s an awful lot of money,” she said seriously.
Girl on the Run 51
“That it is and I owe you a favor in return. So I’m going to treat
you to dinner this evening.”
The flush came back to her face and she shook her head
quickly. “Oh no. I couldn’t do that.”
He put a hand on hers. “You have to. You’ve done me a favor.
I owe you one.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“You won me fifty dollars. You can’t call that nothing. So I have
to do something for you in return. It’s a matter of honor with me.”
She withdrew her hand from under his slowly. “But it’s—I.
Please.”
Then the waiter was beside them and she turned to him
quickly. “Just a chicken sandwich.”
Steve said to the waiter, “She’s going to have more than that.
Come back in a few minutes.”
“Yes?” The waiter looked from one to the other.
“No, no. Please,” the girl said a little desperately. “Just a
chicken sandwich.”
Steve gestured. “Shoo, scat. She doesn’t know what she’s
saying.”
The man, a plump middle-aged Latin with dark curly hair,
looked uncertain.
“A lover’s quarrel,” murmured Steve. “Come back when I sig-
nal you.”
The waiter showed off a mouthful of white teeth in a wide
grin and said to the distressed girl, “Take your time, Miss. I’ll
come back in a minute.”
Pie was gone and the girl turned helplessly. “Why did you say
that? What will he think?”
“He thinks love makes the world go around. Now you’re cer-
tainly going to have more than a chicken sandwich if I’m to repay
a favor.”
“But you aren’t. I can’t accept it.”
“You must. Don’t you understand I’m obliged to you? You don’t
have to talk to me. You don’t have to tell me your name. You
don’t even have to sit with me if you don’t want to. All I insist
on is paying for your dinner. There aren’t any strings. This is
just to even the score. It’s all very selfish but I have to feel right
with my conscience.”

LIB
 52 Girl on the Run
She regarded him and the hint of a smile touched her lips. “I
think you have a very funny conscience.”
“It’s funny but it’s mine. Agreed?”
She considered for a moment. “If you’re sure that’s all it’s for.
A debt.”
“That’s absolutely all. A debt.” He held out his hand again.
“Shake?”
Once more she let him hold hers briefly. “All right,” she said.
“But it’s still a chicken sandwich.”
He could still feel the electric quality of her touch even after
she had let him go and he wondered if she realized her effect.
“It’s not a chicken sandwich,” he said severely. “You’re having
steak.”
“No, really. I’m on a diet.”
“That’s ridiculous. What do you want to diet for?”
“I want to lose weight.”
“You can start losing weight tomorrow. Tonight my conscience
owes you steak.”
She gave a helpless gesture and surrendered. Steve smiled at
her and beckoned the waiter. Cathy Sinclair, he knew, would
not hold out too long against a steak dinner. That eight hundred
dollars she’d stolen was melting away fast and she was ill-
equipped to get a job, especially outside the United States. There
was the hint of panic in her making a meal of a chicken sand-
wich little more than a week after the murder.
He gave the order to the waiter and told the girl his name. “Of
course you don’t have to tell me yours,” he said. “And if it’s
Candy Martin, you’d better not!”
That actually got a smile out of her. It even got him informa-
tion. “I guess I could spare you that,” she said. “It’s Regina
Adams.”
“Hello, Regina. Unless you insist on being formal.” He went
on then, chatting easily, carrying the conversation, luring her into
replies. It wasn’t hard for her responses, though brief, were not
reluctant. He made no attempt to question her but kept the tone
light and informal. All the while, however, he was taking stock
of his adversary and he found himself constantly surprised. The
descriptions he had picked up on Cathy Sinclair had been gross
understatements. The girl was not merely pretty, she was beauti-
Girl on the Run 53

ful. Prettiness described superficial qualities and there was much

more than that to Miss Alias Regina Adams. Her hair was deep
brown and straight and, while the style was simple and unin-
spired, it was oddly suited to her personality. Her forehead was
broad and intelligent under the bangs and her eyebrows were
dark and unplucked, contrasting with the pale whiteness of her
skin. Her nose was short and her mouth straight over a firm little
chin. There was, in the curl of her lips when she spoke or smiled,
that sensitiveness of expression which the hard girl loses. It was
an appealing mouth.
Most of all, though, her beauty lay in her eyes. They were large
and dark in the square face, somber in their relaxed state yet
dancing when they smiled. The smiles, so far, were rare experi-
ences but he had seen enough of them to realize that her eyes
were loveliest at such moments. There were, as Shapely and the
others had said, depths beyond those eyes, but the depths did
not frighten nor hint of mania. As Steve studied her he found it
harder and harder to believe the girl had killed in a fit of insanity.
The growing certainty disturbed him for it meant she was fully
aware of her act and the horror of it grew in the light of its cold-
bloodedness. Steve found himself searching unobtrusively but al-
most desperately for some trace of mental trouble that could
save her from a first degree murder verdict.
When the meal came he noted the graceful way she handled
her utensils. Her speech inflections, her manner, her movements,
her face and her figure were all alluring and the combination
was appealing to the point of distraction. It was an extraordinary
girl he had been called upon to hunt down and bring back to
justice.
Steve muttered to himself and tried some analysis of his own
trouble. Never before had he taken the slightest personal interest
in the objects of his search. Most had been men, but now and
then he had been called upon to find a young woman and the
task had never been viewed as anything more than business. He
reported her whereabouts or brought her back or did whatever
was required and that was the end of it. That was what he would
do this time, but he couldn’t deny that the memory of this partic-
ular girl would linger long after the job had been completed.
The meal would not last forever, Steve knew, and he utilized
 \

54 Girl on the Run

the time baiting his traps for the future. Once he had the girl
fully identified he could clap her in irons and carry her back to
the States but this was not his aim. In the first place, he wasn’t
sure of the extent of his authority in the city of Colon—whether
it was part of Panama or the United States. In the second place,
it would be crude and complicated. There were easier ways to
get her back and he worked on those. He was an engineer, he told
her, in charge of a company office on the other side. Over in
Balboa. He mentioned the sixty employees under him and the
high rate of turnover. He let it out that he was single, that his
mother was his only living relative. Colon, he said, was strange
territory to him. He hadn’t been here more than twice, but he had
to confer with a client about some construction work at the Navy
base and the client had spotted Regina and, well, had made a
fifty-dollar mistake.
The girl listened with apparent interest and she made appro-
priate remarks and even volunteered an opinion or two, but she
didn’t take any bites from the lures he dangled. All that could
be said in his favor as the meal progressed was that he seemed
to be persuading her that the one trap she was on the lookout for
was detoothed. He was being the perfect gentleman, good to his
mother and innocent of guile, not for a moment to be confused
with a fresh city slicker on the make.
The waiter, who had taken a personal interest in the Hovers”
brought over the dessert with his beaming smile and placed it
before them. Tm glad you make up,” he said. “Makes me feel
very good.”
Regina could even smile at that and say chidingly to Steve,
“Now look what you started.” Steve liked the smile. Had they
told him in White River she was always solemn? She could be
drawn out. Her smiles were still shy and hesitant expressions but
they were smiles. A little encouragement and they would blossom
out in full strength. Steve was sure of it and, once he got her to
that point, he could lead her home by the hand.
Over the coffee Steve puffed on his pipe and pondered that
problem behind the curtain of small talk. So far, she had not
leaped for the hook when he mentioned being in charge of an
office force and he was plagued by the disturbing thought that
perhaps she had already obtained a job. If so, it would be a more
Girl on the Run 55
complicated task luring her back to the States. It might even kill
off her willingness to see more of him. So far she had suffered
his company for dinner but that had been forced. She had re-
sponded to him but there was shyness in the response and re-
serve behind the shyness. She had been permissive but not
encouraging. And, he had to admit ruefully, murderess or not,
this was a girl he wanted encouragement from. She was so at-
tractive and appealing he could almost forget, if he could not
forgive, her stabbing and robbing an enfeebled old lady. She was
the kind of girl he’d like to take back to justice via the long road.
The waiter brought over the check with his usual grin and
laid it on the table. Steve picked it up and frowned and said,
“Things don’t cost much down here. This hardly puts us even.”
He smiled at her then. “Would you like to do me another favor?”
She sat back and carefully laid her napkin beside her cup. Her
dark and telltale eyes betrayed the hint of suspicion. “What kind
of a favor?”
“Be a guide. I don’t know this town at all and if you would
show me around, that would be a great favor.”
Her shyness turned to wariness. She said cautiously, “I don’t
think so. I should get some sleep.”
“I won’t keep you out any longer than you want to be. A short
evening or a long one. It would be entirely up to you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about Colon. I’m very new
here.”
It was the first real bit of information she’d given about herself
and Steve was quick to note it. He brightened. “I’ll tell you. We
could explore it together.”
She was still hesitant but weakening. She could see no real
danger. “I’d have to change.”
Steve knew he had her now. He laughed. “From what I’ve
seen of the town, I wouldn’t think it necessary.”
“I should do something. My hair—”
Steve withdrew his wallet. “All right. What’s your room num-
ber?”
« yy
203.
Steve’s surprise was well done. “I don’t believe it. I’m in 204.”
“Oh.”
Steve didn’t know quite how to take that “Oh”.
CHAPTER 9

He left her at her door, then opened his own across the
hall, leaving it ajar, just in case. He rinsed his face, checked his
clean shirt supply and decided against changing. He lighted his
pipe and lay down on the bed and watched the secondhand on
his watch go around fifteen times. That girl took longer to change
for dinner or comb her hair than any girl he’d ever known. Finally
he rose and went into the hall, locking his door and knocking on
hers. “It’s Steve. Are you set?”
“I’m almost ready,” she said from close by inside but it was
five more minutes before the bolt slid back and she slipped out.
Aside from fresh lipstick he couldn’t see that she’d done anything
to herself.
“Hello, Regina,” he said and he was bolder now, using the
name she had given him.
“Hello.” She didn’t reply in kind. “You’re sure you really want
to do this?”
“I’m sure.” He waited while she locked her door and tucked
the key in her purse and he couldn’t help thinking how guiltless
she looked. She gave every appearance of a guileless, innocent
beauty and her hand sent electric shocks through him when it
brushed against his going down the stairs.
The rain had stopped but the atmosphere was dense with
moisture and the pavements were wet. They went out of the hotel
grounds and began walking the dingy streets, smelling the odors
from shops and bars that clung in the air, heavy and bordering
on the unpleasant. The side streets were particularly dark and
Steve kept clear of them. People were crowding everywhere and
they looked harmless but Steve had been around too many years
to put much trust in appearances. What one seemed and what
one was were not necessarily synonymous. In fact, the beautiful
girl beside him, walking as though out for a stroll with a beau,
was all too grim a reminder.
Girl on the Run 57
They went up Bolivar Avenue and over towards the mall, pass-
ing under the projecting second stories of the buildings, going
over the tiled sidewalks. It was a mild warm night for all its wet-
ness and were it not for the smells and the tinny music that came
discordantly from every bar, it might have been a summer’s night
in Philadelphia. Of course the people wouldn’t fit. These were
mostly Negroes jabbering Spanish, hanging around the corners,
eyeing the women, joking at the pushcarts that sold popcorn in
the streets. Most of the rest were sailors in clean white uniforms
sampling the atmosphere on an evening’s liberty.
“It looks like fair day,” said Regina, her mind at ease and wrapt
in the festivities of a night in Colon.
“It could be Coney Island,” agreed Steve, “if there were any
other amusements besides drinking. Do you drink, Regina?”
She shook her head. “I have, but only once or twice.”
They crossed the mall and went on other streets and Steve
didn’t know just when it happened but he found they were hold-
ing hands. It was such a natural thing that even she didn’t seem
aware of it and he held her with a light grip for fear she would
realize and pull away.
Around another comer they came to a marquee which
stretched up the face of one of the better buildings and said on
it, “CLUB FLORIDA”. Steve stopped and pointed. “How about
it? Want to go there? They may have dancing.”
She hesitated. She was always hesitating. “I don’t dance very
well.”
“Neither do I so what have we got to lose?” He led her through
the swinging doors into a brightly lighted bar which composed
the outer half of the nightclub. The club proper lay through
another door and was a crowded, dimly lit room where the air
was heavy with smoke and poor ventilation and the tiny tables
were filled with patrons, predominantly sailors. A platform hung
with drapes was at the end and spotlights were directed on that,
their rays supplying most of the illumination in the place. A small
orchestra of eight pieces sat behind music stands on the platform
and played something indescribable in a rhumba rhythm. The
music was awful, like a junior high school group at a junior high
school dance, but it seemed fitting for the surroundings. On the
platform, a man dressed like a woman did a solo rhumba dance,
 58 Girl on the Bun
going through violent contortions, amateurish but enthusiastic,
which included writhing on the floor.
There were waiters around but they ignored the newcomers
and Steve picked out his own table, a tiny one for two near the
rear of the room where the empty ones remained. He held her
chair and sat beside her and their knees touched. They almost
had to.
The man finished his rhumba, got a smattering of applause
and withdrew. A moderately young Latin in a tuxedo stepped to
the microphone and announced the next number, first in Spanish,
then in English and a woman singer came out gloriously be-
decked with plumes and feathers.
A waiter appeared at Steve’s shoulder and he ordered a
Canadian Club and water. “Regina?”
She thought a moment and said, “Plain gingerale, please.”
The waiter departed and the girl on the platform began to
sing. Again it sounded like amateur night. She had no voice and
little sense of rhythm but she undulated sensuously and got
enough applause from the sailors to do another number. There
was more applause, none of it enthusiastic, but she tried a third
song.
The drinks arrived and Steve said to the waiter, “Don’t they
have any dancing here?”
He said soberly, “Later, after the show.”
The show was a long one. They sat for half an hour and Steve,
finding what they had served him was cheap rye and not Cana-
dian Club, switched to beer for the second round. The beer, a
Panamanian variety, was little better. Regina was wiser. She made
the gingerale last.
The master of ceremonies announced another dancer and
though he put more excitement in his voice her entrance was
received with the same equanimity as the rest of the performers.
She was a young black-haired girl and wore a flowing gown.
The dance consisted of walking around the platform for three
minutes, at the end of which time she rather clumsily unzipped
the gown, dropped it to the floor with her back to the audience
and kicked it aside where the M.C. picked it up. She turned
around, clad in a trailing, open skirt, tights and bra, made a little
bow and walked off.
Girl on the Run 59
The applause was again little more than half-hearted but it
endured and a few sailors rattled their beer bottles on the table-
top. The girl returned, the music came up again and a pale blue
spot replaced the bright yellow glare as she walked through her
dance again. She paraded for another minute, removed her outer
bra and turned for another bow, this time displaying a sheer
inner bra with two large spangles. When she walked off the ap-
plause was demanding and there was a concerted rattling of beer
bottles. Regina put her hands to her face and turned* to Steve in
panic. “Oh. Its a strip tease.”
Steve smiled. “We’ll leave.” He hailed the waiter.
The girl was back doing her walking routine and removing
the last of her bras when Steve paid the check. The pounding
of the bottles was a roar and there were shrill whistles. Demand-
ing sailors were calling, “Take it off,” and she was coming out
again in answer when Steve led Regina through the outer bar
and onto the street.
Regina was flushed and distressed and she touched her burn-
ing cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so embarrassed. Did you
want to stay?”
“If I’d known,” Steve said and smiled, “I’d never have taken
you there.” He stopped a passing cab driver and inquired, “Is
there any decent place in town where you can dance?”
“Stranger’s Club over on Front Street, but you gotta be a mem-
ber,” the man said without interest.
Steve thanked him and turned to the girl. “No luck, I guess.
Too bad we aren’t on the other side. There are plenty of places
there.”
“We can always walk.”
“That we will do.”
They started off again and this time Steve was conscious of the
moment he took her hand. They went down to Front Street which
paralleled the shore and led to the docks. That was where the
stores were and activity was slight at that hour. However, they
could window shop and price the alligator bags and imported
goods that funneled in from all over Central America. They made
jokes about the displays, the prices, the similarity of window to
window, shop to shop and Regina was warming to laughter. The
 60 Girl on the Run
reserve was still there, the background of wariness, but she was
growing ever more trusting and ever more relaxed.
When a hansom cab came by, drawn by an ancient, weary
mare, she needed no persuasion to ride and when Steve climbed
in and sat beside her, he found her hand waiting for his. The left
hand it was this time, not the one that had held the knife, but
Steve had forgotten about knives. The evening was not just the
bait in his trap, it was a date with a girl, a girl who did more
things to Steve than any girl he could remember. What would
come later, what had gone before—these things he put out of his
mind.
"Steve?”
They had been riding through the streets for twenty minutes
and conversation had temporarily lulled. It was the first time she
had used his name and he quickened.
"Yes?”
"Did you say you employ sixty people?”
So she didn’t have a job. So she was rising to the bait.
It was what he had been waiting for but now it brought a stab
of disappointment. Shapely had warned him about the girl and
he realized suddenly he had best pay attention to the sheriffs
words. The hand-holding was a pose. So was the naive air. He
should have known it for hadn’t he planned it that way? Hadn’t
he managed to be her dinner partner by paying for her meal?
And hadn’t he used his position as a hirer of personnel to lure her
out with him? She had gone but he had forgotten the reason.
He had come to believe it was because she liked him. Now he
was brought up abruptly and thrust back into reality. A wry
smile flickered and vanished on his face. Who was playing games
with whom?
When he spoke his voice was offhand. "Around sixty. Give or
take two or three. It depends.”
She took a deep breath. It was hard for her even so. "Are there
many openings for girls in your office?”
"They keep coming up. We have quite a turnover.” He made
his voice normal and interested. "Why? Are you looking for a
job?”
She nodded and looked away quickly. "I’m desperate for one.”
“Hmm.” Steve paused a moment in apparent reflection.
Girl on the Run 61
Regina didn’t let him reply further before she spoke again.
“Perhaps I’d better explain how I happen to be down here. I’m
not a tourist if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Suddenly Steve didn’t want to hear her. His insides felt tied up.
The girl was going to confess. She trusted him and needed
someone to help her. It put Steve in a bad position. If he could
get her back to the States and turn her over to the police before
she realized it, when she thought she was using him, he could
be proud of a job well done. Were she to tell him she had killed
a woman and then he turned her in, she would never believe he
hadn’t capitalized on her trust, that he hadn’t betrayed her. One
couldn’t exactly feel remorse over capturing a murderess but
Steve didn’t want it that way.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re down here for,” he said
brusquely. “If I can give you a job I will. Can you type?”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t.”
“I see. No shorthand?”
She lowered her head meekly. “Do you have to be angry?”
He caught himself, but not completely. “I’m sorry. I was think-
ing that you went out with me this evening because you enjoyed
my company, not because I could give you a job.”
She bit her lip and looked very young and somehow fragile,
sitting there in the semi-darkness like some beautiful and un-
wanted child. “I did,” she whispered. “It wasn’t the job—only
maybe a little bit. I’ve liked this evening. You’ve helped me for-
get—forget a lot of things.”
“It’s all right,” Steve said, more in command of himself. “Maybe
I can find something.”
“Please. You don’t have to. I didn’t mean for you to. I only
thought if you were short-handed you might be able to use me.
I know you can’t. I’m not much good at anything, I’m afraid.”
He squeezed her hand and his mind was on business again.
“Come now. That’s no way to talk. I’m sure there’s a lot you can
do.”
“No, really there isn’t. You see, my parents were very rich and
they never allowed me to lift a finger.”
Steve was so taken back by that statement that it took him a
moment to recover himself. His, “Oh, is that right?” had just a
tinge of irony in it.
 62 Girl on the Run
Regina nodded and went on earnestly, “I never learned any-
thing but the arts and all those useless tilings, nothing that would
help me make a living in the world. My parents thought I
wouldn’t need anything else I guess.”
“Expected you to get married, huh?” said Steve and his mouth
was dry.
She nodded in agreement. “But when they tried to force me
to marry some hand-picked man who’s twenty years older than
I am, I wouldn’t take it. I ran away.”
Steve finished it for her. “And now you’re down here and broke
and unable to get a job.”
“Uh-huh. Am I very foolish?”
“No. You’re very smart. Very smart. Just how broke are you?”
She said tentatively, “I can go on for a while yet, but not too
long. I’ve a little more than four hundred dollars left.”
That was about right.
Steve said, “Well, there’s nothing available in my place at the
moment, but I have other connections. I’ll find you something.”
“Oh, Steve, do you really think you can?”
Steve said grimly, “I can guarantee it.”
For the first time that evening she smiled without reservation
and the effect was striking. She was so young and lovely looking,
the way she did it left him breathless. She squeezed his hand
for a moment and let it go in sudden embarrassment. “I didn’t
mean that. I think I’m just a little bit giddy. You don’t know what
it’s like. I feel as though I’ve just been reprieved.”
And Steve thought, but didn’t say it aloud, “You don’t know,
Sister. You just don’t know.”

CHAPTER 10

It was after eleven when they returned to the Hotel

Washington. They crossed the gardens hand in hand but Regina
withdrew hers as they mounted the porch and a subtle change
Girl on the Run 63
came over her. She widened the distance between them and
something inside of her seemed to freeze. When they mounted
the stairs she was against the wall and she no longer had any-
thing to say.
They paused in the hall in front of her door and she turned her
back to him while she probed in her purse for her key. Steve
watched and said nothing. She was every inch the naive young
girl desperately afraid the man was going to force his way into
her room. The key in her hand trembled and when she turned
she clutched the purse in front of her. Her eyes were wide and
her face pale. “Thank you,” she said, drawing closer to the door.
“I’ve had a very nice time.”
Steve smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded and a furtive hand fumbled to get the key in the
lock.
“I see they have a swimming pool here. We can get some sun
there tomorrow afternoon if there is any.”
“Oh,” she said. “I can’t. Not in the daytime. I’ve got to look for
a job.”
He smiled chidingly. “Have you forgotten? I’m going to get you
a job.”
“Oh, I know. Thank you. But maybe you can’t. I have to look
anyway.”
She had expected strings to be attached to the job and the
price too high. He laughed. “Didn’t I guarantee you a job? Relax.
We swim tomorrow. I have a job idea in mind right now and I’ll
look into it tomorrow morning. All it takes is a phone call. We’ll
have lunch together.”
She hesitated but Steve decided it. “If the idea falls through,
then you can job hunt. I’ll know by noon. Is it a date?”
“It’s a date.” She smiled wanly.
“Good night, Regina.” He gave her an airy wave and opened
the door to his own room. At his last view she was still standing
with her defenses up and no attackers, her eyes wide in wonder,
her confusion almost pathetically amusing.
Steve latched his door and listened at it till he heard hers open
and close, the lock slide in place. The crazy fool! She was as trans-
parent as glass and too naive to be alive. Steve flung his coat on
his bed and went to the screened window and sat on the ledge.
 64 Girl on the Run
A crazy, unpredictable fool. He got off the ledge, went to the
coat for his pipe, filled it and brought it back with him. He sat
again, leaning against the frame, and stared out into the night.
But wasn’t he somewhat of a fool himself? He found he was
wishing she hadn’t murdered her old aunt, that she was the girl
she said she was, the daughter of rich parents escaping from an
undesired marriage. His mind wandered and he felt again the
warm glow of her hand, the look of her in the green print dress,
so startlingly beautiful it made him ache inside, made him long
for something he did not understand. He had known beautiful
girls before, many of them, but none had ever been remotely
like her and none had ever affected him in such a manner.
What was it about her? Was it the naivete, the helplessness
arousing the male protective instinct? He was trying to be coldly
analytical. Maybe it was her childishness arousing the maternal
instinct. That was more like it.
He cursed himself for being a fool. He was old enough to know
better, to know much better, but all the cursing and chastising
didn’t conceal from him the fact that he would have liked to lass
her good night. Nothing more than that, but that—and wasn’t
that bad enough?
He got off the ledge and paced the room, puffing furiously on
his pipe. The girl was an unprincipled liar. Not only had she
murdered her aunt and stolen her aunt’s money, but she lied
with a straight face about why she was down there. He found the
lie bothered him the most. It sanctioned all the rest. And it was
such a transparent He. There was such a phony ring to it. Wealthy
parents indeed, and her with just over half of the stolen money
left. Train and plane fares, lodgings, food and clothes for nine
days would account beautifully for what of the original eight
hundred dollars she had spent. The dress she wore. That had
Miami written all over it. Everything she owned was Miami.
He sat down on the bed and cupped his chin in his hand, chew-
ing on the stem of the pipe. Could he possibly be in a bfind alley?
Could Regina Adams really be what she claimed to be, the
daughter of rich parents? Could it be that Cathy Sinclair was in
Puerto Rico or the Virgin Islands or, perhaps, Seattle, and he
had stumbled on another wide-eyed girl with long hair?
It was a ridiculous idea. The money checked. The description
Girl on the Run 65
checked, the handwriting. And a rich girl wouldn’t have spent
her social life fighting off the amorous advances of her dates. That
would be Cathy Sinclair whose beauty in a small town would
attract every male for miles. White River held the kind of youths
a girl would have to fight off, especially a girl like Regina Adams,
until they drove her into seclusion. The odds were against the
girl in 203 telling the truth. She gave herself away countless
times—Colon reminded her of a “fair”, not Coney Island.
Yet Steve found himself wanting to believe her, and that both-
ered him. For the first time in a long career he was getting per-
sonally involved with a subject. And what was worse, she was at
the bottom of the list. Had she stolen or had she eloped he could
find an excuse for himself. But this girl had murdered. Cold-
blooded, heartless murder of an old aunt. Nor could she be de-
fended on grounds of insanity. From what he had seen of her, she
was altogether rational.
Steve knocked the ashes out of his pipe and put on his jacket.
Shapely had told him to beware of the girl, but her danger lay in
a different area than the sheriff had foreseen.
He went to the door angrily, but controlled himself when he
opened it so that it made no sound. Behind the door across the
hall, all was quiet. He listened for perhaps thirty seconds, then
slipped silently into the corridor, eased the door to, and tiptoed
to the stairs.
At the cable desk he sent a wire to the Brandt Detective
Agency in Philadelphia. It read, “WASHINGTON HOTEL, COLON, C.Z.
CHIEF: HAVE FOUND SOMETHING. CROSS CHECK OF IDENTITY PROBABLY

ONLY FORMALITY. LOVE AND KISSES, STEVE.”

Then, feeling a little less displeased with himself, he went back

to the room and to bed.
CHAPTER 11

Steve got up at half past seven the next morning and he

was feeling better. He washed and shaved and whistled softly to
himself. The troubles that had beset him the night before were
gone. A nights sleep had given him a new perspective and now
he could view the girl objectively. Clever kid, Cathy Sinclair,
alias Regina Adams. A man had to watch his step with the likes
of her. The secret of her charm was her disarming naivete. It
lowered a man's defenses. Of all the wiles a woman could work,
the innocent, guileless air was the most effective. The best line of
all was the appearance of not having a line. But he was on to her
now and he could even smile at himself for the preceding night.
The great Steve Gregory, pretty proud of his ability, had been
thrown off balance for a few hours. Orchids to Regina.
He came out of the bathroom drying his face, tossed the towel
aside and started to dress. That was all over now. He was the
hunter once more. He had been warned and had heeded the
warning. Let the girl believe she had him trapped if that was
what she was after. Let her lie herself blue in the face. She was
caught and she wasn’t going to wriggle free.
Steve went down to breakfast, clear-headed and hungry. The
game was going his way and it made him feel good. He had
successfully resisted her attraction for him and now he would see
what she would do about his for her. The odds were slightly un-
equal, of course, because he knew her lies and she didn’t know
of his, but it wasn’t any game. This was no sport, it was business.
And a deadly business. Cathy had killed once and she wouldn’t
hesitate to kill again if the need arose. Let her find out that he
didn’t even know what an engineer did and—. It sent a little
tingle along his spine as he dug into his fried eggs to picture the
girl in 203, her face distorted by a new and malevolent expres-
sion, creeping up on him with whatever weapon was handy. He
would have to watch that she didn’t grow suspicious.
Girl on the Run 67
When breakfast was over he went cheerily to his room once
more. The door of 203 was still tightly closed and he smiled at it
as he passed. Regina Adams was about to have the ground cut
out from beneath her feet.
In his room he got out a pencil and paper and scribbled on it,
“Have gone out on business and to check on you-know-what.
Don’t stir from the hotel and I’ll see you for lunch at 12:00.
Steve.” He slid the paper under her door and walked out of the
hotel.
There were three hours to kill in the apparent process of con-
ducting business and Steve knew he had to remain out of sight in
case Regina did not obey the instructions to stay put. He hired
a taxi and paid for a trip across the fifty-mile stretch of Isthmus
and back. They rolled over the two-lane concrete ribbon of high-
way all the way to Balboa, then turned around and repeated
the process.
The timing was good. The driver of the rundown car let him
off at the porch of the hotel at quarter after twelve. Steve got
out and glanced at the sky. The clouds were there, as they always
were, but the sun came through spasmodically and there was no
rain. He went up the steps two at a time and into the dimmer
light of the lobby.
As he started for the stairs, he saw her. She was sunk in one of
the couches thumbing through a magazine and her dress was the
white, cotton summery thing she had worn through the rain the
preceding afternoon. Now, however, it was freshly ironed and
gave her that little-girl-without-a-care look. She was watching
him and when he turned, she smiled. It was a warming smile,
trusting and hopeful.
“Hello.” He went to her. “I was just going to look you up.”
“Hello. I got tired of the room.”
She rose and he took her arm to lead her to the dining room,
but promptly and unobtrusively let it go again. The warm tin-
gling sensation was still there despite his resolutions and he re-
sented it. Objectivity was important and her proximity made it
difficult.
He let her lead the way and wondered at his inward irritation.
She had been waiting because she was eager about the job and
he wanted it to be because she couldn’t wait to see him. It was
 68 Girl on the Run
important, he told himself, only because his plan depended upon
her believing in and liking him.
She picked the same table for two they had sat at the night
before and again he found himself wondering if she had done it
on purpose. What difference it made he didn’t know but it an-
noyed him because he had no explanation handy.
They picked up menus and she made small talk, what she had
done that morning, how she hadn’t even gone out to buy starch
for her dress because he had told her not to leave the hotel,
whether it would rain before they could have their swim,
whether a day ever went by when it didn’t rain down there, and
such inconsequential subjects. Steve answered shortly and his
irritation grew. For all her inexperience she was one of the slick-
est fabricators he had ever met. Right then her consuming inter-
est was in his talked-of job but she recalled his complaint about
that the night before and was leaning over backwards to feign
interest in him instead, biting her tongue waiting for him to
mention it first. Partly out of contrariness and partly out of enjoy-
ment of the suspense he kept her in, Steve said nothing but lim-
ited his remarks to a discussion of the menu and gave the order
to the waiter when he came. It was the same man who had
served them the night before and he recognized the “lovers” and
was beaming with knowing smiles which did little to mollify
Steve’s temper.
When he went away with their order, Regina was suddenly
solemn. She rested her bare arms on the table, overlapping her
ringless, unadorned fingers. “Why are you mad at me?” she asked.
It brought Steve up with a start. She was too smart and he was
too careless. If only the girl weren’t so beautiful and if only she’d
get that damned trusting look out of her eyesl He forced a smile.
“My apologies. It’s not you. It’s only that the morning’s business
didn’t come off very well.”
“Oh. I’m so sony.”
He wished she wouldn’t say things like that but he was don-
ning his new manner now, the bright one that charmed. “One
tiling did work, though. I’ve got a job for you.”
Pier face became radiant with sudden beauty. “Oh, Steve!”
Then she softened her manner a trifle. “Is it anything I can han-
Girl on the Run 69
die? All the jobs down here seem to require experience of some
kind.”
Steve very carefully kept himself master of the situation. He
thought briefly but deliberately about presentation, build-up,
even sentence structure and inflection. “I think you can handle
it. Do you know anything about cooking and keeping house?”
“Oh, yes I do.” In her eagerness she didn’t seem aware of the
incongruity in a supposedly rich girl.
“That part of the job will be small. It’s not a maid’s job, but one
as companion to an older woman.”
“Companion?”
“That’s right. You might have to prepare some light meals, on
the maid’s day off for example, but mostly your job would be to
keep the woman company. That would require reading to her,
perhaps writing letters for her, running errands and, in general,
making yourself useful.”
Her eyes fairly glowed. “Oh, Steve. It sounds wonderful.”
“You’d be given room and board and thirty dollars a week.”
“Thirty dollars!” Again she was the small-town girl rather than
the daughter of rich parents. “It sounds too good to be true.”
“You like it? You’ve got the job.”
Regina was beaming, relief flooding her face, and her smile
was full force now. She was all but in the palm of his hand. One
down, only two to go. “I just don’t know how to thank you,” she
said.
“I thank you. You’re just the girl for her. I’ll give her the good
news this afternoon. By the way, when can you start?”
“Today, tomorrow, anytime.” She was still smiling. “I forgot to
ask. Who is she?”
This was the first of the two. Casually he dropped the bomb-
shell. “My mother.”
Her face fell. The glow faded. “Your mother?”
“She’s been ailing,” Steve went on easily. “She needs some-
one and it’s been a devil of a time finding the right kind of girl.”
“You’re not just being kind. You’re not—” The words trailed
off.
She was a suspicious one all right. All men had ulterior mo-
tives, though none were as ulterior as his. Steve permitted a short
laugh. “Forget it. You’re doing me the favor. You’re doing Mother
 70 Girl on the Run
the favor. She needs someone desperately, someone of intelli-
gence who can be interesting to talk to, someone who is capable
and can take over for her. When I learned you’re looking for a
job—. It’s fate, Regina.” He put his hand on hers. “Won’t you
take it?”
Her smile came back a little. “If you’re absolutely sure—. I’d
try my best to learn, to do a good job.”
“It’s settled.” He patted her hand and sat back. “You don’t
know what a relief this is.”
Her smile grew warmer. “It’s a relief to me too.”
The waiter, grinning at such happiness, descended upon them
with the lunch and they started on it eagerly, stealing glances at
each other and laughing. Regina’s future was assured and for the
first time she was fully relaxed, her defenses down. Steve was
relaxed too. His job was all but done. It hurt him a little, though,
seeing her walk so blindly and happily into his trap and he had
to keep reminding himself what she was to keep from feeling too
much like a heel. Cathy Sinclair was in for a bitter awakening
and Steve hoped to himself it would be over in a brief moment,
after which he could get drunk and forget it.
They said little during the meal. Steve was content to let the
hook get firmly caught. It was when they finished dessert that
he decided the time was ripe for point three. As he left the
money for the lunch, he said with studied casualness, “Before we
go swimming we’d better call the airlines office and book pas-
sage. Fortunately I have to go to the States on business so I can
go with you and get you established. We should be able to get
out tomorrow afternoon.”
Regina went white and held tight to the back of the chair.
“Where does your mother live?” she asked in a whisper.
“I didn’t tell you? In Ohio.”
Regina moaned. She sat down in the chair again and cupped
her face in both hands. “I can’t go.”
He bent over her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Certainly
you can. Why not?”
“My parents. They’re looking for me. They’d make me come
back. I’m under age. They’d make me marry that beastly Count.”
“Nonsense. Mother lives on a small estate outside a small town.
Your parents would never look for you there.”
Girl on the Run 71
“But they’ve got the police. The police would find me.”
“The police aren’t supermen. That’s the last place in the world
they’d ever look.”
She turned her face up to him in distress. “But don’t you see,
they’ll be watching the airports. They’ll see me in Miami.”
“No they won’t. We’ll register as Mr. and Mrs. and doll you up
so they won’t recognize you. We’ll be in and out of the airport
and they’ll never know the difference.”
“I’m scared, Steve. I don’t want to go back.”
“You won’t. And you won’t marry any Count. I can guarantee
it. Just leave it to me and don’t worry about a thing.”
She came with him then. She was worried and unsure but she
was trusting. “Promise me we’ll get right out of Miami?”
“We’ll be out of there before you know it. Come on, now,
smile.”
She did and the last big hurdle was over. Cathy Sinclair was
as good as delivered to the Miami police.

CHAPTER 12

They had a half hour’s swim together that afternoon

after making flight arrangements and then the rain drove them
in. Regina bought a bathing suit while Steve was calling for res-
ervations and she had picked out a white lastex affair that only a
girl with a figure like hers could get away with. Steve couldn’t
keep his eyes off her.
When the rain ended swimming he introduced her to cock-
tails. A little sherry was all she’d ever had before but she yielded
to his suggestion she try a stinger. She was yielding to everything
now. It made Steve uncomfortable in his Judas role.
The drink, she claimed, tasted like toothpaste but she liked it
and sipped and toyed with it and asked question after question
about the woman she would be companion to. Steve handled
them easily. He was too old a hand to invent a mother in Ohio
 72 Girl on the Run
without inventing a life history to go with it. When it came to
character he used his real mother. She had raised five children
and supported them when his father was out of work which was
a good part of the time. She had never had a leisure day in her
life but Steve made the proper adjustments to depict a lady of
means.
Regina leaned over her stinger after hearing a tale of the social
work his mother was involved in before age curtailed her activi-
ties. “Do you have a picture of her?”
Steve nodded solemnly and withdrew an envelope from an
inside pocket. He removed the picture and handed it to her by
the comer. It was actually a picture of Brandt’s personal secre-
tary.
“Oh,” Regina laughed. “How very funny. You keep it in an
envelope.” She took it and studied the gray-haired woman in the
glossy print. “She looks very nice. Not much like you.”
“That’s why she looks nice.” He took it back and carefully re-
turned it to the envelope and his pocket.
“I hope she’ll like me.”
“She will.”
They had dinner together and, as the rain had stopped, they
took a final walk around Colon. There was no hesitation now in
Regina’s manner. Her hand was waiting for Steve’s. She laughed,
she brushed against him, she put a hand on his arm to attract his
attention.
He knew she was falling for him. He understood the signs and
symptoms well. What bothered him was how he felt. He liked her
proximity. He wanted to hold her hand. He found himself sneak-
ing glances at her profile, then looking away and trying to re-
member what he saw. It was difficult. Her eyes, large, with long
lashes, stood out prominently but the rest of her face was hard to
recall exactly.
What difference did it make, he kept asking himself? Tomor-
row afternoon, at the airport in Miami, the police would take her
away and that would be the last he’d ever see of her. He found
himself visualizing the moment, standing alone in the lobby of the
terminal watching her go, her back caught in the dusk of the
interior against the glare of sunlight outside. She would be be-
tween two policemen, her white dress outlining her trim and
Girl on the Run 73
haunting figure. She would be erect but her head would be
bowed, pulling the long hair higher on her back. Nor would she
look behind her. She would go in pain and hurt and she would
never look at him again. The picture made him wince. His easiest
job was his hardest job. Nothing he would ever after have to do
would match the effort of giving the girl beside him to the police.
When they returned to the hotel this time, she did not release
his hand and draw away. When she opened the door to her room
she didn’t hold her bag in front of her to defend against attack.
Her eyes were shining when she thanked him. He had her trust
now as no man had had it before. Then, to his total surprise, she
put a hand around his neck, pulled his face down to hers and
kissed him. For a moment he experienced the delight of her lips,
her soft warm body against his. Then she whispered, “That’s for
everything,” and was gone, leaving him trembling on the spot.
He stared at the panels of her door till the lock slipped in
place, then turned and went quickly to his own room. He stalked
to the window and filled his pipe but his hands shook. His face
was hot but he shivered. He lighted the pipe, went back to the
bed, then paced the floor with quick strides. “You know what
you’re doing, you damned fool?” he muttered to himself. “You’re
falling in love with that girl. You’re falling in love with a mur-
deress!”
He flung himself on the bed and tried to relax but his heart
kept pounding, his muscles stayed tense. He glowered at the
ceiling through the clouds of pipe smoke. “That’s what’s the mat-
ter with you,” he growled. “That’s what that feeling is. You’re
falling in love.” He rubbed his hand hard over his forehead. Of
all the stupid things he had ever done in his life, this was the
prize. And tomorrow he’d throw her to the wolves. Thank God it
was tomorrow. Two more days and he wouldn’t be responsible.
Two more days and he’d be reporting failure or, worse than that,
fleeing with her in the opposite direction. And with him helping
her, no one would ever find Cathy Sinclair. She’d disappear from
the face of the earth.
“She murdered her aunt,” he kept repeating but it did no good.
He couldn’t make himself believe it. He couldn’t make it matter.
He sat up suddenly. Maybe that was it! Maybe she hadn’t
killed. That had to be it! Regina Adams wasn’t the killer type.
 74 Girl on the Run
The great Steve Gregory had made a mistake. Regina Adams
was what she said she was, the daughter of rich parents fleeing a
forced marriage. The real Cathy Sinclair was somewhere else,
Puerto Rico most likely. Two girls of the same type, fleeing at the
same time for different reasons, and he had followed the wrong
one.
Steve felt in his inside pocket and withdrew the white en-
velope containing the glossy snapshot of his "mother”. He’d been
so sure heretofore that the check of fingerprints had seemed to
him a mere formality. Now it was different. He slid the picture
out carefully, gripping it by the edge. The fingerprints took on
new significance now.
He laid the picture on the little table in the room and turned
on the floor lamp over it. Yesterday he would have gone through
the performance with little thought, fully expecting the girl’s
prints on the picture to match those of Cathy Sinclair. Now his
hand trembled. Now he wanted to be wrong. He opened his suit-
case and got out the little bottle of white powder, uncorked it
and shook some of the contents on the dark shiny surface. The
girl’s fingerprints were discernible to the naked eye. She had
given him beauties and the powder would bring them out to
perfection.
He jiggled the picture, moving the powder around until it
had done its job, then shook the excess into the wastebasket.
What was left was a perfect thumbprint, the ridges clearly
marked in white. He produced his magnifying glass and studied
the pattern. Then he went to the suitcase once more and with-
drew the small manila envelope containing the photostats of
Cathy’s prints, carefully labelled. He looked at the thumb design
through his glass, caught his breath, and returned to the fresh
white print. He studied one and then the other desperately for
nearly five minutes. Then he laid the papers and the glass down
and put his head in his hands. They were the same. Steve Greg-
ory had been all too right. Regina Adams was Cathy Sinclair.
When Steve stood up again his face was bleak, his emotions
locked and frozen. He had come pretty close to making a fool of
himself but now he was all right again. He had himself under
control. The dangerous Cathy Sinclair. She had almost succeeded
Girl on the Run 75
in using him but the fingeqirints spiked her guns. She would
still pay for her crime.
He opened his door quietly and looked at the one across the
hall. No light showed through the crack at the bottom. Cathy
was asleep, dreaming of freedom. Steve tiptoed past and down
the stairs to the desk. There, he took a pad of cable blanks and,
on one, he wrote: “CHIEF: ARRIVING MIAMI 4:30 P.M. WITH YOU
KNOW WHO. ARRANGE TO HAVE ME MET. STEVE.”

On the other he wrote, “FROM: STEVE GREGORY, WASHINGTON

HOTEL, COLON, C.Z., TO: SHERIFF JAMES SHAPELY, WHITE RIVER, NEW
HAMPSHIRE. ARRIVING MIAMI WITH YOUR GIRL FRIEND 4:30 TOMOR-

ROW AFTERNOON. WILL TURN HER OVER TO AUTHORITIES THERE.”

The deed was done. He paid the fee and returned quietly to
his room. Perhaps he should have felt more light-hearted but
there was no spring in his step. His face was still bleak and he
tossed in his bed until after three.

CHAPTER 13

Steve’s tiny alarm clock went off at 8:30. He stopped its

burring and sat up groaning, fighting the desire for more sleep.
When he thought he could make it, he got to his feet and padded
to the window. The sky was dark and cloudy and the grass out-
side was wet but at the moment it wasn’t raining. It would in
time for, during wet-season days, there were always intermittent
showers.
Steve went into the bathroom and rinsed his face. The cool
water woke him more and a shower completed the process.
When he returned to the bedroom he felt more human but his
face still wore a grim expression. This was not a day he would
look back upon with pleasure.
He was knotting his tie when the phone rang on the little
wicker table beside the bed. All he could think of was the airline
cancelling his flight but no change crossed his face. Steve never
 76 Girl on the Run
concerned himself with problems before they were actually man-
ufactured. He finished knotting the tie with a motion and moved
to the bed. His steps were more catlike and made no sound on
the tile floor and straw mats but otherwise his manner was nor-
mal. He sat on the wrinkled sheets and lifted the receiver. “Yes?”
“Mr. Gregory?” It was a soft fluid voice with a Spanish accent.
“That’s right.”
“This is the cable desk. A wire has just come through for you
from White River, New Hampshire. Shall I send it up or read it?”
One corner of his mouth turned down. He exhaled heavily.
“You can read it.”
“This is to Mr. Stephen Gregory, Hotel Washington, Colon,
Canal Zone. It says, 'Great work. Am hopping first plane to Miami
to meet you and take personal charge.’ Signed, ‘Jhn Shapely’.”
Steve said, “O.K., thanks,” and hung up. He looked at his
watch and got off the bed. The cable annoyed him. He didn’t like
being wired in the first place and there was something in the
words that was distasteful to him. He didn’t want to turn Cathy
over to Shapely himself. He was a coward in a way. Giving her
to the Miami police was a clean quick action with an impersonal
touch. Shapely made it personal. He was out to "get” Cathy.
Turning her over to him would be messy.
He threw his used clothes into his suitcase angrily. Shapely’s
presence would make him feel more than ever like a heel. It
made him not a detective bringing a criminal to justice but a co-
conspirator, ganging up with the sheriff against her. He locked
the suitcase and threw it on the bed. He was only doing his job,
but he knew he’d feel shrivelled inside when he gripped Cathy’s
arm so she couldn’t i*un and watched the fat lumbering sheriff
come toward them at the airport.
He went into the hall, turned the key in his door and stood
for a moment on the straw carpet staring at the cream colored
panels of room 203. It was his bracing moment, the moment to
remove the poker mask and soften the set of his features to those
of a man enjoying himself. He knocked on her door and said,
“Ready for breakfast?”
There was no answer and no sound and he tried again, rapping
louder. “Are you packed?” Nothing happened. The silence was
empty and complete. He rattled the knob. “Hey in there.”
Girl on the Run 77
He stepped back and his mouth tightened. Hadn’t he told her
nine o’clock? He walked around the comer and down the stairs
to the desk. The dark-complexioned Latin behind it turned from
rattling Spanish at the switchboard operator and came over.
“Yes, Mr. Gregory?”
“Has Miss Adams gone out?”
The man showed off his white teeth in an ingratiating smile.
Everybody down there had strong white teeth. “Yes,” he said.
“She go out.”
“When?”
“Which time, Mr. Gregory? She go out at seven-thirty and
again she just come in and turn around and go right out again
now.”
“When was now?”
“Just a few minutes ago. I was on the telephone and she was
waiting for her key and when I hung up she looked very ill and
she turned and ran out again.”
Steve’s mouth tightened. “Did she have her handbag with
her?”
He nodded. “Yes, I think.”
Steve swore. He turned and went for the door almost on the
run, skipped down the steps and loped out the drive looking for
a taxi. He found one out on Second Street and guessed it would
save him a little time. He jumped in and said, “The railroad
station fast.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver turned left on Front Street and went
rapidly, swinging out around the other cars and the people. In
one minute he had drawn up at the yellow brick building. Steve
didn’t even thank him. There was a train out front. He thrust a
bill at the man and ran.
The dusty old station with its oiled floors was empty and Steve,
his long legs eating up the ground, all but leaped to the ticket
window. “American girl buy a ticket?” he panted. “Very long
hair, dark. White dress or a green print?”
“American girl, yes. I don’t see her hair.”
The train outside was starting to move and Steve didn’t wait
for any more. He broke for the door and burst onto the platform
as the last of six cars was drawing even with him. He sprinted
and was still faster than the train but the speed of the cars was
 78 Girl on the Run
picking up rapidly. A guard yelled from the other end but no
one was close enough to stop him. He was beside the last car by
then, holding his own but unable to gain the lead door. He
slowed slightly as he drew near the end of the platform and let
the train start passing him. It was accelerating so fast now that
he was afraid he would not be able to hang on. He glanced back,
saw the rear door coming up on him—very fast it seemed—
sprinted again to match its speed as close as he could, got his
hand on the vertical guard rail, leaped and missed the steps, was
dragged along, but got his other hand on the rail and pulled his
feet aboard.
Once safe on the steps, he clung to his grip and felt his heart
pounding. Catching Cathy wasn’t that important. He could have
raced her by taxi to the next stop or, if necessary, let her get all
the way to Panama City. It would take a little work but she
couldn’t elude him for long. What a man wouldn’t risk to save a
little workl
He went up the steps then, getting his breath, and waited on
the rear platform of the car until his heart had calmed down.
Through the window of the wooden door of the wooden car he
could see the straw backs of the seats and the heads and shoul-
ders of the dozen passengers projecting above them. None of
them had hair down her back.
He smoothed his jacket and fixed his tie, opened the door and
walked through the car to the next, pausing in the vestibule to
study the people ahead. Cathy wasn’t there either but he wasn’t
surprised. Knowing her he made a mental bet she was in the
front car and he moved on.
Steve knew her but not that well. Cathy had picked the second
car. He saw her sitting in a solitary seat halfway up, her chin in
her palm, staring out the window. There were only three other
occupants, which he decided was just as well. He stood there
watching her for a minute and saw the conductor come through
collecting tickets. She turned and fumbled in her bag, handed
him the slip, got it punched, and looked away again at the dull
scenery, the low shrubs and highway as they left Colon behind.
Steve waited till the conductor came out on the platform with
him, purchased a ticket to the next stop, watched the conductor
enter the following car, then opened the door and moved silently
Girl on the Run 79
up the aisle. He wasn’t dreading any scene now, nor worrying
about facing Cathy Sinclair. For him she was nothing more than
an escaped murderess who was trying to escape once more. It
put a different complexion on the situation. She was on the de-
fensive now, not he.
He watched her as he approached but the attractive shape of
her head, the pale narrow shoulders and glaring white summer
dress did not affect him. He didn’t view her as a girl any longer,
not even as a human being. She was the object of a hunt; she was
the competitor, the one he had to beat and the one he would
beat. No twenty-year old kid with Cathy’s lack of talent for hid-
ing could get more than an arm’s length away from him. He
even smiled grimly as he approached. She was so transparent he
could predict her moves down to within one railroad car.
He stopped behind her seat and rested his hand on the yellow
straw back. Cathy still hadn’t moved. Her attention was still
fixed on the window but he knew she wasn’t looking out. She
was looking inside herself. Perhaps she was regretting the night
she had crept into the kitchen for a breadknife and dreamed
wild thoughts of an eight hundred dollar spree. If she weren’t,
she ought to be.
“Pardon me,” he said and slipped in beside her. “Is this seat
taken?”
She turned and her face went dead white. Her eyes widened
but there was more than stark horror in them. There was revul-
sion and disgust. He read her face for some sign of dismay and
there was that in it all right, but not so much for the future as for
the present.
“You!” she whispered. “How did you get here?”
“You surprise me,” he said bitterly. “Don’t you know where you
go, I go?”
She drew away from him and there was hate in her voice. “Get
away from me.”
“Not any more. We’ve got a plane to catch and we’re going to
catch it.”
“I’m not going.”
“You think not?”
“I’m not. I know your little game. I know why you want me to
go back to the United States.”
 80 Girl on the Run
Steve said with a sigh, “Of course you do. You heard the clerk
read Shapely’s cable. I’m sorry you had to find out this way but it
was bound to happen sooner or later. Now you have to go back
unwillingly, but you have to go back.”
“I do not,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m in a foreign country and
you can’t touch me. If you don’t leave this instant, I’ll call the
conductor and have you put off the train.”
“You should study your geography better, Cathy,” Steve said,
using her right name for the first time. “You aren’t in Panama,
you’re in the Canal Zone. This is United States territory and if
you want me to call the Army and Navy it can be arranged.”
She looked away, ignoring him, her face tortured but set. Steve
withdrew his set of handcuffs, considered them for a moment
and decided that, for her, they would represent the ultimate in
persuasion. “And to make sure you don’t go anyplace without
me—.” He snapped them on her wrist.
The feel of the cool steel brought her around again. She re-
coiled like a doe in a trap, stared at them, then raised her eyes to
his face. Her mouth twisted in the slightest trace of a bitter smile.
“Even that. You really are despicable.”
He wanted to hurt her back. “You aren’t so lily-white yourself,
Sister.” He completed the job, snapping the bracelet on his own
left wrist. Then he picked up her handbag, dragging her wrist
with his. She watched as he opened and went through it, taking
out the wallet. He cleaned the bills out of the leather folder with-
out counting them, stuffed them in his jacket pocket and returned
the wallet to the purse. “Just to make sure you can’t go any-
where,” he explained. “Now, we’re getting off at the next stop
and grabbing a taxi back to Colon. I want my luggage before we
cross the Isthmus and I think you’ll want yours. If you’ll behave
yourself, I’ll unlock the handcuffs.”
To his surprise, she didn’t seem interested. “You’d better keep
them on,” she said. “Because I’m warning you, Mr. Gregory, if I
ever have the chance I’ll get away from you as far and as fast as
ever I can. In fact, Mr. Gregory, I wish we were in Miami right
this minute. Even that horrible Shapely will be a welcome relief
after you.”
“I love you too, Sister,” Steve said, but his heart wasn’t as light
as his voice.
Girl on the Run 81
“I’ve known some pretty low men in my day,” she went on.
“In fact, I’ve never known one who wasn’t. But I didn’t know how
well off I was in White River. You really are foul.”
Steve felt the color in his face and he hated her for it. And he
hated himself. “It’s all in the line of duty, Sister,” he said, feeling
the need to defend himself.
“And that sweet little mother of yours in Ohio. I’ll bet she’s
proud of your duty.”
“My mother’s been dead for twenty years.”
Cathy’s voice shook just a little. “And you even had to he
about that.”
Steve wanted to remind her that she had some pretty fancy
stories about her own parents but he couldn’t. Then the con-
ductor opened the door and started through the car calling,
“Gatun. Next stop, Gatun.”

CHAPTER 14

Steve and Cathy crossed the Isthmus on a later train,

this time with their luggage, and a taxi took them to the airport in
a driving downpour. The clouds had given way to raindrops as
the train crossed the arm of Gatun Lake and now the water was
coming down in sheets.
Steve paid the driver with one hand, holding Cathy with the
other, and then rushed her into the terminal. They were no longer
handcuffed together. Cathy had not expressed any desire to be
freed but Steve had felt uncomfortable going around that way.
It was not his aim to attract attention and he had removed the
manacles long before he took her back to the Washington, sub-
stituting the holding of her hand. Cathy did not like her hand
being held but, being unable to do anything about it, had sub-
mitted coldly and without struggle.
Now they stood around the waiting room at Tocumen Airport
and Steve had the uneasy feeling the flight would be cancelled.
 82 Girl on the Rim

If they were to spend a night in town the complications would

be considerable. He led Cathy, each carrying his own suitcase,
over to one of the officials. “Slight delay,” the official said. “But
we’ll take off as soon as the rain lets up a little.”
“What if it doesn’t let up?”
“It will. It can’t come down like tins for long. As soon as we
get enough visibility down the runway the flight will take off.”
“In this weather?”
“It’s only a local shower. You’ll be out of it in a couple of min-
utes.”
Steve nodded without much enjoyment and led Cathy to a
bench where they prepared for the wait. It wasn’t long. In an-
other five minutes the announcement was made that the plane
was ready. “All aboard at gate one.”
They went out with the others and Steve was surprised to see
that it was still raining hard. The surroundings were a dark gray
and the sky above looked only inches beyond reach. There was a
canopy over the boarding stairs but the rain came down at an
angle and it splashed on one railing and a wet misty drizzle was
on Steve’s face. They went hand in hand up the steps to the hatch
and Steve was glad to see the stewardess, waiting with a check-
board in her hand, was not one of the pair he had interviewed.
Steve helped Cathy in ahead of him and said to the pert Span-
ish girl, “Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Gregory.” She nodded and looked
and said, “Oh, yes,” and made a mark against their name.
The interior of the jet had triple seats on each side of the aisle,
a third of them filled with Chilean, Peruvian and Ecuadorian
passengers coming through. Steve had plenty of choice and he
picked a trio on the port side a little aft of the trailing edge of the
wing where there would be some view, pointing it out to Cathy
silently and without waiting for her assent.
She had not spoken to him since they had left the first train in
Gatun, nor did she say anything now. She sat by the window and
made herself comfortable while Steve got in beside her, put his
coat on the aisle seat and permitted her hand to go free. He
pointed to the lighted sign above the door to the next compart-
ment that read, “NO SMOKING, FASTEN SEAT BELTS,” and
helped her tighten her belt across her lap. She displayed little
interest but looked out the window at the wing in front of them
Girl on the Run 83
and the gray, rain-splashed apron around. Steve, having belted
her in securely, busied himself with his own safety precautions
and sat back. The headrest was just the right height, soft and
comfortable, and Steve had to fight against the urge to sleep.
Cathy was safely penned in but he had let his defenses drop
once this day in allowing a wire to be read. Steve was a perfec-
tionist and the lapse irked him. There would be no future lapses.
He forced himself to stay alert and raised his head from the
cushion. Through the comer of his eye he looked at Cathy. One
hand lay in her lap, upturned on the buckle of the seat belt—a
small hand, delicately formed, the white skin dark against the
whiter shade of her simple, sleeveless dress. She looked like a
little girl, lost in innocence and unaware that she was a grown
woman with the power to attract. Her hair hung dark and loose
and her face was turned away, staring intently at the circular
plexiglass window. All he could see was the comer of her eye
and one round cheek and a solitary tear moving slowly down its
smooth surface. It stirred him strangely and he looked away but
in his mind he knew he would always carry with him that par-
ticular picture of the girl he hated to bring to justice.
The plane captain and the co-pilot came up the aisle, followed
by the navigator and another hostess. The rain was still falling
but there was something in their manner which said, “Routine.”
They passed, glancing this way and that with an experienced
eye, making sure everything about the plane was as it should be,
passed a joking remark, one to another, and disappeared through
the metal door to the first-class compartment.
Steve watched them go, then glanced around at his fellow
passengers, finally concentrating his stare on the back of the seat
in front of him. He thought about his long overdue vacation and
what he would do with it. Right then he was eager for a vacation.
There were times when being a detective was a lousy job.
The rain was still heavy when the huge jet rumbled to the
end of the runway, wheeled, set, and started plowing through
puddles on its take-off mn. They climbed and the gray Pacific
was briefly visible below their rainstreaked windows. Mist closed
around them momentarily as they went through the edge of a
cloud. They came out into the gray again and the rain was
harder.
 84 Girl on the Run
The plane kept climbing, turning slightly now and then to
avoid the clouds and then the rain stopped and in another min-
ute the sun appeared. They were out on top and still going up.
Then they leveled off and the clouds below broke up. They were
over water again but now it was blue and glistening and it was
the Gulf of Mexico, not the ocean. Steve relaxed. He let his head
go back against the cushion and almost immediately fell asleep.
He woke when the pert stewardess came around with after-
noon snacks. The nap had refreshed him and the food made him
aware that he’d had little time for meals that day. He washed
up and allowed Cathy to do the same. They ate, Cathy nibbling
in silence, Steve eating hungrily. When the trays were removed
he settled back contentedly and took a fresher view of the situa-
tion. Cathy, he noted, had remained silent and solemn and, in a
way, resigned to her fate. As for him, he was almost in a cheerful
mood and was able to think of her in a more detached way. She
was really such a kid. Not since he had removed the handcuffs
had she looked at him squarely. It was her childish way of hit-
ting back. Now she was the way Shapely and all the rest of the
people he had talked to in White River described her. The girl
who never smiled, who was always far away. He thought of her
the previous night. She had been smiling then. She had been full
of smiles. For perhaps the only time in her life she had been
happy. It was a shame, he thought, that she couldn’t always have
been that way. Rut one cannot kill with impunity. Unhappiness
may have driven her to it but that is not the way of escape.
Tenderness was not his long suit but all at once Steve felt ten-
derly toward her. She was a young tiling, inexperienced, un-
schooled for society. Perhaps she could not be too harshly
blamed. Of course her parents had died in a fire but it did not
necessarily follow that she had started it or, if she had, had done
so deliberately. Perhaps she was a victim every bit as much as
her aunt had been a victim.
Cathy took a deeper breath and let it out with an inaudible
sigh. Her glance was still fixed on the window, watching the
green of Grand Cayman pass by. Steve reached out and patted
her hand gently. "Kid, it’s not so bad.”
She snatched her hand away as though burned and, for the
first time, looked at him, drawing away as she did. It was another
Girl on the Run 85
of her childish acts. He was the contaminated fiend and she
could not bear his touch.
Steve smiled lightly. “It’s not the end of the world, Kid. Not
necessarily.”
One comer of her mouth twisted slightly. She didn’t know how
to sneer and all she achieved was an approximation. “Isn’t it?
I’m going back to be killed, aren’t I?” He noted the way she said
“killed” and not “executed”. Then she shrugged and looked out
the window again. “Maybe it’s just as well. The world is even
worse outside of White River than it is in.”
“Of course it is. You kids never know when you’re well off.”
His tone took on a tinge of anger, anger at the uselessness of her
action, the futility of the murder. “You should have stayed there.”
“Oh yes,” she said bitterly, still focussing her gaze on the win-
dow. “Stay there and get killed.”
“You probably won’t get ‘killed’ as you call it, at all. Shapely
told me he’s going to get his brother-in-law to defend you. He’ll
probably get you off.”
“Sheriff Shapely’s brother-in-law.” She said it almost with
amusement. “That’s wonderful. Oh, but the sheriff will love this!”
“You think so? Why?”
“He’s had it in for me. He always has. No wonder he’s coming
down to Miami. He just can’t wait.”
“You’re exaggerating, Cathy,” Steve said, but recognized that
Shapely teas coming to Miami.
“He hates me. He always has. Ever since I was a little girl.”
Steve smiled but it wasn’t quite genuine. There were over-
tones here and he wasn’t quite sure of tilings. “He’s probably al-
ways been a little suspicious of you.”
“Suspicious?” She turned to him in surprise but her eyes nar-
rowed warily. She looked like a forest animal approaching poi-
soned meat.
“He’s always wondered a little about how your folks died.”
She looked incredulous. “Wondered? What was there to won-
der about?”
“The circumstances.”
She said sternly, “Then he’s even dumber than I thought. They
died in a nightclub fire. It was in all the papers and I’m certainly
sure Auntie told him about it.”
 86 v Girl on the Run
Steve looked at her closely but could find no hint she was lying.
“Maybe Shapely had it wrong,” he said and wondered why he
thought that was the answer. The glib tale about being the
daughter of wealthy parents was a deliberate lie and he realized
that anything the girl said was suspect. All the same, the casual
way she handled that last statement made it sound like truth.
He felt that either Shapely or he had misunderstood somewhere.
“But if thats the case, then what makes you think he’s got it in
for you?”
“Because I know him,” she said and there was hate in her voice.
“Know him? In what way?”
“I know what he’s like.” She made a face. “He used to drop in
on Auntie when I was a kid. It didn’t start until I was about
twelve, but then he would be around a couple of times a week.
Part of his business, he used to say,” and here that approxima-
tion of a sneer crept into her tone again. “He’d sit on the porch
and chat with her for half an hour at a stretch and most of the
time I’d be playing around in front of the house or on the porch
and he’d watch me. Every time I’d look up, there he would be,
watching. I didn’t know why, but I knew I didn’t like it. And
he’d make laughing comments and sometimes he’d try to chuck
me under the chin only I’d always back away and that would
make him laugh some more. I didn’t know what was in his mind,
but I found out. It was preparation. He was trying to be the ge-
nial family friend and I was supposed to call him ‘Uncle Jim’,
only I never would. I was supposed to like him, only I never
would.”
She took a breath and continued. “That went on till I was about
fourteen and by that time I was working around the chickens
most of the time, especially when I’d see his shiny black car turn
into the yard. So he would sit on the porch with Auntie making
like it was her he came to see and then he’d wander out back-
just to look around, he called it—and there I’d be with the chick-
ens. At first he’d follow me and try to talk but it never did any
good. Every time I’d turn, there he’d be staring at me with that
look in his eyes he always had, like I was fried chicken or some-
thing.”
Her voice was low as she spoke and she seemed almost to have
forgotten Steve was there. He had to lean closer to catch the
Girl on the Rim 87
words. They came out scarcely audibly but distinctly and there
was the edge of a rasp in her tone. “He got to trying to put his
arm around me, friendly like, and I was very rude. I always shook
him off. He’d kind of laugh at that and say, ‘What’s the matter,
Cathy? I’m your friend. Hasn’t your Aunt Tillie told you how to
behave with your friends?’
“I didn’t like the way he laughed either. He acted like it was
funny, but all the same, his eyes didn’t laugh with his mouth. His
eyes looked mad.
“Then one day, out there with the chickens, he grabbed and
kissed me. I got away and I had the egg basket with me and I
raised it up a little. I don’t know if I would have hit him with it
or not, but he just stood there and put on that ugly laugh of his
that never touched his eyes and said, ‘See? That wasn’t so bad,
was it?’ I couldn’t even answer him. Everything inside was bub-
bling over and I was so choked up I couldn’t speak. I wanted to
tell him if he ever did that again I’d tell Auntie, but I couldn’t
make anything come out.”
She stopped there, lost in reverie and Steve, leaning forward,
said, “Go on, Cathy.”
Cathy looked at him and her lips parted to speak. Then she
flushed and seemed to realize who he was. Her mouth formed
a tight line. “Never mind. It’s not important. I forget. He’s a
friend of yours.”
“He’s no friend. He just hired me, that’s all.”
“Hired you to find me,” she said bitterly. “He can’t leave me
alone. He never could. Only this time he can get even with me.
He can take me back home and be King of the Golden River and
watch me suffer at the same time. Well, he’s not going to see me
suffer.”
Steve said, “I gather he didn’t bend you to his will,” and didn’t
know why he felt pleased.
“None of them did,” Cathy retorted. “But the boys—they at
least had the sense to give up. The sheriff never gave up.”
“The boys too?” Steve said.
“Of course. That’s what boys do, isn’t it?”
“Not all of them.”
She looked at him coldly. “That’s right. Some men use subtler
 88 Girl on the Run
methods.” The scathing note came out in her voice again. “At
least the boys I knew in White River were direct. You could tell
what they were after and they could tell what the answer was.
Even Sheriff Shapely was that way, except that he didn’t believe
you meant no when you said it. He always thought the next time
would be different. He wouldn’t leave you alone the way the
boys would.” Her eyes were icy cold and piercing. “Outside of
White River, men are just the same only they do it better. They
make a girl trust them first before they pull out the knife. R’s
easier that way. It’s harder on the girl, of course, but you experi-
enced men don’t care about that. You get what you want with-
out any bodier. You don’t drag a girl to Miami the way Sheriff
Shapely would try to drag me behind the henhouse. You make
the girl want to go.”
Steve’s anger rose in the heat of her voice. The anger was both
at her and, because he felt her stabs, at himself. “Listen, Sister,”
he said, going back to the impersonal term for her, “when I go
after a murderer I’m not guided by any waves of compassion.
Your aunt might have something to say about the fair play of
stabbing her in the back. That is, if she were alive.”
Her voice was low and intense with passion, her brows con-
tracted and her eyes hot. “I didn’t kill my auntl”
Steve relaxed a little. The situation was his again. “Of course
you didn’t,” he said. “They never do.”
“Who’s they?”
“Murderers. I’ve picked up eight in my career and every last
one of them told me the same thing.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Neither did the others, but every last one of them was con-
victed. Justice has been making a lot of mistakes of late.”
She squared her shoulders. “I can see you’ve been talking to
Sheriff Shapely. Of course that’s what he would believe. He
couldn’t wait to believe it. But the truth is I had nothing to do
with it.”
Steve slumped down in his seat and pulled out his pipe. “You’re
wasting your time telling it to me, Sister. I’m not the judge and
jury. Save it for your trial.”
“Save it for Mr. Shapely’s brother-in-law I suppose. That’s go-
Girl on the Run 89
ing to be a wonderful trial. The sheriff convicting me and his
relatives defending me. Oh, what’s the use.” She turned back to
the window.

CHAPTER 15

Steve watched her for a moment and settled back.

“Frankly,” he said, “I think you’ve got a persecution complex.
The sheriff wants justice done. He didn’t pick you out because
he’s got a grudge against you. He did it because of the evidence.”
“Evidence?” she said bitterly to the window. “Because it’s my
aunt I must have done it. He should have been in the house that
night.”
“There’s a little more to it than that,” Steve said, but he didn’t
tell her what. It wasn’t his place to tell a killer what the police
held to convict her. “Shapely,” he went on, “may have made
passes and been rebuked. From what I know of him, he would
probably be angry. But not to the extent of letting you go to the
chair for something you didn’t do.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know the sheriff. He hates me,”
She shuddered. “The last time I think he would have killed me.”
Steve grinned at her. “You do have a persecution complex. Is
that why you decided you had to leave home?”
She started to speak and thought better of it again. “Oh never
mind,” she said. “I forget. You’re the great Detective Gregory
who will stop at nothing to make a girl go with you. Mr. Shapely
was the lowest form of life I ever knew, back there in White
River. But there are lower forms outside. He’s a king alongside
of other detectives I’ve met.”
Steve shrugged. “Sure. I’m a heel. But I never stabbed a
woman in the back.”
“And neither did I,” she retorted. “If you hadn’t been listening
to Sheriff Shapely, you’d know it.”
Steve would have liked to know it but it was beyond question.
 90 Girl on the Run
Nevertheless her forceful attitude, her insistence, made him won-
der a little. Or perhaps it was her physical appeal. But these
were her only weapons. These were what she was counting on.
“Yes,” he said. “Sheriff Shapely, the man who wants you to die.
And a few others around town too. They land of agree with him.”
“And the sheriff,” she said as if she hadn’t heard, “will take
charge of me.” She shuddered violently at the thought and stared
straight ahead. “I wish it were to be somebody else.” She put her
hands up and covered her face. “I’m scared of him. I can’t pro-
tect myself any more.”
Steve smiled but it was a weak smile. He could see Shapely’s
face and hear his words and remember his manner. Cathy’s fear-
ful act might not be the exaggeration one might think. Shapely
was a rather frightening character, at least to his victims.
“Look, Cathy,” Steve said to her kindly, “you don’t have to be
afraid of him. Once you get back the law takes over, not the
sheriff.”
She turned on him. “Law? He is the law. Why do you think
I’m afraid? He’s the law and he hates me. He’s hated me from the
start because I wouldn’t be nice to him. Because I wouldn’t let
him kiss me and paw me. He left me alone for a while after the
first time when he kissed me but he kept trying to be ingratiating,
trying to make me like him. But I wouldn’t.
“After I got out of highschool and was around all the time he
was always dropping by to see Auntie, talk to her on the porch,
then come out back to catch me by surprise and the first thing
I’d know he’d be there watching me and trying to get close to me.
He was all friendly at first but I wasn’t friendly back to him. I
didn’t like him and I couldn’t pretend.
“When he saw that wasn’t going to work, that’s when he
started getting mad. That’s when he started calling me names
and using force. He kept saying I thought he was dirt because I
came from the city and he’d show me how he handled stuck-up
girls from the city and he’d grab and kiss me and I couldn’t stop
him. He was awfully strong. Then his face would get all red and
hot and he’d get a funny hot tone in his voice and his eyes would
get all glazed. And when I’d get away from him and not like it
he’d get even madder and he’d tell me I was the dirt, not he, and
he’d try to get me again. At first it was just a kiss and he tried to
Girl on the Run 91
make me like it and once I slapped him across the face and he
punched me in the mouth and knocked me down. I was so scared
that time I just lay there and I think he was a little frightened too
because he knelt down beside me and rubbed my hand and
when I pulled away he didn’t get mad.
“I said I was going to tell my aunt and when he saw I was all
right he started to get mad then all right. He said I’d better not
if I knew what was good for me. Auntie couldn’t do anything
about it and all I’d do was make a lot of trouble for myself and
her too and he told me I’d better not try to slap him again, that
that was just a sample of what I’d get if I did.
‘1 didn’t dare tell Auntie and she wondered how I got the
swollen lip and I told her I’d tripped over the sill and fallen
against the doorway of the big chicken house. I was afraid of
what the sheriff might do, not to me but to her. Auntie would
have raised cain in town and the sheriff could have done some-
thing about taking the farm away from her. There’s some kind
of a mortgage and he has influence. I don’t know what it’s all
about but he warned me about it. He said if I told Auntie and she
put up a fuss it would be awful bad. And Auntie would have, too,
no matter how bad it would have been, so I couldn’t tell her.”
“Couldn’t she see something was going on?” Steve asked. If
Cathy were telling lies he was being carried away.
Cathy shook her head, still looking in front of her. A faint smile
played across her lips and she was lost in the past for the moment
and in thoughts of a murdered woman. “Auntie was so innocent,”
she said. “She just didn’t know. She used to be very much pleased
to have the sheriff call. She thought it was because he liked her
and she was flattered.”
She twisted her hands together and the smile disappeared.
“When the sheriff saw, the next time he came out, that I hadn’t
told Auntie, he was pretty happy. It meant he didn’t have to
worry any more. He could do anything he wanted and wouldn’t
have to worry about anybody but me. He got worse. Much worse.
He wasn’t satisfied with just kissing me any more. He kept trying
to paw me and I had to fight him off without screaming. He kept
trying to get me behind the chicken house out of sight only I
never let him. Then I tried watching for him and getting around
by the porch where Auntie was when he came but he started
 92 Girl on the Run
parking the car in front and varying the time so I’d never know
he was there until he’d suddenly appear out back of the house.
I never knew what to do when that happened. If I could get
there without having to run hard I’d make for the front porch
and pretend to Auntie I was all through with the chores. Most
of the time, though, he’d cut me off and I didn’t want to really
run because then he’d know how scared I was of him and that
would please him. Most of the time I acted as though I only de-
spised him and he hated that. It made him furious and I thought
if he hated me enough he might stop coming around.
“The only trouble was, he never did. He just got rough. One
time he dragged me around back of the chicken house and he
tore my shirt before I got away from him. I ran that time! Then
I had to go to my room and sew it up so Auntie wouldn’t know.”
She paused there and stared at her twisting hands silently.
Steve said, “What about the man who rode with him? Tom Ad-
dison. What did he do all this time?”
She frowned and glanced at him for a moment. “Nobody rode
with him. The sheriff always rode alone. He wouldn’t have any-
body along upsetting things. Besides, all the others had work to
do. The sheriff, he called what he did patrolling’. He was keep-
ing an eye on his territory but all he ever did was drive around
in his car all day and drop in on people to mooch a cup of coffee
or pass the time of day on their porches. And every couple of
days it was our porch.”
“And he punched you when you slapped him?” Steve mused,
thinking of the sheriff. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He did more than that,” Cathy retorted in low anger. “I think
he wanted to kill me one day. It was the last time I ever saw him,
in fact. It was late afternoon and I didn’t think he’d be around
that day and I was out back of the big chicken house, back where
the pens are, feeding them. I didn’t even know he was there
until I came out with the empty pan and latched the door. Then
he grabbed me from behind and he was very strong and he had
that funny glazed look on his face and he twisted me around so
I was half off balance and could hardly move and all I could
think was, "Oh, God, this is it!’ He ripped every single button off
my shirt with one wrench. He was terribly strong and he kissed
me so hard I couldn’t breathe. He hurt when he kissed like that,
Girl on the Run 93
and he was bending me back so that we were both going to fall
down, and he had my arms pinned so I couldn’t even hit at him
with the pan. Then he tried to kiss me again and I couldn’t even
get my breath to scream, and it probably wouldn’t have done any
good if I had because Auntie couldn’t hear too well and she was
back in the house. I didn’t know what I was going to do but when
he kissed me I bit him just as hard as I could. That made him let
go. He bellowed and let go and I almost fell down. Then he
tried to hit me. He doubled up his big fist and swung just as hard
as he could, only he missed. I was half falling and catching my-
self and I stumbled backwards and he missed me by a foot and
he fell flat on his face in the mud puddle where the water from
the hose settles. It was funny but I wasn’t thinking about that.
All I know is I ran. I never ran so fast in my life and it’s a good
thing I did because I looked back just before I went around the
side of the house and he was lying on his side all muddy and
the expression on his face I’ll never forget. He was trying to get
his gun out. The holster was all muddy and he was all muddy
and he was wriggling in the puddle trying to pull out his gun. I
really think he would have killed me. He looked as though he
would have.
“I ran in the house and up the stairs and locked the bedroom
door and I got out needle and thread to sew some more buttons
on the shirt only I was shaking so hard I couldn’t see to thread
the needle. And I waited by the window, looking out the front
where his car was and I didn’t stop shaking till I saw him get in
it and drive off. He was so red he was purple and he just strode
across the drive down to the car without saying goodbye to
Auntie or anything. He didn’t even look at the house or up at my
window. He just got in the car and drove off.
“He never came back. That was a week before—all this—before
I left and I was scared to go out of the house. I kept going around
to see if his car were there but he didn’t come back and I guess
he finally gave up, but he was frightfully angry that last time
and that’s why he’s going to love putting me in jail. I know that’s
why he’s coming to Miami. That’s why he hired you. He decided
I was guilty and he wants his revenge.”
She sighed then and leaned back against the seat staring at her
 94 Girl on the Run
hands in her lap. “I guess he’s going to get it too, with Mr. Gillis
defending me, but I’ll never squirm. I’ll never let him know I’m
frightened.”

CHAPTER 16

The stewardess brought paper cups full of coffee, her

face cheerful and smiling. There was no murder charge hanging
over her head. Cathy declined the refreshment and solemnly re-
sumed her established position staring out the porthole. Steve
helped himself to cream and sugar. ‘Thanks. How long before
we get there?”
“About half an hour.” She moved on.
Steve stirred his coffee with a wooden spoon and held it out
to Cathy. “Not even a sip?” She shook her head once more. He
tried the steaming beverage and said, “Where were we?”
“Nowhere,” Cathy replied, still looking away. “I’m going home
to be tried for murder, thanks to you.”
“It’ll come out all right,” he assured her. “If you’re innocent,
as you claim, you’ll be freed despite anything Shapely might do
or think. And if that’s the case, isn’t it better to have it done with
than go through life a fugitive?” His tone grew more serious.
‘ Either way it’s better. I’d rather go to the chair than spend my
life running.”
She turned back then, a slow flush of scorn coming over her
face. “You really do think I did it, don’t you?”
“No,” Steve answered carefully. “I don’t think you were actu-
ally, consciously aware of what was going on.”
“But conscious or not, I stabbed her. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Steve shrugged painfully. “After all, you stole the money. You
ran away.”
Her voice was bitter. “What would you have me do, stay there
and get killed too?” A corner of her mouth tightened. “Yes, I can
see you would.”
Girl on the Run 95
“Is that your claim? Self-defense?”
Her eyes accused him. “I’m not brave, Mr. Gregory. Im sure
you are, but I’m not. When I saw Auntie lying there with that
ugly hunting knife in her back, I was terrified. I hid and, at the
first opportunity, I ran.”
Steve stopped breathing. He stared straight ahead at the
woven plastic cover of the seat ahead of him with its pocket con-
taining rescue and crash procedure literature. She might be ly-
ing again but he was certain this time it was no he. The remark
had slipped out too neatly. It didn’t have the emphasis even an
experienced and confirmed liar would have put on it. It was
stated as a simple matter of fact, something she thought he had
known himself. Inside he wanted to shout and cheer but his face
showed nothing.
Cathy was looking at him but there was no interest in her face,
only the aloof and scornful expression she had adopted since dis-
covering his treachery. It was a long look but she still had time
to turn away and resume her preoccupation with the window
before he had himself enough under control to speak.
When he did, his voice was low and vibrant, showing the emo-
tion his outward manner so completely effaced. He said, “Would
you say that again?”
“Say what?”
“What you said about finding your aunt.”
She stared out the window when she spoke. “I took one look
and I knew she was dead. I didn’t even go in the room. Maybe I
should have felt grief, but all I could think of was getting away
before he came back.”
Steve spoke very slowly. “Before who came back, Cathy?”
She twitched a shoulder. “I don’t know who. If I did, I wouldn’t
have run away.”
“Tell me about that night. Tell me everything that happened.”
She was aware of his interest now and, in contrary fashion, got
stubborn. “What for? You wouldn’t believe me. You’ve got it all
figured out, you and the sheriff, about how little Cathy Sinclair
stabbed her aunt in the back with a hunting knife and stole all
the money. Do you think, if I wanted the money, I’d have to kill
her to get it?”
There it was again, the unconscious reference to a himting
 96 Girl on the Run
knife. Cathy honestly didn’t seem to know it was a hreadknife
that had been found in her aunt. Steve’s voice was intense now.
“Never mind what I believe. Will you understand that this is
important? Tell me what happened that night, everything you
heard or thought or saw.”
She turned and regarded him strangely but if she were curious
she did not show it. If she were prone to be contrary, the tone
of his voice stopped her. She said simply, “We went to bed about
eleven o’clock, which was the usual time. Auntie slept in the
downstairs bedroom and I upstairs.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen the house.”
“Oh. Then you know about Auntie’s bed being over against
the wall by the window across the whole house from me. It was a
dark night. I don’t remember any moon, or seeing any stars. It
may have been cloudy out but as soon as I turned off the light, it
was black. I had to grope my way to the bed.
“I don’t know what time it was and I don’t know what woke
me up. Maybe it was Auntie’s scream or maybe I was awake be-
fore she screamed. The way she did it scared me to death. I
didn’t know what was the matter except that it sounded like
something terrible. It might have been her heart again. I don’t
know what I thought, but it might have been that. Somehow,
though, it seemed worse than her heart, more urgent, as though
she’d got up in the night and fallen and hurt herself terribly. All
I remember is that I was out of bed and fumbling for the door
almost before I even heard her. I called out 'Auntie!’, sort of a
reflex, I guess, or maybe it was to let her know I was coming,
and I couldn’t find the doorknob. It seemed as though it took me
forever to get out in the hall and there was the most awful com-
motion downstairs. Someone was running and bumping the fur-
niture and I thought it was Auntie. I groped my way to the stairs
and I don’t know why I didn’t turn on the lights except that it
was a lucky thing for me I didn’t. When I heard the stumbling
and bumping, I kept calling 'Auntie! I’m coming!’ wanting her
to stop, but it didn’t stop and then I heard the front screen door
slam and footsteps on the porch and then that was all.
“I was in the living room by then and I didn’t turn on the lights
now because then I wouldn’t be able to see outside. And I went
to the door and looked out only it was too dark and I couldn’t see
Girl on the Run 97
anything anyway. I thought it was Auntie, I guess, or at least I
think I did and I don’t know why I didn’t go out after her. Maybe
it was something about the footsteps that wasn’t quite right. If I
think about it, I know it couldn’t have been Auntie because she
couldn’t run, but I wasn’t thinking about that then. I only know
that all of a sudden I was afraid to go outdoors. Something
seemed to tell me I should go back to Auntie’s room. It was dead
quiet in the house but I had a feeling, a premonition or some-
thing, that made me go back to see instead of going out to look
for her.
“I groped my way back to the hall where Auntie’s door was.
She always slept with it closed but now it was half open. I
pushed it wider but I was afraid to go in. I thought she was out-
doors somewhere and yet something seemed to tell me she was
still there. It gave me the willies. I reached into the room and
turned on the light.”
Cathy shuddered and her words were measured and steeped
with the memory. “She was lying half out of the bed with her
head almost touching the floor and one arm was resting on the
rug. Her back was towards me and it—.” Cathy paused and her
voice became choked. “I didn’t go in. The knife was in her and
blood was dripping on the rug. Nobody in the world could have
made me go in there. Maybe I should have gone in with her and
touched her and cried over her. Maybe I wasn’t a very loving
niece, but I didn’t feel that way. Auntie was gone. Auntie wasn’t
there any more. All that was left was a body. I didn’t want to go
in, I wanted to faint. I don’t know why I didn’t except all I could
think of was that person somewhere around the house outside
and he might come back and I couldn’t faint. I had to keep con-
scious.
“I turned off the light as fast as I could because I knew if I
looked any longer I’d faint no matter what happened. I backed
out into the hall and I didn’t know where to go. I wanted to go
back to my room and lock the door and hide under the bed, but
I knew that if the man did come back he’d break down the door
and kill me too. I wanted to run out the back door and run away
but he was out there somewhere and I might run right into his
arms. I had to stay in the house.
“I sneaked into the kitchen and I didn’t dare turn on any more
 93 Girl on the Run
lights. All I wanted to do was get down cellar. I thought he might
not look for me there. I felt my way down the steps and the win-
dows didn’t let in any light at all. It’s the only time in my life I
went down there without turning on the light. I was always
scared of the dark before and I was scared now but I knew there
was a lot more to be scared of upstairs than down in the cellar.
Auntie’s body was upstairs and whoever had killed her might
come back any moment. I wanted to lock the cellar door behind
me but I’d have to take the key out of the kitchen side and if he
came back and looked around, he’d find the door locked and
then he’d know I was down there. He could break the door down
and nothing could save me. There wasn’t any other way out but
the stairs.
“I crept down there and felt around, trying not to make any
noise, but I kept hitting things and I kicked the trash cans with
my foot and almost broke my toe. One of them was empty and
I got into it and pulled the cover over my head as quietly as I
could and then I just crouched in there and shook all over. I
couldn’t get all the way down in the can because it wasn’t wide
enough and it was so uncomfortable I could hardly stand it but I
didn’t dare move.”
She talked in a soft, low voice, staring numbly in front of her,
reliving the fear and the terror. ‘It’s a good thing I didn’t,” she
went on. “For a long time nothing happened and then I heard a
very faint creak, so faint I couldn’t be sure about it, but I started
to shake all over again. It was the sound of the screen door open-
ing. Then I could hear footsteps very faintly. You can hear every-
thing in that house. He bumped against something in the living
room and muttered. Then he started on again and he started
calling me in a low voice. He went all through the house very
quietly and half the time I couldn’t hear him at all except that he
kept saying, ‘Cathy’ in a loud whisper, calling to me to come
and I didn’t even breathe.
“I could hear him in Auntie’s room for a minute and then out
into the kitchen and I was afraid he was coming down cellar but
he didn’t. He went back through the hall, keeping up that in-
sistent whisper and it was almost hypnotic. When he called he
made you really want to come to him. You got the feeling every-
thing was all right, that he had come to the rescue and I thought
Girl on the Run 99
maybe he had but I was too scared just the same. I didn’t answer
him. Something told me that if I answered it would be the last
tiling I ever did.
“Then he went upstairs. I couldn’t hear him so well then, and
he stopped calling me. He was upstairs for such a long time I
started to wonder if he’d gone. It was so cramped in the trash
can I thought I would have to move. Then the stairs creaked
again and I froze. He was coming down again. When he passed
by overhead I could have sworn he was in the cellar with me.
Then he came out in the kitchen again and I could hear him
open the cellar door. There was a little crack where the lid of the
can wasn’t on tight and I could see a flicker of light go by. He
had a flashlight and stood there in the doorway shining the light
all around. I don’t think even my heart beat I kept so still.
“He looked all around. I could see the light come and go. He
said, ‘Cathy, are you down here?’ and the way he said it sounded
as though the police had come and wanted to protect me. I
wanted to say, ‘Yes, save me,’ but if it were not the police, if I
guessed wrong—. I kept still.
“Then he cursed under his breath and he started to come down
the stairs and I was too scared even to shake. I knew it was the
wrong man. It wasn’t the police.
“I don’t think he thought I was down there but he had to make
sure and he roamed around, shining his light every which way,
looking behind everything, but he wasn’t quite so thorough. He
didn’t look in the trash cans. He looked everywhere else, but he
didn’t find me.
“Then he went upstairs again and when I heard him close the
door, cold perspiration came out all over me. I never felt so re-
lieved in my life.
“He walked around quite a lot upstairs. I think he went into
Auntie’s room. Then he came out in the kitchen again and I
thought he was coming down cellar to look in the trash cans. It
was like a goldfish bowl. I didn’t see how he could miss me. If I
wasn’t anywhere else in the house I’d have to be in there and I
was certain he’d come back and find me.
“But he didn’t come back. He went into Auntie’s room again
and I didn’t hear anything for a long time. Then he came out and
went upstairs and came back again and went into Auntie’s room
 100 Girl on the Run
for another long time. I think he went upstairs again but I don’t
remember. Finally his footsteps went across the living room and
he wasn’t trying to be so quiet and when he went out the screen
door he let it bang just a little bit.
“I thought it was a trick to make me think he’d gone and I
didn’t move. I never heard another sound but I didn’t move until
it was daylight.”
She paused and Steve, gripped despite himself by the tale,
came back to the present, to a seat in a jet airplane twenty min-
utes out of Miami where the police and Sheriff Shapely would
be waiting outside of customs.
She had stopped, lost in her own thoughts, and he wanted her
to go on. “What happened then? What did you do?”
She shook her head and shuddered a little. “I got out. As soon
as it was light. I lifted the lid very quietly and climbed out. I
hoped he had gone but I wasn’t sure. I was trying to outwait him
and I thought he wouldn’t dare stay around the house after day-
light and I thought it was safe but I was still very careful. I went
up the stairs and opened the door and looked into the kitchen,
all ready to run out the back door if he should be there. I half
expected him to be sitting in a chair waiting for me, but he
wasn’t. The kitchen was dark and gloomy, but it was empty.
Then I looked in the living room. The door to Auntie’s room
wasn’t as I had left it, wide open. It was only ajar now and I
couldn’t see in. I didn’t try to. I didn’t want to look again. In-
stead I went to my room, all set to run if I should see him, but
the room looked the way I’d left it. It didn’t look as though any-
thing had been touched.
“I dressed as quickly as I could because I was sure he’d be
back, and then I went downstairs. All the money we had Auntie
kept in the sugar bowl on the kitchen shelf. I don’t know why I
wasn’t surprised that it was still there, except I didn’t think the
man was a robber. He knew who we were and he wanted to kill
us both.
“I took all the money in the bowl and stuffed it in my purse.
Then I went out the back door and saw the chickens and re-
membered I had forgotten to feed them. I stopped and did that
as fast as I could because I didn’t know when they’d ever get fed
again. Then I cut across the back fields which I thought would
Girl on the Run 101

be safer than going along the road, and kept out of sight, not
letting anyone see me because I didn’t know who the man was
and if even one man saw me, he might be the one and I couldn’t
take chances.
“I don’t know how far I went before I came out on the road,
but I walked and ran for three hours, almost all the way to
Springfield, before I dared show myself. Then I got a ride from
a couple I didn’t know to the railroad station and got a train
ticket to New York. That was the only place I knew. And I
waited out in the sun because I had left in such a hurry I didn’t
even take a coat.
“When I got to New York I decided that wasn’t so good be-
cause Auntie and I went down there once a year and it would be
the first place anybody looking for me would try. I wanted to go
where nobody would find me. I knew the police would make me
come back to testify and I didn’t want to go back, ever again, at
least not till the man who killed Auntie was caught. So I decided
to go to Miami—”
Steve stopped listening. He knew nothing about White River
and its inhabitants and who would desire Mathilda Whittemore’s
death so fanatically, but he did know Cathy Sinclair was inno-
cent. That was certain if anything was.
“Who hated your aunt?” he interrupted and was suddenly
aware of Cathy as a woman again. She was more than that. She
was a beautiful woman and a woman in desperate trouble. He
wanted to take her hand and comfort her but the day of holding
hands with Cathy Sinclair was gone. He was her betrayer—not
a physical betrayer but, worse than that, a betrayer of her trust—
and loathing, distaste and contempt had replaced her feelings of
the night before.
It showed in her eyes, behind the cold detachment, as she
lifted her right shoulder again in that gesture of ignorance. “No
one hated her,” she said, and added with cutting acidity, “though
it’s generally agreed I’m supposed to have.”
Steve ignored that. “Someone must have, Cathy. Think. A per-
son isn’t killed for no reason at all. What about that mortgage?
Who held it?”
“I don’t know. Ask the sheriff. Pie’s the one who threw it up to
me.”

Bl i GAMS
PI JC
 102 Girl on the Run
“He said he could make trouble about it. He didn’t hold it, did
he?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t even know that he really
could have made trouble except that he has a lot of influence in
those parts. He and his brother-in-law practically own the
county.”
“The farm doesn’t look worth killing anyone to get possession
of it,” Steve said. “By the way, who inherits?”
“I do,” Cathy said abruptly. “Who else? You and the sheriff
ought to be able to make that look pretty good in court, I imag-
• 77
me.
“Listen, I’m trying to help you.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve been a lot of help.”
The stewardess came by at that moment, smiling her sweet
untroubled smile. She gestured at the sign ahead and said,
“You’ll have to fasten your seat belts now. We’ll be in Miami in
ten minutes.”
It broke the mood and after the mechanics of preparation were
taken care of, Steve couldn’t capture it again. “Try to think,
Cathy. There isn’t much time.”
“I’m tired of thinking if you don’t mind. You’ve got what you
want. Let’s let it go at that, shall we?”
“I haven’t got what I want. Do you understand I’m supposed
to turn you over to Shapely?”
“Well I’m sure I want you to.”
“No you don’t. You’re afraid of him.”
“I’m not relishing it,” she said coldly, “but it’s been forced on
me and I can assure you it’s the lesser of two evils.”
“All right, but don’t you let Gillis represent you. I’ll get a good
lawyer from New York or Philadelphia. I know a very good one
in Philly.”
“Thank you, no. I don’t want any of your good lawyers in Phila-
delphia. I don’t want anything that has anything to do with you,
Mr. Gregory. If there’s one consolation in being met at Miami by
Sheriff Shapely, it’s that I’ll never have to see you again.”
“I’m trying to help you, Cathy. Don’t you understand that?”
“I understand that you’ve helped me quite enough already.”
Steve made an exasperated face. “Don’t you see? That was
Girl on the Run 103

when I thought you were guilty. Now I believe you. Now I think
you’re innocent.”
If he expected any exclamations of joy at that disclosure, he
was rudely jolted. “That’s very nice,” she said coldly. “Now I’m
innocent. What is it this time? Before you wanted me to believe
you were an engineer. Now you want me to believe you think
I’m innocent.”
“Cathy, you’re in trouble. I want to help you.”
“The way that job with your mother was going to help me?”
Steve said, “For heaven’s sake, will you stop being feminine
and listen? If Gillis defends you he’ll plead insanity. It’s either
that or the chair. The cards are stacked.”
“I’ll tell them the truth,” Cathy said simply. “They can’t get
away from that. Everybody knows I couldn’t have stabbed her.
We don’t have any hunting knife.”
“It’s a breadknife, Cathy. Your breadknife, with your finger-
prints all over it. The killer pulled a switch on you. You’re cooked
if you don’t have a smart lawyer.”
Even that didn’t disturb her outward calm. “All right, I’m
cooked. From what I’ve seen of life it isn’t worth much anyway
and if there isn’t even any justice in it, then they can do what
they want with me. I don’t care any more.”
Steve seized her arm and shook her. “But I care, Cathy. Can’t
you understand what I’m telling you? I believe you. I believe in
you. I know you’re innocent.”
She looked down at his fingers biting into her flesh and the
look of distaste was on her face. “Aren’t you rather impression-
able, Mr. Gregory? First the sheriff convinces you I’m guilty,
then I convince you I’m innocent. I, the little girl who lies about
rich parents, gives you a story and you change your mind. Five
minutes with the sheriff when we land and you’ll decide I’m
guilty again.”
“Look, Shapely and the others were wrong about certain things
and I got a wrong impression about you. Shapely thought you
were responsible in some way for the fire that killed your parents.
I shouldn’t have presumed he was right. I wouldn’t have if I’d
known you. But you see, you didn’t even have any pictures of
your folks around. It looked as though you didn’t care about
them.”
 104 Girl on the Run
Cathy's eyes grew stubborn and angry. “I did too have pic-
tures of them, and I did too care. I kept a folder with some on
my bureau."
The plane was low now, sweeping around in a graceful circle,
coming into the wind. Steve looked out at the field tilted beneath
them. “I saw that," he said, “but it was on your aunt’s bureau.”
“It wasn’t. That used to be my room. I just left them there
when I moved.”
“You moved? What for?”
“So Auntie wouldn’t have to climb stairs. I had the downstairs
room because I was the one who got up to feed the chickens in
the morning. Then, what with Auntie’s heart going bad and all,
we decided it would be better if she took the downstairs room.
They were my pictures but I left them there."

CHAPTER 17

The plane touched down at Miami International on

time and taxied over to the international debarkation ramp.
Steve watched in silence as it came to a halt and his mind was
racing. Beside him Cathy was staring through the window, turn-
ing her face well away so Steve couldn’t see her growing anxiety.
She had said she didn’t care and that the sheriff would be an
improvement over present company but the prospect of prison
and the much nearer prospect of meeting Shapely were starting
to have their effect.
When the sweetish odor of the DDT fumes had spread through
the compartment and faded and the doors were opened, Cathy
was close to trembling. Steve, so quiet and grim, was foreboding
and she had never felt so deserted and alone.
They disembarked with the others and rode the escalator to
the ramp. Ahead lay immigration, health and customs, the final
finks in the chain to Shapely, and it was so arranged that there
Girl on the Run 105

was no other way to go. Had there been, Cathy would have been
willing to risk flight. But there was no fleeing from customs.
When they entered immigration and health Cathy prayed for
the delays of red tape but Steve was efficient and cold. He pro-
duced his deputy’s badge when the man asked them for inocu-
lation and vaccination papers and proof of citizenship. “I’m
bringing in a prisoner,” he said quietly. “I think you’ve been in-
formed.”
The man glanced at the girl and Steve. “Oh yes,” he said.
“We’ve been expecting you,” and he passed them through.
They took the escalator down to customs and for Cathy that
was the end of the line. A quick glance at the glass-paned exit
doors showed Sheriff Shapely, wearing his coat for once, standing
fat and ugly just beyond, waiting like a vulture. The smile was
on his face, the leer she knew so well, but there was more than
that in his grin this day. Now there was triumph. Instinctively
she drew closer to Steve and then, consciously, she drew away
again. Birds of a feather. Her two betrayers.
Steve’s face was solemn except for the brief smile of greeting
that flitted across it when he too noted the presence of the sheriff.
“Old Shapely’s right on time,” he muttered to her out of the cor-
ner of his mouth and he didn’t seem glad.
Their suitcases were returned to them and the moment could
no longer be postponed. Even so, Cathy held back and Steve
seized her arm. “Well, what are we waiting for?” he said roughly.
“Here’s your pal you’re so anxious to leave me for.”
Cathy came with him then, lagging a little so that Steve had
to pull her along. They followed another couple through the door
and then the sheriff was beside them, beaming unwholesomely.
“Wal, Gregory, I’ve got to take it all back. You’re better than I
thought.” He turned to Cathy. “Well, well, my dear. Fancy meet-
ing you here!” The smile turned into something more harsh.
“Thought you could get away, didn’t you?”
Cathy looked him straight in the eye and the fear she felt was
hidden. There was no sign of the expected quivering, terror-
stricken girl, pleading innocence and begging for mercy. The
only thing that showed on her face was cold disdain. Shapely’s
leer faded and grating anger took its place. He pulled out a pair
of handcuffs and said with a snarl, “Give me your wrist.”
 106 Girl on the Run
It was the height of degradation, handcuffing her to him in
public, but Cathy had drawn a shell around her and even that
final act could not touch her. It was Steve whose face got hot.
People were stopping and staring, looking first at the handcuffs,
then at the sheriff and the girl. He said to Shapely, angry for
Cathy, “I don’t think that’s necessary, Sheriff.”
But it was Shapely’s day and whether or not Cathy held aloof
as she was dragged through the dust, through the dust she would
go. He clamped the cuff on his own left wrist with a flourish and
said, “And I say it’s very necessary. You don’t know this girl like
I do, Gregory. I wouldn’t trust her out of my sight, particularly
behind my back—if you know what I mean. And I’m going to
make damn well sure she don’t get out of my sight.”
Steve swallowed and looked around. “Where are the Miami
police? I thought they were supposed to be here.”
Shapely snorted and jerked his arm, pulling Cathy around. “I
took care of that part of it personal. We don’t need them. I can
handle this wench by myself. I don’t need no escort to take her
over to the Boston plane.”
“You mean they don’t even know you’re here, or that we’ve
come in?”
Shapely’s eyes narrowed. “Listen, Gregory, you were hired to
do a job, not ask questions. I got to report on you to your boss,
remember.”
Steve’s manner changed abruptly. He grinned. “Don’t worry,
Shapely. I do the same tiling myself. All the time. I underesti-
mated you, that’s all.”
“That’s a mistake a lot of people make. Especially this young
chick here.”
“You’re taking her right back?”
“We got reservations on the five o’clock plane out. No sense in
wasting time. She’s my prisoner and my responsibility now and
I’m not resting till I get her behind bars up in Springfield, New
Hampshire.” He gave Cathy another jerk with his handcuffed
wrist. “Pick up your bag, girl. We got a ways to go and we ain’t
got much time.”
Steve caught the sheriff’s eye with a knowing look. “It’s going
to be quite a walk, Shapely—handcuffed—if you know what I
Girl on the Run 107
mean. Men in blue and all, they might ask questions. Why don’t I
get us a cab?”
“I’m ahead of you, boy. I already thought of that.” He dragged
Cathy along. “I got one waiting.”
“Good,” said Steve. “I’ll ride with you.”
Shapely looked at him without pleasure. “You ain’t figuring on
going to Boston are you? You won’t get on the plane. She’s
booked.”
“Philadelphia or New York. I’ve got to make a reservation.”
The cab was standing on the lower ramp and the driver was
leaning against it, waving away would-be customers and smok-
ing. At their approach he threw the cigarette away quickly and
straightened up, impressed with the importance of a mission that
included a handcuffed girl. Shapely told him to put the girl’s
bag in back and Steve gave him his which settled the matter of
his inclusion in the party. Shapely said, more cheerfully, “New
York or Philly, huh? Wal, in that case I guess we can fit you in.”
He pushed Cathy ahead of him into the back seat and got in be-
side her. Steve crowded in next to him and slammed the door
while the driver resumed his place. “Where to, boss?”
“Take us around to the Eastern Air Lines door,” Shapely said
and settled back, unbuttoning his jacket and pushing it away
from his gun belt, exposing the glint of the pocketed slugs and
the handle of his revolver.
“Eastern Air Lines? That’s only a swing around the ramp. You
could walk it as fast as I could drive.”
“Don’t argue with me, Buster. This is an escaped murderess
I got here and we ain’t walking nowhere. Get me?”
The man was awed. “Yes, sir.” He started up.
 V

CHAPTER 18

When the cab came out from under the upper ramp to
start its circuit of the vast parking area, Shapely looked around
and said, “This is quite a place, this Miami. Sorry I cant spend a
little time in it. You been here before, Gregory?”
“A few times,” Steve answered. “My work takes me around.”
“Yeah. I guess it does.” He was a pleased man at the way things
had worked out and he grew expansive. “I don't mind saying you
did a good job. Tell me something. How’d you get her to come
back with you?”
Steve was in an expansive mood himself. “Nothing to it, Sheriff.
I fed her a line and she bit.”
Shapely roared. That was a good one. “Haw, haw. Little Cathy
Sinclair who plays it so high and mighty. She gets sucked in by
the first line she ever hears. I really get a bang outta that.”
Cathy didn’t think it was funny. Steve looked across at her and
she was facing front, her mouth set, a slow flush on her face.
“Very smart, Gregory.” The sheriff looked at Cathy, enjoying
the heightened color in her cheeks. “I guess our little lady is
finding out that crime don’t pay.” He gave Steve a broad grin
and reached in his jacket pocket, fumbling a cigarette out of the
pack there. “She’s not so dangerous now that she’s all bottled up.
No more stabbings for Cathy. Only person she can hurt now is
herself. We’ll have to be careful she don’t commit suicide in her
cell.”
He said it with a laugh and stuck the cigarette in his mouth,
still grinning. He reached back for a book of matches. “I’m gonna
write your chief a personal letter, letting him know what I think
of your work, Gregory. I’m real proud of you.” «*,
They were at the far end of the parking lot, circling back to
the terminal again. The sun was bright, the air hot and still, and
overhead a jet was whining. All was right with Shapely’s world
Girl on the Run 109

and he was still beaming as he pulled Cathy’s wrist up with his

own to strike a match and cup it to his cigarette.
It was his defenseless moment and Steve was ready. His hand
went with deliberate precision but deceptive speed to Shapely’s
holster, pulled the gun and shoved its muzzle into the bulging
shirt that protruded over Shapely’s belt. It caught the sheriff just
as he shook out the match and he froze with it in his fingers,
his hands still in front of his face, the freshly lighted cigarette
dangling in his mouth. His pig-eyes widened a little and he said,
“What in the hell are you doing?”
Steve’s voice was steel and ice, his eyes like flint. “Just hold it
right there, Sheriff. I don’t want to have to plug you.” Without
shifting his gaze, he said to the driver, “Forget about Eastern Air
Lines, cabby. Keep going and take the Red Road exit out.”
The driver, already in the righthand lane for Eastern, picked
up speed and eased left. The tone of Steve’s voice frightened
him. Shapely bellowed, “What are you trying to pull, Gregory?”
and Cathy was staring at him wide-eyed.
Steve didn’t answer the question. He moved back against the
door, holding the gun out of Shapely’s reach. “Put your hands
against your chest, Shapely, and move slowly or this thing will go
off. Never mind your cigarette.”
Shapely placed his hands as ordered and stared straight ahead
with hard bleak eyes. As the cab passed the Eastern Air Lines en-
trances and went on around the face of the building, he muttered
bitterly, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Gregory, but
I’m warning you, you won’t get away with it.”
Steve ignored him and only spoke to direct the driver. When
they left the ramp and started south on Perimeter Road, Shapely
adopted a more placating manner. There was still a chance for
the five o’clock plane. “Put the gun away, son,” he said around
his cigarette, “and well just forget it happened.”
Steve said, “I’d rather not shoot you, Shapely, but if you don’t
keep your hands still I will. If I’m going to aid and abet a murder-
ess I might as well have a murder of my own on my hands.” He
plucked Shapely’s cigarette from his lips and threw it out the
window. “Turn left up ahead, driver, and don’t break any traffic
laws.”
They went down to West Flagler and turned right, heading out
 110 Girl on the Run
of town and, except for Steve’s directions, the foursome rode in
charged silence. When they passed beneath the Palmetto Ex-
pressway and the road became narrower, the area less built up,
Shapely’s face grew pallid. There was a worried note in his
voice when he said, “What are you going to do?”
Steve remained ominously silent and Shapely began to per-
spire. They came upon a dirt road to the right and Steve ordered
the driver to turn. There were houses on the left but they grew
scarcer the farther they went. The white-faced driver said, “Lis-
ten, Mister, I got a wife and kids.”
“That’s all right,” Steve told him. “Just do as I tell you and you
won’t get hurt.” He added to Shapely, “The same goes for you,
Sheriff.” He knew that Cathy was huddled in the comer staring
at him with enormous eyes but he didn’t look at her nor speak.
They rode on in silence until the houses were left well behind
and then Steve ordered the driver to stop and kill the engine.
“All right, Shapely. Unlock the handcuffs.”
Shapely didn’t grumble and he didn’t threaten. He got out the
key as quickly as he dared and obeyed.
“Unstrap your gun belt.”
Shapely complied, working his lips together. Steve reached be-
hind him to open the door and backed out onto the sparse grass
and dirt. “All right, Shapely. Out. You too, driver. Come around
here.”
The men got out and Cathy cried fearfully, “Stop it. Let them
g0
”
Steve ignored her. “O.K., Shapely. Handcuff your right wrist
to the cabbie’s right wrist.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Gregory,” Shapely said sourly,
working slowly. “You’re letting a little twist wrap you around her
finger.”
“Latch them up tight,” Steve said. “That’s right.” He went be-
hind the sheriff, relieved him of the key and the wallet on his
hip. “Now drop your badge on the ground.” The sheriff dropped
the badge and Steve moved the men aside and picked it up.
“O.K. Start walking. North.”
They walked.
Steve went around and got into the driver’s seat of the cab,
started up and turned around, heading back the way they’d
Girl on the Ran 111

come. Cathy, in the back seat, said, “You crazy idiot! Are you
out of your mind?”
“Pretty much so.” Steve drove with one hand and looked
through the sheriff’s wallet. “Forty dollars,” he said. “I guess the
town of White River didn’t give him much of an expense account.
Must be afraid he’d blow it in those Miami nightclubs.”
Cathy’s fear of a killing was gone now and anger took its place.
“Let me out of here, Steve Gregory. You can’t get away with this.
It’s kidnapping. I won’t go with you.” Her voice broke into a
sob. “Now I’ll never have a chance to prove I’m innocent.”
Steve was moving fast, much too fast for her to risk attacking
him. He opened the glove compartment and stuffed the revolver,
gun belt, wallet and badge inside and latched it closed. “Too bad
there wasn’t a tree handy,” he said. “I could have locked them
around that and they’d be a long while getting away. This doesn’t
give us as much time. Heigh-ho. We’ll just have to make the best
of it. At any rate, Shapely may have some trouble proving his
identity and that may add a little.”
He turned back onto Flagler, picked the first road south, then
turned east again heading toward civilization. “The first thing
we’re going to have to do is cut your hair and dye it. No, they’ll
expect me to dye it. I think a home permanent would be better.”
Cathy said, “I don’t want a haircut and I don’t want a home
permanent. I don’t want to go with you. Now the sheriff will be
doubly mad at me.” Her voice quivered. “Oh, why didn’t you let
me alone?”
“What? Leave you with Shapely? He might make a pass.”
Cathy lapsed into sullen silence. Steve’s gay spirits did not
fit her mood. He could see her through the mirror, back against
the cushions, spine straight, arms folded hard across her chest.
“Listen, kitten,” he said, “I’m running a big risk saving you from
the gendarmes. The least you could do is show some appreciation.
Don’t you know Shapely will be sure to pass the word I’m armed
and dangerous? The cops will have orders to shoot.”
“I hope they kill you.”
“If they do, it’s your swan song, kitten. I hope you’ll remember
that and appreciate what I’m doing to help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“You need it.”
 112 Girl on the Run
“If you hadn’t helped me in the first place I wouldn’t be need-
ing it now. All you do is help and all that happens is I’m worse
off than ever.”
“Worse off? You’ll be better off. Wait till you see what a hair-
cut and permanent will do for your personality.”
“You think it’s funny. Well it’s not. You’ve just succeeded in
ruining any chance I ever had of proving I’m innocent. Now
everyone will be sure I’m guilty. I despise you. I hate you. I wish
you’d never been bom.”
They were on a main artery back toward the West Miami-
Coral Gables section and Steve cruised along it looking for a drug-
store. He found one on a comer and turned left down the side
street away from it. He drew in to the curb and stopped, pulled
the keys and twisted in the seat, resting an elbow on the back.
“Now listen, Cathy,” he said seriously. “Whether you like it or
not, you’re stuck with me. As long as you’re with me, the police
won’t catch you and, in a day or so, I’ll have you out of all
this. Do you understand me?”
She gave him a tight-lipped look and an angry nod of the head.
“All right. We’ve been driving twenty minutes and I don’t
know how much Shapely’s been able to do in that time, but we
have to assume the worst—that there’s an alarm out for us already.
Stay in the car. Don’t even sit up straight. Keep sunk low. Your
hair is your distinctive feature. I don’t want any more people
seeing it than absolutely necessary. If the alarm is out or if it isn’t
out but comes out later, someone might report your being here
and then Shapely and the police will know we’re still in town.
Don’t let anyone see you. Have you got it?”
Cathy’s mouth was still set in its grim line. “Yes,” she said the
way a six-year-old would say it when her mother asked if she
understood she was not to go into the cookie jar.
“Good. Because if the police catch you, you’re dead. Don’t
move and I’ll be back in five minutes.” He opened the door and
got out.
The clerk was an old man with white hair and the softly
wrinkled face so common in the South. He wore thick glasses,
through which he squinted, and he was talking in a colorless
voice on a colorless subject to a plump woman wearing a light
coat designed for someone half her years. “It’s what I use for
Girl on the Run 113

upset stomach,” he was telling her as he exposed the label on the

box he held for her inspection. “It doesn’t have wide circulation
and it isn’t as well known as the other brands but, to my mind, it
is far superior.”
Steve shifted his feet and studied the candy boxes arranged
pyramid style on a table in the middle. He went to the magazine
racks and looked at the pictures on the covers. That way he kept
his face averted and, while there was small chance that an
adequate description of him would be coming out over the police
wires still, the less noticed he was the better.
The lady was still making up her mind and she didn’t seem to
be in any hurry about it. Miami was different from the rest of
Florida but in the suburbs the leisurely rate was the same. A bus
went by and a gasoline truck. Some cars slipped through and
then were stopped by the light. From where he was he couldn’t
quite see the back of the taxicab he had stolen.
At length the woman departed, passing Steve with doubt still
on her face, and the man came forward holding his hands clasped
in front of him in an ingratiating manner that reminded Steve
of some of the clients he had seen. “A pair of scissors, or small
shears,” he said and, as if it were an afterthought, “Oh, yes. One
of those home permanent kits. You know, those do-it-yourself
things?”
“Any particular brand?”
“My wife didn’t say. I don’t know. Any kind will do.”
“Yes, sir.” The man went behind a counter at the back of the
store and produced the goods. Steve said to put them in a bag,
not to wrap them, paid, and then drummed his fingers impa-
tiently while the man made change. He was so slow.
“Three, four, five,” the clerk said. “Thank you, sir. Come again.”
“Thanks.” Steve strode as rapidly toward the door as he could
without appearing to hurry. It had taken him ten minutes instead
of five and he didn’t like leaving Cathy alone, especially in a
stolen car.
The light was against him but he ducked across anyway, dodg-
ing the cars to the other corner. The cab was still there and it
wasn’t surrounded by the Miami police. He breathed a sigh
of relief and hurried to it, skirting the back to the driver’s side
 114 Girl on the Run
and opening the door. “We’ll drive around and find a rooming
house,” he said and stopped. The back seat was empty.

CHAPTER 19

Steve blinked and stared again but staring didn’t pro-

duce Cathy Sinclair. The back seat was still empty. He cursed
and looked up and down the street. That dumb child! He hadn’t
wanted to leave her alone but he couldn’t take her into the drug-
store with him. If the clerk remembered both her and the scis-
sors the police would no longer be looking for a girl with hair
down her back. But that would have been preferable to this. It
wasn’t that he didn’t think he could find her again. Steve was
confident of his ability to find anyone, especially a girl who ran
as true to form as Cathy did. The problem was finding her before
the police did. Cathy was so obvious he doubted she could last
three hours without being picked up.
He paused beside the car and looked around. The side street
was deserted so there was no one he could ask. She couldn’t have
gone far. She didn’t have a cent and her suitcase was locked in
the trunk. She should have had more sense. This was no time
for her to go feminine and play games.
Then, on a hunch, Steve climbed into the front seat and
opened the glove compartment. Shapely’s belongings were still
there and he pulled out the wallet. Cathy Sinclair wasn’t so
stupid at that. The wallet was empty and she was not quite penni-
less. She had the sheriff’s forty dollars.
Steve slammed the compartment shut and got out cursing
again, only this time he was cursing himself. It was the second
boner he’d pulled on one case. He wasn’t giving Cathy enough
credit and now maybe he had not only hung her but hung him-
self.
He went back to the comer and looked around. Half a dozen
stores fined both sides of the main thoroughfare and people
Girl on the Run 115

strolled the sidewalks but not one of them was a beautiful long-
haired young girl in a white dress. He made a quick estimate
and decided she wouldn’t have walked down the street across
from the drugstore window. She must have walked up.
He started then, stopping in at every store, inquiring for his
niece, a sweet young thing with long dark hair and bangs. It
helped that she had a face people would remember and when
store clerks said she had not been in, he could be sure she hadn’t.
He was halfway up the block when another bus came down.
It stopped at the corner across the side street from the drugstore,
a spot not visible to him when he was making his purchases.
That was it, of course. A bus trip downtown, right into the arms
of the law in her eagerness to show how much she hated his
company.
There were stores on the comer where the bus stopped, a bruit
store, a delicatessen and one of those orange-juice stands so prev-
alent in Miami. Steve crossed and went to that.
It had a white tile face and an open counter lined with stools.
The young lad behind the counter, who seemed the most likely
prospect, hadn’t seen Cathy but a plump middle-aged man in
white sports shirt and seersucker pants helped out. Yes, he had
seen the girl. Long hair, white dress and purse, very pretty figure.
She stood out. She had no tan. She’d be a knockout if she got some
sun. Yes. She took the bus before this last one.
“Any special bus?” asked Steve. “Or do they all go to the same
place?”
“They all go to downtown Coral Gables,” the man said. “She’s
probably down there waiting for you.”
“I’ll bet,” Steve muttered under his breath. To the man he said,
“Thanks,” and started off. He’d be the one waiting for her down-
town—if she rode that far. At any rate, he’d catch up to the bus
pretty fast in his cab and, if he knew Cathy, she’d still be on it,
trying to put distance between them.
When he went to the comer to cross for the cab, however, he
stopped. Then he got busy waiting for a bus himself. The taxi
was no longer available. There was a white police car stand-
ing beside it and two policemen were looking through the cab.
Steve and Cathy would have to get along without the luggage
locked in its trunk. Sheriff Shapely had spread the alarm.
 116 Girl on the Run
Steve watched the policemen as he waited, standing idly at
the bus stop with two other people. He was in no hurry to leave
for he had no fear of being caught He knew first that they were
looking for a couple; second that their description of him would
be vague; and third that they would never suspect he had stayed
in the neighborhood. As a precaution, however, he took out his
wallet in apparent search for a bill and slipped a fictitious identi-
fication card, one of several he carried, in the window of the
billfold.
He momentarily considered moving up a block to another bus
stop but dismissed that idea immediately. Should the police start
asking questions around the neighborhood, especially of the man
at the fruit juice stand, he wanted to know it. Time enough then
to make his escape.
When the bus came by he got aboard, paid the fare and took
a seat. Through the windows he had one last view of the police-
men. They had climbed back into their squad car and were
radioing the alarm.
He settled down then^nd concentrated on the scenery, look-
ing for clues. What bothered him was that he had such a slight
advantage over the police in the matter of time. It was more than
compensated for by their numbers and speed of communication.
He had to be both fast and lucky to reach Cathy before they did.
Stores grew more frequent and houses were replaced by build-
ings as the bus approached the downtown area. Steve watched
carefully as they moved along, eyeing the store fronts, trying to
guess what stop might have appealed to Cathy nearly half an
hour before. There Mgere numerous possibilities; the tourist home
back a mile, the hairdressers across the street, but Steve did not
jump at straws. Cathy would, he felt sure, ride all the way into
the center and switch buses there unless something really strik-
ing caught her eye.
A Trailhlazer bus pulled away, building up speed, heading off
in the opposite direction and Steve rang the bell. That would be
it, of course. The bus terminal on the comer.
He got out and crossed over against the light. On a* wide con-
crete alleyway a Tampa bus was standing and another, with
“Miami-Coral Gables” on its sign, mmbled in at* the end of its
run. Steve glanced quickly at the travelers waiting to board for
Girl on the Run 117

Tampa, saw Cathy was not among them, and went inside to the
waiting room. Across the far side were the ticket booths, half
a dozen of them. In the middle were double seats, most of them
occupied. Over the loudspeaker the announcement #of the next
departure echoed over the room in a nasal, tinny voice.
There were a lot of people on the benches, a few more at the
refreshment stand, several buying tickets, and others wandering
around. None of them bore the slightest resemblance to Cathy
and Steve went to the windows.
The first three ticket agents were of no help but the fourth
nodded when Steve produced his badge. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I
think I saw the girl. Trim, pretty girl with bangs? She bought a
ticket for Jacksonville.”
Steve nodded. “The bus left yet?”
The man glanced at the electric clock on the wall across the
way. “Yes, sir. Went out about twenty minutes ago.”
“She make it in time?”
The agent nodded. “The bus was in when she got the ticket.
I remember it. I told her to hurry.”
“Thanks.” Steve never forgot to be courteous. “Got a copy of
the bus schedule?”
The man produced one. “You going to want a ticket?”
“No thanks. We wouldn’t catch her that way. I’ll just radio
ahead.” He dropped his voice “By the way, if more policemen
come in here looking for her, you can tell them the alarm’s al-
ready gone out.”
“Yes, sir. Hope you get her.”
Steve gave the man a careless wave of the hand and departed.
He had no expectation that his last statement would lull the
Miami police into not spreading the word to stop the bus but it
might cause some confusion and delay. That the police would be
in, and soon, he knew. Their first move would be to check all out-
going planes, buses and trains. This bus terminal, being on the
main route downtown, would be one of the first on the list and
he had to stall them every way he could.
He was out in the sunshine again but the shadows were get-
ting longer and the air wasn’t quite so hot. People were moving
with more purpose and the cars clogging the arteries seemed
more impatient as the dinner hour approached. He walked away
 118 Girl on the Run
from the building, not wanting to be seen in the vicinity should
the police appear, and sought out a cab. When he found one at
a hack stand nearby he climbed in the back and said, “Do you
want to make fifty dollars?”
The driver, a man with a fat round face, looked at him through
the mirror. “Who do I kill?”
“I want you to catch up to a Trailblazer bus heading for Jax.”
“Catch a TrailblazerP Do you know how fast those things go?”
“Not as fast as you can.”
“Faster than I want to.”
“The fifty dollars is to raise your ceiling. She’s only had twenty-
five minutes’ head start.”
“That’s twenty-five minutes too much. Listen, Mister, I’d like
the dough, but that bus is out of town by now and hitting
seventy. I can’t even start after her. We got restrictions. I can’t
leave the city limits.”
“The hell with your restrictions,” Steve said and cupped his
deputy’s badge, holding it forward so the man could see. “This is
police work. There’s an escaped criminal on that bus and I’ve got
to catch him. I’ll take the responsibility if you have any trouble.”
“Mister,” the man said, “your taking the responsibility won’t
keep me out of trouble. Some other cab company will report me
as soon as we get out of the distinct and fifty bucks ain’t worth
my job. Tell you what I will do, though. I’ll take you to a car
rental service. You can get a car and follow that bus to Maine if
you want.”
The minutes were ticking by and every one put another mile
between him and the Trailblazer. Steve sighed and said, “O.K.,
but make it fast.”
The driver did. It only took him five minutes to get Steve to a
place called Hearn’s, a rental service which was run in conjunc-
tion with a garage. Steve hunted up the manager and found him
behind a desk in a small office beside the wide garage doors.
“You want it right this minute?” the man said. “Most of the guys
are off for dinner.”
“That’s all right. I don’t want a driver, I just want a car.”
The man raised a placating hand. “Now hold on there, son.
This ain’t no U-Drive-It concern. This’s a limousine service. We
rent out cars and chauffeurs. We got nice expensive buggies,
Girl on the Run 119

Cadillacs, big Buicks, Lincoln Continentals, all new and shiny, and
we don’t let no one but our own men get behind the wheel. You
can’t have a car without a driver.”
Steve cursed the cabby under his breath for bringing him
there. He leaned on the desk and flashed the badge. “This is no
theater party I’m getting up,” he said. “This is an emergency. I’m
after an escaped criminal and every minute I waste he’s getting
that much farther away. I want a car that can catch a Trailblazer
bus on the open road and if I’ve got to have a driver, I want a
driver who isn’t afraid to do it and I want him right now. I’ll give
you a fifty dollar bonus if you can get me equipped in ten
minutes.”
The man’s eyes opened a little but veiled again quickly. There
was a little more animation in his actions but he still couldn’t
have been called fast. “Well, Bud, now you’re talking. My boy
Mike is eating across the street. I’ll get him back here.” He
pushed himself out of the chair heavily. “We’ll get you on the
road.”
Mike was a short, stocky man with a swarthy complexion and
dark hair. There was nothing southern about either his manner
or speech and, Steve was pleased to note, he moved efficiently
and without indolence. He led the way through the doors, followed
by the manager, and he snatched a dark coat off the coat rack
and pulled on a black cap. “O.K., Mister,” he said. “You want to
ride, we’ll ride.”
“Take the Caddy,” the manager told him. “I’ll fill out the form.
Your name, sir?”
“Caine. C-A-I-N-E. Steve Caine.” Steve pulled out his wallet
and counted out fifty dollars. “Here’s the bonus and you can fill
out the form afterwards. What’s the rate?”
“Ten dollars an hour for the first four hours or any part thereof.
Two-fifty a quarter and eight an hour after that. Wait and I’ll
give you a receipt.”
“You can keep the receipt,” Steve said. “I trust you.” He went
over to the Cadillac as it swung around and climbed in beside
the driver.
“Where is it you’re going?” Mike said as he rolled through the
doors.
“After a bus heading for Jax.”
 120 Girl on the Run
“One of those, huh? How much head start has it got?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“That’s not good.” He was in traffic now, moving north. “We
can’t pick up much on them on the open road. All we can do is
gain when they stop.”
“Just so long as we gain.”
“Yeah,” said Mike. “We’ll gain. We might even catch them in
five or six hours.”
“Whereabouts would that be, just outside Jacksonville?”
Mike laughed. “Jacksonville is three hundred and fifty miles
away. That’s a nine hour trip. We ought to make it before Day-
tona Beach.”

CHAPTER 20

It was a long ride and Steve was hungry but there was
no time to stop for something like a meal. Minutes were gems
and Steve conserved them like a miser.
He had no idea what the police were doing at that point and
he did not choose to find out. There was a radio in the car but he
wouldn’t have it on. A news broadcast about Cathy being on a
bus would arouse Mike’s suspicions and her later appearance
would confirm them. Steve didn’t want to dismiss Mike on get-
ting to Cathy. The car was expensive but also reasonably safe and
he didn’t want to switch to something else till they were out of
the danger zone.
The ride was on the Florida Turnpike which Mike said would
serve them to Ft. Pierce and it presented a view of flat, undevel-
oped Florida terrain. That was for the first hour, before darkness
closed in. Thereafter there was nothing to see but the lights of
other cars and the periodic appearance of the toll stations.
Most of the time they rode in silence. Steve was not conversa-
tionally inclined and at the speed Mike was traveling, driving
required his careful attention. The bus schedule lay open on
Girl on the Run 121

Steve’s lap and he made constant references to it under the dash

light, checking every town they by-passed, every detour the bus
had made for passengers. At Hollywood he said they had gained
eight minutes, at Fort Lauderdale, eleven. By the time they got
to West Palm Beach, just before eight thirty, they had picked up
twenty-seven and were only eighteen minutes behind. “There’s
a fifteen minute rest stop at Melbourne,” he said. “They stop
there from ten thirty-five till ten fifty. Think we can get there by
ten thirty-five?”
“Melbourne?” Mike said. “Yeah. I think so.”
They went on through the night, passing town after town, little
neon lights on the dark map of Florida. They went by the exit
for Stuart at 9:15 and when they left the parkway at Ft. Pierce
to pick up route 1, it was 9:38. The bus was not far ahead of
them.
“Ought to get there between ten twenty and ten thirty-five if
all goes well,” Mike said when they left Ft. Pierce behind. “We
might catch up to her in Grant. That’s about ten miles south of
the post stop but we’re going to have to get some gas. You caught
us on too short notice. They didn’t have this buggy ready to roll.”
Steve mumbled curses and said, “O.K., but don’t go in a station
that’s crowded and don’t get more than we need. I don’t want to
miss them.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get to the post stop first.” Mike didn’t share
Steve’s urgency nor realize it would be advisable to snatch Cathy
off the bus before the post stop if possible. It would be galling
to have her arrested one stop before they reached her.
Mike pulled into a gas station in Wabasso and came up along-
side the pumps. “Ten gallons, Bud.”
Steve glanced inside and saw a counter boasting an assortment
of candy bars, sandwiches and soda pop. He made a quick trip in
and picked up a minced ham, egg salad, and tuna sandwich,
paid the old woman who waited on him and got back into the
car. Mike was leaning comfortably against the seat, his eyes
closed, listening to the strains of a popular tune that floated out
into the closed interior of the car from the radio speakers. “Music
sounds good,” he said. “Especially when you got front and back
speakers like in this buggy.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed without pleasure. “Sandwich?”
 122 Girl on the Run
"Thanks. Don't mind if I do."
The man clamped the gas cap back on and came around to
wipe the windshield. Steve nudged Mike. "Lets go."
"Belay that," Mike said to the man. "We gotta go.” He handed
the methodical, slender figure in coveralls a bill.
"Ah’ll go get change,” the man drawled.
"The hell with the change. Keep it,” Steve said. "Get going,
Mike.”
Mike howled. "That’s a fin I gave him. Well make it. We got
plenty of time.”
"Move, Mike,” Steve growled. "I’ll pay you back. Get going.”
"It’s your dough,” Mike said and started off. “What’s your hurry
anyway?”
“My kid sister’s running away. She wants to marry some Army
corporal. The guy’s no good. You know the Army.”
Mike laughed. "Sure I do. Them jokers don’t know the score. I
oughtta know. I saw enough of ’em. I was in the Navy,” he added
proudly.
"That so?” said Steve, pretending he hadn’t guessed it, and
unobtrusively reached forward to turn off the radio. The ten fif-
teen station break would be coming on and there might be a
news broadcast. "What were you?”
"Electrician third. I was stationed in Miami for a while. That’s
how come I moved down here after I got out. I come from Penn-
sylvania originally.”
"No palm trees in Pennsylvania,” Steve said mechanically, his
mind and eyes on the road.
"That’s right, but the big thing is there’s no snow in Miami. I
hate snow. Used to love it as a kid, but I can’t stand it now.”
Steve didn’t answer. He noticed that Mike didn’t drive quite so
fast when he talked.
"Where’re you from?” Mike inquired.
“Upper New York originally. Can we spot the post house when
we go by?”
"I dunno. We’ll keep a sharp eye out. Maybe, if we pick up
the bus, we ought to stay behind it.”
They got to Grant and Steve started looking sharply but they
had not caught it yet. According to his timetable they were still
three minutes behind.
Girl on the Run 123
“We really gain on it going through towns,” Mike said, reading
his concern. “We ought to pick her up any time now.”
Malabar was next but still no bus. It was nearly ten twenty-five.
They got out of the town on the open road and Mike opened her
up to seventy-five again. Then he said, “That her way up
ahead?”
Steve had already spotted the collection of moving red and
yellow lights that appeared occasionally beyond the cars be-
tween. “Either that or a truck.”
“A truck doesn’t go that fast. I think that’s it.”
They gained on it slowly, whipping by the intervening cars
and their certainty grew. Steve’s pulse quickened. It was the bus
all right but that was only half the battle. He was too old a hand
at tracking to count Cathy in his grasp yet.
Now it was only three hundred yards ahead of them as it
swerved out to pass a car. Mike pulled past too and, at eighty,
closed the gap. “Want me to pass it?”
“Better stay behind it. I don’t want to miss the post stop.”
Mike eased his foot on the accelerator and contented himself
with matching the bus’s speed, holding himself fifty yards to the
rear, passing the cars the bus passed, slowing when it slowed.
The road was straight and there was no danger of getting caught
back of a creeping car and falling behind.
It was nearly ten thirty-five when the bus’s brake lights came
on and the heavy transport decelerated. Steve was glad they had
not gone by. The post house was a cabin on the side of the road
surrounded by a flat dirt parking area and, while there were lights
inside, there was no sign, no public advertisement of its purpose.
Steve and Mike would certainly have missed it.
The bus pulled off the road in a slow sweeping curve and
came to rest twenty feet in front of the lighted doorway of the
cabin. Mike, following slowly, went beyond and pulled onto the
dirt near the farther edge, pointing the car toward the road.
“What’s the order now, Mr. Caine?”
“Shut off your lights and wait for me,” said Steve, getting out.
He walked quickly, hidden in the darkness, to a point behind
the bus where he could see the driver stepping down beside the
wide open door. It was a perfect spot, beyond the reach of the
cabin lights and, invisible himself, he could watch the passengers
 124 Girl on the Run

disembark. The driver stood by as they came out, an elderly

couple, two older women, a young man stretching and yawning,
some more women. One by one they emerged and trooped inside
in silence. The driver left and entered the building himself and
others still came out but Steve did not see Cathy.
At last the flow stopped as one last straggler stepped down
and the bus stood waiting, the lights on inside, but no further
trace of movement there. Steve waited another thirty seconds,
his face blank, his mind roaming the possibilities. Then he went
to the bus and stepped up into it carefully.
From the post house came the sounds of cups and spoons, the
muted hum of talk, the business of grabbing a bite, stretching
one’s legs, preparing for the next period of travel. In the bus
there was silence but it was not quite empty. Steve could see
only the top of her head over the high seats but he exhaled with
relief. That was all he needed to see.
He shook his head and smiled faintly as he stepped down again
to the ground. He should have known she would choose to sit
in obscurity. He cleared his throat and stuck his head in the door.
“Sorry, Miss,” he said in a masked voice. “You’ll have to come out.
We have to refuel.” It wasn’t a convincing argument but with
Cathy it would serve. He heard her sigh and say, “All right,” and
he stepped back and off to one side.
He could hear her as she came down the aisle and he got his
first look as she bent and stepped carefully down the entrance
well and then, watching her footing, took a final step to the
ground. When she turned he was grinning at her.
For just a second she stared. Then her breath came out in an
astonished and horrified gasp. Her eyes went wide and she
swayed back against the open door. “You!”
The effect was as dramatic as any he had ever contrived and he
couldn’t resist the old cliche. “Doctor Livingston, I presume?”
The challenge was lost on her and so was his smile. She shrank
back, hopelessness and defeat on her face. Her voice was empty
of emotion when she whispered hoarsely, “How did you get
here?”
Steve stopped suddenly and cocked his head. His smile disap-
peared. “Do you hear that?” Both stood frozen for a moment
listening. There was no wind and the sound came in clearly from
Girl on the Run 125
the distance, the moaning wail of a siren. “Come on,” Steve said
and grabbed her wrist. “Those are cops.”
“Tm not going.”
He pulled her. “Don’t argue. That’s your death knell. Hurry.
I’ve got a car over here.”
She resisted as he dragged her. “Let them come,” she said
angrily. “Leave me alone. I’ll scream.”
He seized her by the anns and shook her. “You crazy fool,
don’t you know you’ll be dead in two weeks? I’m the only one
in the world who can save you! For the love of God, come on.”
“I’m not afraid to stand trial. I won’t be convicted.”
“You’ll never go to trial. You’ll be murdered in your cell. Don’t
ask me how I know, there isn’t time. Just come.”
Something in the urgency of his manner reached her. Besides,
the siren was drawing closer. She went with him then, reluctantly,
but without fuss.
“The driver thinks you’re my sister,” he said. “My name is Steve
Caine. Don’t give us away.” Then he had her at the door, pushed
her in the back and jumped in beside her. “Hurry it up, Mike,”
he said, “before she’s missed. Keep going north.”
“North?” said Mike in surprise and rolled off the gravel onto
the highway. “I thought we’d go back to Miami.”
“North. We have an aunt in Jacksonville. And you can slow it
down now, nice and easy. I don’t want to get there before
morning.”
“Yeah. O.K. Look, it’s going to cost you dough.”
“I’ve got the dough, don’t worry about it. I’ll put you up at a
hotel there and you can start back after you sleep. Just cruise
along and get us there.”
“O.K. I don’t get it, but O.K.”
They were on the road about thirty seconds when the siren
grew deafening and a police car screamed by, its tires whining
on the pavements, its engine wide open. Steve leaned to Cathy
and whispered, “What do you want to bet it turns in at the post
house and starts a search?”
Cathy shivered and whispered back, “It doesn’t matter. They’ll
get us anyway.”
“Not for a while yet, kitten. No one’s seen this car and we’ll
 126 Girl on the Run
gain a couple of hours while they search all the gullies and fields
for you.”
“What are you talking about my being murdered?”
Steve put a finger against her lips and pointed to the driver.
“Later,” he whispered. “Now try to get some sleep.”

CHAPTER 21

It was early Saturday morning when they got to Jack-

sonville and the sun was low in the sky, brushing away the cool
of night and bringing in the heat. They stopped in front of the
nearest hotel and Steve got rid of Mike, assuring him it was too
early to wake up the aunt and he and his sister would go there
later. He paid him off and gave him a ten dollar tip and he and
Cathy waved him goodbye and started to walk. Cathy’s hair
bothered Steve and he wanted to find the first available place
to cut it. He had contemplated cutting it in the car but he pre-
ferred to risk detection rather than let Mike witness the event.
Sooner or later Mike would find out who his passengers had been
and Steve didn’t want the news to get around that Cathy Sinclair
had had her hair cut.
They didn’t go into the hotel where Mike had left them but
took a bus to a less desirable section of town and found a run-
down hostelry called the Hotel Ames. The clerk was a fat man
with an open collar and unbuttoned vest who snored loudly
behind the desk. Steve stationed Cathy by the stairs and cau-
tioned her to keep her face toward the man, then went back and
hit the call bell sharply.
The man sat up with a jerk and blinked sleepily.
“Got a room for my wife and me?” Steve asked.
The clerk looked over at Cathy who stared him in the eye.
He stood up and leaned over the desk. “Where’s your luggage?”
“We don’t have any.”
Girl on the Run 127
“Oh. You and your wife, huh?” He looked from one to the other
again. “And at seven o’clock in the morning?”
“Look,” Steve said testily, “will you put us up or won’t you?”
“You gotta pay in advance without luggage.”
Steve produced a ten dollar bill. “Will this do you?”
The man looked at it, blinked again and grew warmer. “Yas,
I reckon it will just about do me. I suppose you want a double
bed?”
“That’s right.”
The man turned the register around and said, “Sign here.” He
watched while Steve wrote down, “Mr. and Mrs. Edward Jones,”
turned the book around and read it. “You ain’t got much origi-
nality, Mister.”
“That’s right.”
“I really ought to ask to see your marriage license.” He jerked
a thumb toward the girl. “Is she a minor?”
Steve said curtly, “Do you think I’m a moron?”
“You don’t have to be huffy,” the clerk said plaintively. “I gotta
think of my reputation.” He turned around and slowly pulled a
key off the rack. “How about 208? That’s on the second floor
facing the street.”
“O.K.” Steve picked it up and went to Cathy.
“Well?” she asked.
“We’re set. Turn around and go up the stairs and I’ll go behind
you so he can’t get a good idea of what you look like.” They
moved around and up the narrow staircase out of sight.
The building was a firetrap well on the way to being con-
demned. The floor creaked under the worn ruddy carpet, the
wallpaper was peeling, the doors didn’t fit the warped frames.
When Steve rattled the key into the lock, Cathy said, “And which
is my room?”
“This is it,” Steve said.
“And where is yours?”
“This is it,” Steve said.
“Oh.”
Steve pushed open the door and let Cathy go through. She
stepped in coolly and paused. “Oh. A double bed too. How
charming.” Then she turned around, stuck her hands on her hips
and cocked her head at him. She wasn’t angry. The expression
 128 Girl on the Run
on her face was one almost of awe. "Sheriff Shapely was pretty
bad,” she said, "but compared to you he’s an amateur.” Then the
anger began to show. "Do you really—can you honestly be so
stupid and conceited as to think I’ll put up with this?”
Steve locked the door and waved a hand. “Look, I’m tired,”
he said. "I want the clerk to think just what you think. It s going
to help keep his mind off any other reason we might have for
being here and it will also make him reluctant to notify the police
should such an idea cross his mind. He won’t want to put himself
in a bad light.”
"Very pat,” Cathy said scornfully. "You always were one to tell
convincing stories. Like the one about my life being in danger if
I didn’t go with you.” She stepped forward. “Will you kindly
unlock the door?”
"I will not. Can’t you get it through your head that I can’t af-
ford to have you picked up by the police?”
"It seems to me,” she retorted coolly, “that that is a good deal
more my problem than it is yours. And if I may say so, a jail cell
is infinitely more preferable than sharing a room with you.”
"It is not your problem. Don’t you know that if you get con-
victed for murder I’m convicted too? Don’t you realize that
knowingly aiding and comforting a criminal makes me a party
to the crime? In the eyes of the law I’ll be just as guilty as you.”
"I,” said Cathy, "will be more than glad to assure any jury that
what you have done constitutes neither aid nor comfort. Now,
may I go?”
"You most certainly may not. I’ve stuck my neck in a noose
rescuing you from Shapely. I’ve stayed up all night and spent
nearly a hundred and fifty dollars of our money to keep him from
getting you back again. Do you think I am now going to say good-
bye after all the trouble I went through to find you?”
“How did you find me by the way?”
"If you really want to know, I just thought, ‘What would I do
if 1 were a stupid moron?’ Then I did the same things a stupid
moron would do and there you were.”
“Yes? Thanks.”
"And you’re still a moron. Do you think I’m going to all this
trouble to keep you from getting tried? I’m trying to keep you
from getting murdered.”
Girl on the Run 129
“That’s very white of you I’m sure.”
“It’s for my own sake, believe me. If you’re found dead in your
cell from an apparent suicide attempt I don’t have a prayer of
convincing anyone I didn’t aid and abet a murderess.”
“More fairy stories, Mr. Gregory? Now who is going to get into
my cell and murder me?”
“Shapely, of course. Hasn’t it dawned on you yet that he killed
your aunt?”
Cathy went over and sat on the edge of the bed. Her breath
went out of her all at once. “Now you really are crazy.”
“Am I? Wasn’t it a hunting knife you saw in your aunt’s back?
He wasn’t wearing it in Miami but I’m sure you must have
noticed the one he carries in his belt.”
To his surprise, Cathy began to laugh. It was a tinkling musical
laughter filled with genuine amusement and she rocked on the
bed. “Oh, now really,” she said, trying to control herself. “Is that
why you’ve been doing all this?” She shook her head and looked
at him mockingly. “Do you have any idea how many hunting
knives there are in White River? There are as many as there are
boys over eight years old. Hundreds. And all alike.”
Steve was not amused. “It’s Shapely,” he said with finality.
Her laughter faded and she looked at him more closely. “Why?
He had nothing against Auntie. He liked her. He really did.”
At least he had her willing to listen. “All right,” he said more
calmly. “If I must draw diagrams, I must. Have you ever asked
yourself why someone would come in and murder your aunt,
then run out of the house for a brief intermission before coming
back to murder you? Haven’t you wondered why he didn’t wait
and tackle you when you came downstairs?”
She looked pensive and thoughtful.
“Let’s take a look at this guy Shapely. He’s been trying to make
you warm up to him for years. But you won’t. You scorn him.
You make him feel like the dirt he is. He hates you for that but he
can’t leave you alone. He can’t stay away from you and that’s his
trouble. He’s obsessed with you and you despise him and he
can’t stand it. He’s an arrogant man and you destroy his self-
esteem. He’s got to get back at you, bend you to his will, at least
get fear from you if not respect. He can’t even do that. You don’t
show him fear and you foil his attempts at force. The more he’s
 130 Girl on the Run
foiled the more desperate he becomes—and the more futile—until
you project upon him the crowning ignominy and leave him
sprawled and helpless in a mud pond. Kid, from that moment
on, even raping you wouldn’t satisfy him. It would take more
than that to even the score. That’s why he tried to draw his
gun, and he couldn’t even do that.
“It’s easy to figure out his plan after that. He decided to sneak
into your house in the dead of night, counting on your aunt’s
deafness and her illness to keep her out of the picture, and put
a knife in you. Then, as sheriff of the county, he would be called
in to solve the case. He’d fail, of course, or, if necessary, he
could set up some disreputable bum for a fall guy. Either way
that was going to be his revenge.”
Cathy, sitting on the bed with her chin in her hands, her el-
bows on her knees, looked up. “Well then, why didn’t he do it?”
“He thought he did. Only you and your aunt had switched
rooms. Remember? I’ll bet it’s something the sheriff didn’t know.”
He saw her eyes growing wider. “That’s where he went wrong,”
Steve said grimly. “He crept into that room in the dark and he
thought you were in that bed. Whether he meant to tell you who
he was before he killed you, only he knows, but your aunt woke
and screamed and he had to act fast. He struck.
“So what do you think his reaction was when, the moment after
he stabbed her, he hears you leap out of bed shouting, ‘Auntie’?
He’s just murdered an innocent woman and he’s going to be
caught in the act. He panics. He doesn’t even pull out the knife.
He just bolts.
“So then he’s outside and after a while he gets calmed down
enough to think. He begins to realize the spot he’s in. It’s his
knife in your aunt’s back with his fingerprints. Worse than that.
You’ll be the one to find her. You’ll be the one to call the police.
And his being sheriff won’t do any good with all that evidence
against him. That’s more than he can cover up. So you’ll be
responsible for his downfall. How do you think that’s going to set
with him? If there’s one thing he’s going to make sure of in this
fife, it’s your death. He’s going to kill you if it’s the last thing he
ever does.
“Back he goes to the house and he searches it for you top to
bottom, with his gun out this time, and a flashlight. But he’s
Girl on the Run 131

balked again. He can’t find you and he comes to the only con-
clusion he can. You’ve fled in terror and won’t come back. He
starts thinking then, if that’s the case, you look guilty. If he can
rig a little evidence along those fines it won’t be hard to persuade
the townspeople that you did your aunt in. You aren’t popular
with the natives. They never understood you. Point a finger and
they’ll be glad to believe the worst. They’ll believe they knew it
all along.
“So he pulls out his hunting knife and substitutes a breadknife,
knowing your prints will be on it, and he gets one of your night-
gowns and dips the front of it in blood and buries it in the bottom
of your hamper. Then he gets out of there and goes home.”
Cathy sat very still for a long moment. Then she said hesi-
tantly, “It could have been done that way. I’m sure he didn’t
know Auntie and I had swapped rooms. But nobody else did
either. It doesn’t have to be the sheriff. Anyone else could have
done exactly the same thing.”
“But nobody else wanted to kill you, Cathy. Don’t forget that.
And, if it weren’t Shapely, then why was he riding around with
one of his deputies the next day? He always drove alone but on
that particular day, when he’d like a witness to see him find the
body and uncover the clues, he had his car fixed and rode with
the local deputy. Shapely made a big point of that witness, Cathy.
He tried to drag me out to the guy’s home to hear him back up
the story.
“He was lucky, Cathy, in that though you’d come back to the
house you hadn’t destroyed his evidence. Instead you left the
empty sugar bowl on the table with your prints as an additional
strike against you. The key, though, are your prints on the bread-
knife. He didn’t tell me how they were placed and I’ll bet any-
thing he’s keeping that quiet. They’ll be on there the way you’d
hold the knife putting it in a drawer, not the way you’d hold it to
stab someone. With his brother-in-law defending you, that would
never be brought out.”
Cathy nodded. “I never thought I’d be suspected until I saw
the papers in Miami. And then I couldn’t understand why. Noth-
ing was said about the breadknife.”
Steve pulled over the wooden chair from beside the bureau
and sat on it backwards. “Now do you see the spot you’re in?
 132 Girl on the Run
Everybody’s convinced you murdered your aunt. It’s an open and
shut case. I never questioned it myself till you said ‘hunting
knife’. He has everything the way he wants it except he doesn’t
have you.”
“But I don’t see why he’d want me,” Cathy said. “I can tell about
the breadknife. I can get him in trouble.”
“He wants to make you pay. He killed a woman because of you
and he won’t rest till he kills you too. You wouldn’t tell about
the breadknife. You wouldn’t get him in trouble because you’d
never come to trial. He’d kill you in your cell and call it suicide.
Didn’t you hear him mention that in the taxicab? He was already
laying the groundwork for that idea. That’s why I rode with you.
To take you away from him. When I saw he didn’t have the Miami
police with him, that he was going to by-pass extradition pro-
ceedings altogether, that he was, in effect, kidnapping you back
to New Hampshire, that was all I could do.”
“Extradition?” Cathy said slowly. “I didn’t even know about
that.”
“I did. I was counting on it and the Miami police to delay
things till I could get up to White River and get some evidence.
But he’d outsmarted me so all I could do was play along and keep
him Blinking I was on his side till I could take you away from
him. You’d have been dead in three days if you’d got on that
plane.”
Cathy shuddered and stared at the floor. “But what am I going
to do?”
“First we’re going to cut your hair. Then we’re going to give
you a permanent. Then we’re going to sneak out of this hotel
and find a new place where nobody’s seen you with long hair.
Then I’m going to call up the chief. That will end all our prob-
lems. Brandt is boss of one of the biggest detective agencies in
the world. You think the FBI is good? You should see Brandt. He
knows every trick there is. And when he finds out Shapely tried
to play him for a sucker, tried to trick him into helping a mur-
derer get away with his murder, he’ll blow sky high. He’ll bury
us so deep the police won’t ever find us, and he’ll send agents to
White River and they’ll poke around until they turn up enough
to hang the sheriff. Brandt’s a terror when his agency’s reputation
Girl on the Run 133

is at stake. He’ll get Shapely in a hurry. And when he does, then

you and I can walk out into the sunshine once more.”
“All right, but are you sure it’s Shapely? Are you absolutely
positive? Because if you’re ever wrong, it will be awful.”
“I’m sure. Aren’t you? You know the guy. Wouldn’t he do it?
You heard a voice calling you that night. Wasn’t it his? You heard
footsteps. Weren’t they those of a heavy plodding man?”
She nodded. “I guess it’s the sheriff. I couldn’t recognize the
voice because it was a hoarse whisper but that’s the way he
would whisper. And, now that I think of it, it was a heavy man
I heard.”
Steve pulled the scissors and the home permanent kit out of
his pocket. “O.K., then we’ll get to work. Now do you understand
why you’ve got to stay out of the hands of the police?”
She nodded and smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I won’t run away
again.”

CHAPTER 22

Cathy’s hair, when she and Steve had finished with it,
was not the neatest looking thing in the world, but there was no
denying she did look different. The broad expanse of her fore-
head was now bare for Steve had removed the bangs. They were
too short to pin back so he did the only possible thing. He cut
them off entirely. The effect was not all that could be desired but
what it lacked in beauty it more than made up for in variety.
In back he cut her long locks off at shoulder length and the wave
raised the hair level still higher so that a thin white strip of her
neck was visible. Cathy moaned in dismay when she saw the
results but there was nothing that could be done about them
then.
When the revision had been completed, Steve explained pro-
cedure to her and they put it into practice. First Steve walked
down and out of the hotel, noting a new clerk on duty which
 v

134 Girl on the Run

pleasantly surprised him, then Cathy followed after a two minute
interval. She went to the nearest bus stop—where Steve stood
reading a paper—and boarded the bus ahead of him, asking
directions of the driver and getting a transfer. Steve waited be-
hind her, paid his own fare, got a transfer and settled in a
separate seat. He got off when she did.
They repeated the performance and boarded another bus and
Steve got off at a comer near the outskirts of town. Cathy left
the bus at the following stop and walked back. Steve strolled
half a block ahead and when he turned up the steps of a tourist
home, he slowed to let her catch up. She was with him when he
rang the bell and they rented a room together as Mr. and Mrs.
E. S. Wells.
The lady in charge, a gracious woman in her early fifties named
Mrs. Bleecker, showed them the room which faced on the street.
It contained twin beds with pink coverlets, pink flowered wall-
paper, two bureaus, easy chair, straight chair, and a chest at the
foot of one bed, “We’ll bring in our luggage later,” Steve told her.
“We left it at the station until we could find a place to stay.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” smiled the woman and carried the
smile over to Cathy who kept her hands so folded that the lack of
a ring would not be noticed. “Your towels are behind the door
and if there’s anything missing, be sure to let me know.”
“Certainly will,” said Steve, returning the smile with disarming
frankness. He watched the woman out, waited till the door
latched, then threw himself on the nearest bed. “God, I’m tired.”
Cathy smiled at him wanly. “And how long do we stay here,
Mr. Gregory?”
“You can call me Steve. I don’t mind.”
“I’m afraid I do. You insistently contrive to put us in the same
room together and I want to make it clear that the proximity
ends there. I hope we won’t be here long because I’m tired too
and I want to sleep.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d also like to take a bath and wash out my clothes.”
“Go ahead.”
Her smile was wan again. “Very funny, Mr. Gregory. Having
nothing else to get into, I’m rather at a disadvantage so long as
you insist on staying here.”
Girl on the Run 135
Steve got up and rubbed his eyes. “That’s all right, Cathy. I’m
going out anyway.”
Concern crossed her face. “Where?”
“Have you forgotten? I’ve got to get our luggage at the sta-
tion.’ Besides that, I’ve got to call the chief. I figure by nightfall
he ought to have agents down here and then we can let them
take over. Meanwhile, I’ll spend some of our fast-dwindling
money for some clothes and a couple of cheap suitcases.”
“How much fast-dwindling money do we have left?”
“Enough to carry us through till they get here. About a hun-
dred and twenty-five of your original eight hundred and three
hundred dollars of my own which won’t do us any good, plus
what you have left of Shapely’s bankroll.”
“What’s wrong with your money?”
“It’s all in travelers checks made out to Steve Gregory. I’ve
got to sign them to cash them and it so happens that the morning
paper which advertised this room also has big fat headlines about
that vile crook Gregory holding up a sheriff and stealing his
prisoner. I’m afraid I’m going to have to be a gigolo for a while,
Dear, and five off of you.”
“Great. I’ll have a lot to pay a lawyer with if I get caught.”
“If you get caught, you won’t need a lawyer and what are you
complaining about? Isn’t it worth it if I save you?”
She smiled. “Yes, Sir Galahad Again. But somehow I keep re-
membering that if it hadn’t been for you in the first place I
wouldn’t be here now.”
Steve said, “All right, you think about it in a hot tub and don’t
get your hair wet. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t make it too soon.”
He patted her on the shoulder as he went to the door. “You’re
O.K., Kid. You’ll do.”
“I’ll have to.”
“Oh, yes. What size clothes do you wear?”
Urp yy
ten.
“O.K. I’ll see you with a new wardrobe, you lucky girl you.”
He picked her handbag out of the chair and opened it. There
was a little over thirty of Shapely’s original forty dollars left and
he pocketed it. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t want to
 136 Girl on the Run
pay another hundred odd dollars to find you all over again.” He
smiled at her and closed the door behind him.
Steve went downtown before he did any telephoning. He
would have risked it closer to home but he had to make the trip
anyway so it was more convenient as well as safer. He got into
a booth in a drugstore, slid a dime in the slot and dialed the
operator. “I want to put in a person-to-person call to Charles F.
Brandt of the Brandt Detective Agency in Philadelphia. And
reverse the charges.”
The operator’s voice had a slow drawl to it like clear honey.
“Youah name please?”
“Just tell him ‘Steve’.”
“Thank you.”
For half a minute he could hear her voice making inquiries of
other operators and then she cut him off. Finally he was brought
in again and her honeyed voice said eloquently, “Heah is youah
party.” Then he heard Brandt’s angry and impatient voice.
“Hello, hello? Is that you, Gregory?”
“Yes. Hello, Mr. Brandt.”
“Mr. Brandt nothing. What the HELL are you doing?”
“There’s been a little trouble.”
“Trouble? I’ll say there’s been trouble, but it’s nothing like the
trouble you’re going to be in when I lay my hands on you. Do you
know what you’re costing tills detective agency in good-will and
business? I’ll skin you alive. I’ll tear your heart out with my bare
hands. I’m going to eat you for breakfast if it’s the last thing I
ever do. It’s all over the country that a Brandt detective held
up a sheriff and stole his prisoner. You—” He went into a streak
of obscenities and Steve held the phone at arm’s length and could
still hear every word. When Brandt said, “Hello, hello. Answer
me, damn you!” he put it back against his ear. “It was a little out
of the ordinary, Chief, I will admit.”
“Out of the ordinary? You’re God-damned right it’s out of the
ordinary. Who the HELL do you think you are, GOD?”
Steve got testy. “Now listen here, I didn’t call you up to hear
you swear. I did it because I’ve got something to tell you.”
“To hear me swear? What did you think I was going to do,
throw you a welcome mat? What you’ve done to this detective
agency I don’t even want to think. You’ve blackened our name
Girl on the Run 137

all over the world. But let me tell you this. When I get my hands
on you—and believe me Tm going to get my hands on you—what
you’ve done to us is wheat-chaff to what I’m going to do to you.
I’ll prosecute you personally. I’ll send you up for the limit and
when you get out, if you ever get out, your name will be so black
you’ll never get another job in this or any other business.”
Steve said, “Now you’re going to listen to me. I’m no fool and
you know it. I didn’t stick up the sheriff because I wanted to be
smart. I did it because the girl is innocent. The girl did not do it.
The sheriff did. The sheriff’s the murderer and he’ll kill the girl
if he can get his hands on her. Now you take back what you said.”
“Take it back?” Brandt roared. “Because you’ve gone and fallen
for the broad?” He ran through another stream of obscenities to
describe what he thought of that. “You lousy, no-good, calf-eyed
teenager,” he finished, “who told you she didn’t do it? The girl,
I’ll bet. And the sheriff being the murderer. That’s your idea.
Only you could dream up that angle. Even the girl wouldn’t have
the crust to palm that one off. She’d know you wouldn’t swallow
that. But you, you God-damned idiot-bastard, have the nerve to
think I will. What did she do to you anyway, slip a love potion
in your soup? I’m telling you, turn that girl over to the police
right now and then you beat it back here to Philadelphia just as
fast as you can fly!”
“I will like hell,” roared Steve. “She’s innocent.”
“So’s my Aunt Fanny. Your job was to find her, not try the
case. Get rid of her and get back here and maybe I’ll go a little
easy with you.”
“I will like hell. The sheriff will hang her in her cell.”
Brandt took a mollifying tone, the kind one takes when trying
to reason with an unreasonable being. “O.K., Steve. Maybe you’re
right. Tell you what. You give up the girl and we’ll assign agents
to keep an eye on her and that sheriff. How’s that?”
Steve wasn’t mollified at all. “That’s nothing. I want you to keep
her under cover and send agents up to investigate the sheriff.
That’s what I want you to do.”
Brandt’s voice came up in a bellow again. “How’s that? Now
you want us to cooperate with you in holding out on the police?
It’s not bad enough to have one member of the organization
dragging us down, now you want us all to get in the act. You
 138 Girl on the Run
want to run us out of business, huh?" He let go another stream
of curses. “I’m warning you,” he said. “Don’t make me go down
there after you.”
“Go to hell,” growled Steve.
“Because, if I do, you’ll wish you’d never been born. You’ve got
my terms. I’ll give you one hour to telephone me that you’ve
turned the girl over to the police.”
“I can’t do that. The police are looking for me too.”
“Stop stalling. I know as well as you do you can do it without
getting caught. One hour, Gregory, that’s all. If you don’t call
back in one hour, I’m going to turn the agency loose on you. You
hear me? I’ll turn the whole agency loose.”
“Turn them loose,” Steve said, “and the hell with you.”
“You’ll be tracked down before you go two hundred miles.”
“Save it for your advertising circulars,” said Steve and banged
down the phone.
He stood there staring blankly at the mouthpiece for a full
minute and the perspiration was rolling down his face. It was hot
in that cramped booth but not hot enough for that. He got out
his pipe and put it in his mouth, then he wiped the wet backs of
his hands against his trousers. His anger and frustration were
wearing off and he was coming face to face with the cold facts.
There was no one he could turn to, no one who could help. What
was worse, the agency was not merely neutral, it was ranged on
the side of the police against him. That was the worst of it. The
police he didn’t fear but the agency—. When Brandt said he was
turning the agency loose it was God unleashing the flood.
Brandt’s men were the best there were. They knew him and they
knew his training for they had been trained in the same way.
They would think the way he thought, would move the way he
moved. They weren’t like the police whom you could fool because
they didn’t know your background and habits. These men weren’t
cops. They didn’t direct traffic, do desk work, walk beats and
spread their talents over a number of fields. They concentrated
on one thing—finding people and finding things. It would be very
difficult to keep them from finding him.
CHAPTER 23

Steve got back to the room about one thirty. With him
he carried two small inexpensive suitcases, the ‘luggage from
the station’, should Mrs. Bleecker be around. The door was un-
locked and when he pushed it open, he found Cathy stretched
out on her stomach on the bed, clad only in her slightly soiled
white dress. Her legs and feet were bare and her underthings
were drying over a chair back in front of the open window.
When he closed the door behind him and set down the bags,
Cathy stirred into wakefulness, pulled up her head and twisted
around. She went flat again quickly, one eye disappearing in the
coverlet over the pillow, the other staring at him helplessly. “I’m
not dressed,” she said. “You can’t come in.”
Steve smiled at her wearily. “I’ve got something for you,” he
said, put one suitcase on the chair and opened it, pulling out a
blue cotton wrapper. “Here, put this on and feel better.” He
threw it to her but her eye was watching him rather than the
dressing gown. She sat up gingerly, turning her back to him, felt
behind her for his present and then slipped into it, tying the sash
about her waist and feeling more secure. She turned around
again.
“Thank God for modesty,” Steve said without enthusiasm. To
him it was like worrying about who hadn’t anteed in a poker
game while bombs were falling.
Cathy had a different view. “I know what you’re trying to
do,” she said. “You’re trying to break me down through familiar-
ity, Mr. Gregory, and it’s not going to work.”
“That’s right,” said Steve. “I’ve done all this so I can make a
pass at you.” He put the suitcase on the floor, sank into the chair
and closed his eyes. Perhaps she couldn’t be blamed. Every man
she had ever known had had that thought in mind. He sighed
and said, “I got you some other things. You can look them over.”
Instead, she pushed his shoulder and made him lean forward.
 140 Girl on the Run
He was sitting against her underthings. She pulled them away and
felt of them. She said, “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten in days.”
Steve said, Tm tired. I haven’t slept in days.”
“If you’ll give me some money you can go to sleep and I’ll go
out and eat.”
“We can’t,” he said. “We’ve got to move again.”
“Again? Why? We just got here.”
“We’re fugitives. We can’t stick in one place. We have to keep
going.” Then he told her about his phone call and she sat on the
bed, kneading her underwear in her lap, while she listened.
“Now we’ve got the old man after us,” he said, “and we’re really
in hot water. He knows my phone call came from Jacksonville
and he’ll have every available agent down here by nightfall. It
seems I’ve given the agency a bad name and he’s like a man
possessed. He’s going to do everything to get us.”
“Then why don’t we get out of Jacksonville?”
“Because he’ll have notified the police by now and they’ll be
watching all exits. In the second place, we’re practically broke.
I spent seventy dollars today and we’ve only got about sixty-five
left. Moreover, that’s exactly what everybody expects us to do.
We’ve got to try to gain time. We’ve got to hole up until the heat’s
off.”
“All right. Why don’t we do it here?”
“Because Mrs. Bleecker’s seen me. We’ve got you somewhat
disguised but I’m not. All Brandt’s agents know me cold. What’s
more, Brandt will send pictures down. They’ll be in the papers.
Now Vm the one who’s got to be careful. You’re all right. Nobody
knows what you look like but by tomorrow, everybody in Jack-
sonville will know what I look like.”
Cathy leaned forward earnestly. “What are you going to do?”
Steve pushed himself out of the chair and went slowly to the
other suitcase. “I’ve got to become a completely different person.
I’ve got to learn to walk differently, change my taste in clothes,
alter my face and figure. If we can hide out for a week I can
grow a mustache.”
He pulled his own collection of clothes out of the bag. There
was a gaudy sports jacket two sizes too big, a pair of striped pants
much too large around the waist, a couple of flowered sports shirts
that also would hang on him, tennis shoes, a belt, a pillow, a
Girl on the Run 141

pillowcase, some toilet articles and a pair of barber’s clippers.

Cathy looked at those and said, “What are they for?”
“To cut my hair. I’m going to be bald-headed.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m going to be a bald-headed, sagging guy of about fifty who
winks at the girls and walks with his toes pointed out. We’re
going to shave the top of my head right now before we leave
and I’ve even got a hat to wear out of here so Mrs. Bleecker
won’t know it. Then, when we go to the next place, I’ll be minus
the hat and a different character.”
“But,” said Cathy hesitantly, “if everybody’s looking for us,
won’t they try all the tourist houses and hotels and all that?”
“Probably. We’re going to rent a furnished room and stay
there until I think it’s safe to cash in these travelers checks.”
“Then what? We can’t live forever like this.”
“Then we’re going back to White River and look for something
that will convict Shapely. It’s the only tiling we can do. I’d rather
not take you with me but I don’t see any help for it. There’s no
place I can leave you where Brandt or the cops won’t pick you
»
up.
Cathy said, “I don’t see why not. Nobody knows what I look
like any more.”
Steve shook his head. “You don’t know Brandt. You don’t have
enough know-how to hide out a week. Finding you is the easiest
tracing job I ever had and it would be just as easy for any other
agent.”
Cathy flushed and was quiet. Steve said, “Well, let’s get the
shearing job over with. You’re going to have to help me change
into a bald-headed man. We’ll clip the top of my head and then
shave it, but not low enough for it to show underneath the hat.
It will look genuine at a distance although it will look funny close
up since we can’t get a thinning effect where the hair starts up
again. When we get settled though, we’ll shave me down to the
short hairs and that will stand close inspection better.”
Cathy looked a little pained at the idea and he laughed at her.
“I won’t look so good, but the idea ought to work. A guy I was
tracing pulled it on me and threw me off for a week.” He drew
the chair up in front of the bureau mirror and directed Cathy
in procedure and she went to work. She clipped a path across the
 142 Girl on the Run
top of his head back to the crown and he checked it with his
Panama hat. When enough of the area had been mowed down
almost to the scalp, she soaped and shaved it. The effect was not
too good but it made her laugh. “You look funny.”
Steve grinned back. “IPs a habit of mine. But the main tiling
is I do look different.”
“Can I save a lock of your hair? If we ever come out of this I
want something to remember it by.”
“Help yourself. IPs all yours,” he said pointing to the mess on
the daily paper they had spread around the chair. He looked at
the mirror and grimaced, tried on the hat which made him look
normal again, and grinned. “That should deceive Mrs. Bleecker.
Now all 111 have to do is take off my hat in front of the real estate
agent and I’ll be Ernest Cartwright, salesman for a rug com-
pany.”
“Does it have to be Ernest? I don’t like that name.”
“Ernest Stephen. Steve for short.” He got up. “Now for the pil-
lowcase and my big fat stomach.”
Steve produced a needle and thread, held the pillowcase
against him and marked what part of the corners should be sewn
off so that the space left for stuffing would follow the contours
of his body. He let Cathy do the sewing and he ripped open the
pillow for its stuffing. Cathy shook her head in amazement. “You
think of everything.”
“I’ve got to. This isn’t a football game where we can say we’ll
do better next year. This is a game we have to win. Look.” He
held up another item. “I even bought you a wedding ring. Five
and a half is your ring size, I hope.”
Cathy’s expression became grimmer. “Why do you have to keep
posing me as your wife? I could be your sister just as well and
have separate rooms.”
“It’s strategy. I’m not worried about the police, but I know
Brandt’s agents. They’ll check up on you in White River the way
I did. One thing they’re going to find is that you’re not the kind
of girl who would pennit this kind of an arrangement. Therefore,
you’re going to permit it. In this business you have to play per-
centage. You’re never really safe and you never know when
something will expose you. The only recourse is to cut the
chances down as close to zero as possible.”
Girl on the Run 143

When the pillowcase had been sewn to specifications, Steve

crammed the stuffings inside, had Cathy sew up the opening, then
went into the bathroom down the hall and held the puffy bag in
place down the front of him. When he put the undershirt and his
shorts over it, it looked smoother and more natural. He got into
the new trousers and buckled the belt tight enough so the pillow
bulged a little above and below. He donned a loud sports shirt
and tucked that in, put on the jacket and studied himself. The
effect was very good. He looked like a soft, slightly obese,
middle-aged man with an odd-looking bald head.
He went back to the room and started throwing things into the
suitcases. “I guess we can risk it now. Ill keep the hat on when
we leave and you can handle the details so I can stay in the
background. Then well go down to that real estate office.”
“What if they don’t have a place for us?”
“They have,” said Steve. “I called them while I was out and
told them that I was Ernest S. Cartwright and that I had written
them two weeks ago from Ohio and why hadn’t I heard from
them about the apartment I wanted?” He laughed. “They were
very much upset because they couldn’t find my letter and I raised
hell with them and they said they’d have something that would
satisfy me this afternoon.”
“But why did you do that? Now hell remember us.”
“Of course, but hell remember me as a bald-headed man from
Ohio with high blood pressure who’s moving down here to relax
and who applied for the room two weeks before Steve Gregory
held up Sheriff Shapely. Brandt’s men will be poking around
down here and they’ll be investigating anybody who rents any-
thing as of today on. I want to establish that we applied long
ago.”
Cathy shook her head and sat down on the bed. “We aren’t
going to get away with it. I know we aren’t. It’s hopeless. They’re
going to find us, Steve. I know they are.”
“Not if we keep moving and keep obscuring the trail.” He
chucked her under the chin and said, “Put on your wedding ring
and let’s go. And, above all, be cheerful. You’ve got to smile a lot
and laugh a lot. Brandt’s men are going to be looking for a melan-
choly girl. Be happy.”
She managed a weak smile. “How can I? I’m scared.”
 i

144 Girl on the Run

“Pretend you’re a great movie actress. Live the part. You’re
the wife of a man who’s down here for the rest cure. Forget every-
thing else but that. You’re concerned about my health but you’re
cheerful just the same. Call me Steve if you can’t help yourself,
but try to get in the habit of calling me Ernie. Let’s go.”
Her smile was a little more genuine. He did look funny with
that shaved head and the padding around his waist and those
atrocious clothes. There was humor in their situation despite its
seriousness. She stood up. “All right, Ernie.”

CHAPTER 24

The apartment Mr. Lederer of the agency showed them

was two rooms and bath in a poor section of town. It wasn’t much
and he was very apologetic. Something had gone wrong with the
mails and this was the best they could produce in the fifty a
month price range on short notice.
Steve, who removed his hat only when he was at a distance
and kept it on when close to Mr. Lederer, allowed as how Jack-
sonville wasn’t much better than Chillicothe. Bigger, perhaps,
and warmer, but the living conditions didn’t present much of an
improvement.
“This is a wonderful place to rest though,” Mr. Lederer in-
sisted and went on to explain that tourists and travelers would
frequent other parts of town. “Here you get the natives in their
own habitat. Here you won’t be disturbed.”
Cathy, who also looked a little disappointed, said she thought
perhaps they should have gone on to Miami but Mr. Lederer
was firm on that. “You couldn’t get anything for this price in
Miami. Maybe you could now with the season over but, believe
me, Mrs. Cartwright, fifty dollars will take you a lot farther in
Jacksonville than it will in Miami any time of year. You wouldn’t
get half this much room down there.”
Girl on the Rim 145
When they were rid of Mr. Lederer and also rid of a month’s
rent, Steve sank onto the cushions of the old sofa in their com-
bination kitchen, dining and living room. He looked through the
open door at the broad footboard of the big double bed in the
other room and sighed. “Maybe now we can rest up a little.”
Cathy followed his gaze and, now that the pressure was off,
turned to other urgent considerations. “I see, with your usual
foresight, when you arranged for this place you didn’t neglect
giving thought to our sleeping arrangements.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that double bed. Since you’ve so success-
fully convinced everybody we’re husband and wife, it looks as
though I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t approve.”
Steve said wearily, “We’ve been over all that, Cathy. I told you
why we do it this way. And if we had a choice, it so happens that
right now propriety is a luxury we can’t afford.”
“I know what you’ve told me. I also know you lie. And I also
think, Mr. Gregory-Cartwright, that you’re just despicable
enough to try to have a little fun while you’re going through this
routine of trying to save me. You’ve had more experience than
I and I have to take your word that this is necessary or that Mr.
Brandt won’t help you or that the sheriff will murder me if I go
back and, the way I’ve been brought up, that constitutes taking
advantage of a girl.” She was close to tears now. “If you want a
woman you can have thousands for the asking. Why do you pick
on me?”
Steve got up and went to her. He pulled her close to him
gently and rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You’re tired, I
know, and very hungry, and this is a lot for you to be going
through.” He held her close, feeling her body shake as she fought
down sobs. “It’s no fun, kitten, and you’re entitled to a reaction
but I’m not trying to make passes at you. You wouldn’t let me if
I did.”
“For how long?” she sobbed against his chest. “How long can
a girl hold out? Together day and night? How long does it take
before modesty becomes ridiculous, before it doesn’t seem to mat-
ter any more? And from there, how long before nothing seems to
matter?”
“Cathy, Cathy,” he said. “When are you going to get it into your
 146 ' Girl on the Run
head that I want to help you, not hurt you? God knows why.
Maybe I’m even in love with you.”
She drew away at that, her face wet with tears, her eyes nar-
rowed with new suspicion. “Oh, is that the approach now? It’s
love. That’s supposed to make it all right, is that it? Everything’s
fine because it’s love. It’s like your mother in Ohio, isn’t it? And
that wonderful job you were going to get me out there?”
Steve shrugged his shoulder. “All right,” he said. “Have it your
way. I’m a heel. I’ve got a one-track mind. I held up Shapely
just because I want to get you into that double bed.” He made
a face. “I don’t know why, of all the girls I have to get mixed up
with, it has to be somebody out of a Victorian novel. How
Shapely ever convinced the townspeople you stabbed your aunt
I can’t imagine. You’d be the type to knock before you entered.”
The tears were coming again but she didn’t try to stop them. “I
can’t help it,” she sobbed. “That’s the way I am. And you can’t
help being what you are either. That’s the—hell—of it.” She fled
into the bedroom and slammed the door.
Steve stood there emptily, listening to the sound of sobbing in
the room beyond. He knew she was lying face down on the bed.
That would be the only position Cathy would take.
After a moment he went to the door and opened it. Cathy was
lying just as he’d predicted and said what he knew she’d say.
“Go away.” He went in and stood by the footboard looking
down at her slender shaking body and he wanted to gather her
into his arms and tell her he didn’t ever want to leave her, that
he couldn’t because he really was in love with her. There wasn’t
any 'maybe’ about it. But she wouldn’t believe him. She’d be
more convinced than ever it was part of a seduction routine.
He sighed and said simply, “I can’t go away. We’re stuck with
each other. We’ve got twenty dollars left and it’s got to last us
until it’s safe to cash my travelers checks. We’ll use it for food
but before I go out and get some, you’ve got to finish the job on
my hair. I can’t go out in public until I look naturally bald.”
Cathy rolled over and sat up, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Steve
—I mean Ernie. All right, let’s fix your hair.”
They finished the shaving job in the bathroom, Steve bending
over the washbasin while Cathy soaped and scraped, taking in-
ordinate pains not to cut him. When they were through, only the
I
Girl on the Rim 147
short hairs around the side and in the back remained. The job was
very convincing now, not perfect because it couldn’t be made
perfect, but near enough so that only the closest examination
would cause one to wonder what there was about it that looked
a little strange.
Then Steve stuck wads of cotton in his cheeks and under his
lower lip to fill out his face and he adopted a splay-footed walk
and altered his posture so that he settled on his pelvis, pushing
out his pillowed stomach ahead of him. Cathy said, “You don’t
look like you,” and he knew it was effective.
Cathy cooked their meal over the little two-plate electric
burner in the comer and they ate it on the battered dropleaf
table without benefit of doilies, a luxury the furnishings did not
afford. Steve had spent a dime on the latest editions and they
had that with them for reading material. Brandt had wasted no
time in going after him and Steve’s picture was on the front page
alongside a long article that headlined their presence in Jack-
sonville. The usual announcement that their recapture was
merely a matter of time was down at the bottom but nothing
that was given out for publication indicated that the police had
any idea of their whereabouts.
After dinner Steve washed the dishes in the bathroom and put
them away. Now, at long last, he could let himself think of sleep.
It was all there was to do. The apartment boasted not so much
as a magazine to read and the family finances, down to fourteen
dollars, would permit no expenditures on entertainment. That
was all right that first night for both Steve and the girl were so
tired they could hardly see.
When Steve came back from the dish-washing chore, Cathy was
sound asleep in the one overstuffed chair the living room boasted.
He smiled at her, found the necessary sheets and blankets in
the linen closet and made up the big double bed. He then
folded another sheet double on the couch, added a blanket, and
made a bed there. When it was ready, he touched Cathy on
the shoulder. She stirred and moaned and went off again and he
had to shake her into wakefulness. “Why don’t you tumble into
bed?”
She sat up yawning and blinking. “Bed?” She tried to grasp the
significance of the word.
 148 Girl on the Run
“Bed. In there. You know. Sleep?”
“Oh.” Her eye fell on the made-up couch. “What’s that?”
“That’s where I’m going to sleep. There’s no key to the bed-
room door but I guess you’re strong enough to move the bureau
in front of it to keep me from breaking it down.”
He led her to the bedroom and in the doorway released her.
“I’ve already brushed my teeth so I don’t expect I’ll have to
disturb you. If you wake up before I do, you can come in and
get breakfast, but don’t wake me. We don’t have anything to do
for a few days so I’m going to catch up on the sleep I’ve lost.”
She said, “You won’t be comfortable on the couch. Why don’t
I-”
“I could sleep on nails right now. Forget it. The bed is yours.”
She looked up at him uncertainly. “Am I being very silly?”
“No. Just careful.”
“If it weren’t a double bed—if there were two beds—”
“If I’m in the same room with you, you’re in danger.”
“I know,” she said and lowered her eyes. “It has to be like this.
I don’t dare get too close.”
Steve said tartly, “I’ll buy you a blackjack in the morning.”
“Oh no,” she said quickly, putting both hands on his arms. “I
didn’t mean that. You’ve done everything for me and you’ve
asked for nothing. It’s not you I’m afraid of now. I’m afraid of
myself. I owe you so much and I don’t know how to pay you.”
“I don’t take that kind of payment.”
She nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m not afraid of you any
more.”
They stood for a moment and he could have kissed her. She
would have permitted it. She might even have wanted it. He
didn’t. He smiled at her gently. “Good night, kitten.” He drew
the door slowly closed.
CHAPTER 25

They stayed in the apartment in their brother-sister

arrangement for eight days, till the first Monday in June. Each
morning Cathy would shave Steve’s head and each afternoon
Steve would venture forth for a brief walk to test the effective-
ness of his disguise and buy a little additional food and a paper.
His picture was prominent the first couple of days and the
articles were long and splashed across the front pages. As the
week wore on they became shorter and shorter, moving back
into the paper and by Thursday had ceased to exist. Whether
that meant the police were merely holding back on the public,
Steve couldn’t tell but to him it didn’t matter. What mattered
were Brandt’s agents.
On the second day he got a bad sunburn on the top of his bald
head but now it had turned into a healthy brown and he was
looking as though his baldness had been developing for years.
They were down to less than a dollar that Monday and all that
stood between them and starvation was Steve’s travelers checks
which were dangerous in that he had to sign his real name to
them.
The publicity phase of the case had passed however and he
felt reasonably sure that bank tellers would accept his name
without being struck by a note of familiarity. Had he been able,
he would have waited through another week but two things were
pushing him. One was lack of funds and the other was inactivity.
Eight days with nothing to do, nothing to read, unable even to
afford a movie, had almost driven him crazy. He had been
tempted to try cashing the checks on Friday but deliberately
held off over the weekend just because he was so driven. The
longer he waited the better his chances and he delayed till the
larder was empty and his hand forced.
On Monday morning he girded himself for the fray. His head
was freshly shaven, his padding in place, the cotton wads in his
 150 Girl on the Run

cheeks. By now there was also a small dark mustache adorning

his upper lip and the resemblance to the original Stephen Greg-
ory was so faint as to be almost non-existent. He strode boldly out
of the apartment and down the steps to the sidewalk below,
pointing his toes and settling back on his hips in a way that did
not look forced. He had timed it to arrive at a downtown bank
during the lunch hour so that he would have to wait in line. If
the teller were busy with other customers he would pay less heed
to this particular one.
He used one of his few remaining coins for bus fare and an-
other for a paper and settled himself against the window on the
street side, spreading open the paper and busying himself with
it while the bus made the run into the business section. Nobody
paid any attention to him, nor did he expect them to, and he
disembarked one block past the bank he was aiming for and
walked back slowly on the other side of the street. The sun was
out bright and hot, glaring on the pavements and bathing the
crowds around him. It was just after twelve and the streets were
thickly peopled.
He walked slowly, pointing his toes almost unconsciously by
now, walking with apparent aimlessness, but his eyes were dart-
ing. He saw the policeman on the corner and the squad car com-
ing down the street. He saw everyone who looked at him and
noticed whether the glance was casual or sharp. He looked for
but did not see any trace of Brandt’s men. Brandt’s detectives
had one advantage over the local police in that they knew him
personally. They needed no photograph to sharpen their mem-
ory and they knew his tricks. But that advantage was double-
edged and if they knew him, he also knew them. They alone might
see through his disguise but it would take time whereas he would
spot them instantly. Nowhere he looked, however, could he see
one and he crossed the street under the nose of the cop to the
shaded sidewalk in front of the bank.
To anyone watching, he looked like someone who knew where
he was going, moving in no great hurry but without hesitation.
Inwardly, however, Steve was very hesitant. It wasn’t fear that
made his outpointed feet drag just a little on the granite steps,
but the sense of a trap. On the outside he could trust to his fleet
legs if need be. Once through those doors he could be cut off.
Girl on the Run 151

If the bank tellers were on the lookout for someone cashing trav-
elers checks—. He would be watching for the slightest sign on a
teller’s face and, if necessary, make a hasty exit. In no case, how-
ever, could he afford to lose those checks.
He followed three other people through the heavy doors into
the air-conditioned interior. There was a high vaulted ceiling and
great stone columns in the savings department—a huge room to
the left of the entrance—and in front of all the tellers’ windows
people were lined. He could not have picked a better time for
anonymity.
He joined the shortest line and looked around him briefly,
then concentrated eyes front, narrowing his line of vision and
his own visibility to the formations of people on either side.
More men came in behind him, tightening the line. He shifted
from one foot to the other, feeling a certain insecurity about
the look of his bald head in the back.
Then he was at the window and his manner was casual as he
withdrew the booklet. “I’d like to cash some travelers checks.”
The teller, a middle-aged woman with the bland face of one
who didn’t read newspapers because they were too distressing,
smiled over her false teeth and said, “Certainly, sir.”
He managed a smile of his own. “I guess I’ll have to sign them
here.”
She handed him a pen through the bars of her window and
he stepped aside. “I’ll let someone else go through,” he volun-
teered and received another smile.
Writing on the ledge, he signed his last sixteen twenty-dollar
checks and stepped to the window once more as the other man
left, sliding them across the marble counter. This was the mo-
ment and he watched as the woman hemmed and hawed over
them, checking the signature against the original. Then she laid
them aside. “How do you want it?”
“Twenties will be all right,” Steve said.
She counted out the three hundred and twenty dollars and
slipped the bills back with another one of her sweet smiles. Steve
smiled back. He could afford to now. He stepped away, went out
between the lines and started toward the door.
He had taken three steps when a hand clapped his shoulder
 152 y Girl on the Run
and a friendly voice said, “Well, well. Steve Gregory. Of all
places to run into you!”
Steve whirled, still clutching the bills, and found himself star-
ing into the grinning face of one of Brandt’s men, an agent named
Dick Graves. He rallied from the sinking feeling that made his
knees weak and knew better than to insist the man was mistaken.
Dick was a Brandt man and Brandt men knew their business.
Graves ran his hand over the top of Steve’s tanned bald head,
the grin still on his face. “Been losing your hair, Steve boy. You
haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
Steve managed a weak smile. “Hello, Dick. What brings you
here?”
“The old man sent me out on a case. Some character held up a
sheriff.”
“That so?” Steve edged away from people. No one was paying
any attention to them but he wanted further conversation pri-
vate. There was no point in running. He wouldn’t make the door
and he knew it and Dick knew it. He moved over by the railing
that sectioned off the loan department and casually started to
pocket the money.
“Uh uh,” Dick said chidingly. “Give it here, Stevie boy.”
“The hell I will. That’s my money.”
“That’s agency money, Steve. You don’t work for the agency
any more, or hadn’t you heard?” Dick’s voice was still friendly.
He had his man and he didn’t want to get nasty. Steve gave it to
him with a sigh. “I guess three hundred would break old Brandt.”
“It wouldn’t break Brandt, Steve, but it’ll break you.” Dick
pocketed the money in a leather folder. The action might have
led another man to think there was a chance for escape but Steve
knew better. He stayed beside the detective. “I thought you
fellows would have left town by now,” he said.
“Not while you’re still around, Steve.”
“What made you think I was still around?”
“Brandt knows his men. He knows the value of doubling back
and he knows you know it. You’re a good detective, Steve. You’re
one of the best in the business. But you shouldn’t have let it go to
your head like this. You shouldn’t have tackled the old man. He
was a detective before you were born and it doesn’t matter how
good you are, he’s tops.” Dick shook his head. “Anybody else,
Girl on the Run 153

Steve, but you shouldn’t have tackled Brandt.” He changed his

manner then. “That’s a good job of head-shaving, Steve. I had to
look and look to make sure it was you. It’s better than that guy
in, where was it, New Orleans? The one who fouled you up.
Brandt told us to watch out for that. He remembered that case
and he thought you might try the same stunt. I suppose you’ve
done a job on the girl too, cut her hair, dyed it and all that.”
Steve said, “I should have known I couldn’t outwit the whole
agency. Well, what happens now?”
“Oh, we’ll walk out of here and go over to a police station I
know of nearby. Shall we get on with it?”
“Might as well.” Steve shrugged and started slowly toward the
door. “How’d you happen to spot me, Dick?”
“I was waiting for you. The old man had us cover all the banks.
He figured you’d be needing money pretty soon and would have
to show to cash those checks.”
“I could have cashed them in a grocery store.”
“Sure, but he figured it this way. In a store you’d have to do it
one at a time and that increases your risk. He guessed you’d
rather take one risk and cash them all and to do that you’d have
to go to a bank. As you can imagine, there’s a man in every bank.”
“I can imagine,” Steve said glumly. “And the bus depots and
the railroad station.”
“Of course. But the old man’s even better than that. He knew
you’d expect that sort of thing so he’s got the highways covered
too, just in case you tried to steal a ride. The ice cream vendors
on all the arteries watch the cars go by very carefully. They’re
after a big fat reward.”
Steve stepped out to the sidewalk and said, “I feel flattered
at all the attention. Brandt must really want me.”
“He’s got a craving for you, Steve. There’s no getting around
it. He thinks it will rebuild his reputation with the police depart-
ments after that little business with the girl. By the way, I don’t
suppose you’d want to tell me where the girl is?”
“No, I don’t suppose I would.”
Dick sighed. “I rather expected it was a waste of time to ask.”
“He wants her too then?”
“Of course he wants her. It’s one of his men who helped her get
away. He feels responsible, if you know what I mean.”
 154 Girl on the Run

“Yes, I know. That’s where you slipped up, Dick. I was going
back to her. You shouldn’t have picked me up. You should have
tailed me.”
Dick laughed heartily. “You know I couldn’t tail you. Not any
more than you could tail me. A good escape artist can get away
from a good tail any day in the week. No, I’d rather get you
while I can. If you got away, we’d really be up against it because
you wouldn’t be broke any more. You see, this way we get you
and once you’re taken care of, the girl is sunk. She won’t last three
days against us without you to help her.”
What he said was all too true. Cathy was not only alone, she
was absolutely penniless. Steve had taken the last bit of change
with him. He walked along beside Dick and when they crossed
the street Dick shifted sides unobtrusively so that he kept on the
street side to prevent a sudden dash through traffic. “That
Brandt’s too damned smart,” said Steve.
“That he is,” Dick agreed. “But you stayed away from him a
week. That’s par for the course,”
“What I mean,” Steve said, “is now the girl is cooked. Brandt’s
a smart detective but he’s dumb other ways. Does he think I hold
up sheriffs because I’ve got a vitamin deficiency?”
“Search me. I don’t know how he thinks.”
“What I’m driving at,” Steve said earnestly, “is that I rescued
that girl. She’s no more a murderess than I am. The plain fact of
the matter is the sheriff killed the old woman and is hying to use
Cathy for the fall girl.”
Dick said, “I don’t know the details of the case so that doesn’t
mean anything to me. Maybe you’re right or maybe you’re just in
love with the girl. It’s not the first time a guy went off the deep
end over a skirt.”
“Would I fall in love with a girl who’d stick a knife in her
aunt?”
“Search me. I don’t know how you think either.”
“Listen,” Steve said and stopped. “I’m serious. The sheriff’s
going to hang that kid in her cell when he gets her in jail so every-
body will say, ‘See, she’s guilty. She killed herself.’ You’ve got to
help me out, Dick. I’m telling you, if you could see her you’d
know what I mean. If there is anybody in this world who’d never
harm a fly, this kid is it. Right from the start, from the moment
Girl on the Run 155
I laid eyes on her, I knew there was something fishy about the
set-up. When I brought her back and saw her and the sheriff to-
gether, I knew what it was. She’s innocent and he’s going to hang
her and I’m the only guy in the world who can save her. Dick, I
can’t do it alone, but it’s got to be done. You’re going to have to
help me. I don’t care what the old man thinks, you’ve got to work
on it with me.”
Dick looked sadly thoughtful and nudged Steve into motion
again. “I don’t know, Steve,” he said. “It sounds to me as though
you were gone on the kid. Mind you I’ve no objection to that, but
you’re prejudiced. She may be innocent but on the other hand
she may be guilty. I can’t go sticking my neck out on your sayso.”
“I stuck my neck out.”
“Sure, and now you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to
gain getting me in the same boat. Here. We cross this way.”
“We’re friends, Dick. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Steve stopped
again. “Take a chance will you? A kid’s life hangs in the balance.”
“So does mine, Steve. I can’t do that without knowing for cer-
tain she’s innocent. Maybe you know, but I don’t and I can’t take
your word for it.”
“If you saw her you’d know, Dick.”
“Sorry, old man. I haven’t seen her.”
Steve laid it on the line then. “Tell you what. If I take you to
her, will you promise to help me if she can convince you she’s
innocent? That should be a fair enough gamble. If she can’t, then
you’ve got us both.”
Dick mused for a moment. Then he smiled. “Of course we’ve
as good as got you both right now. I shouldn’t take the chance,
Steve.”
“Not to save the kid’s life?”
Dick paused. “That depends,” he said. “Where does she live?”
Steve smiled. “Uh uh. I’ll take you to her but I won’t tell you.”
Dick contemplated again and then said slowly, “All right, then
take me there. I’ll give you that much of a break.”
“Come on. We’ll catch a bus.”
They walked back, around the comer at a more rapid pace, but
Dick still kept on the street side. They went up another block
and turned down a side street to cut through to the next main
 156 V ^
Girl on the Run
thoroughfare and Steve said, ‘Tm going to need drat three hun-
dred dollars, Dick/'
“If I decide to go in with you you’ll get it, Stevie. Until then
you’ve got to stay broke.”
They were halfway down the block on a one-way street with
the cars coming through when Steve suddenly stopped by the
rear entrance to a department store. He put his left hand on
Dick’s arm and said, “Look, Dick, you’re going to play this
straight, aren’t you?” Then he swung his right and caught Dick
with the heel of it in the adarn’s apple.
Dick gagged and Steve, moving like a master, caught him
again with the heel of the hand across the back of the neck. Dick
sagged to his knees and pitched forward until he caught himself
with his hands. A couple of people fifty yards away looked star-
tled, then shouted, “Help. Police!” but they stayed their distance.
Steve half caught the fallen man by the shoulders. “I’m sorry,
Dick,” he said, “but I know you understand.”
Dick didn’t answer. He sank to his elbows, his head falling for-
ward till it touched the pavement and he all but toppled over.
Steve made a swift motion, slipped the man’s wallet out and
retrieved his money and what else was there. He replaced the
wallet and rose. Half a dozen people were screaming, “Help.
Robber,” at him and starting to advance.
He took one look at them and coolly walked through the rear
door of the department store.

CHAPTER 26

Cathy was waiting at the door when Steve came up the

stairs. She had seen him from the window and she was flooded
with relief. “What took you so long? I was scared you got caught.”
“I almost did,” Steve told her without preamble. “Get your
things together as fast as you can. We’re getting out of here.”
She leaped to the task obediently but not without question.
Girl on the Run 157
“What happened? What’s the matter?” She was curious but man-
aged two things at once, listening and doing her packing, which
was only a momentary task. Steve threw what odds and ends he
wanted to keep into his own suitcase and related the story. “I
cut through the department store and lost the crowd,” he con-
cluded. “There was a bus heading out the other way and I
grabbed it, then switched later to a cab and walked the last
couple of blocks. At least nobody followed me so we have a little
time.”
“But why did you hit him?” Cathy said, bewildered. “He
would have helped us.”
Steve snorted and snapped his suitcase shut. “Are you kidding?
Dick’s too smart for that. He thought he saw a chance to turn us
both in, only I was just a little ahead of him. He knew I might
attack him but he figured it was worth the risk because he’d be
ready for it and it wouldn’t work. What he got lulled into think-
ing, though, was that I wouldn’t do it till we were in the suburbs
somewhere. He assumed I couldn’t do more than run for it in the
middle of town and he relaxed just enough to let me lead him
down a side street where there weren’t too many people around.”
Steve laughed at the memory. “I’ll bet he’s kicking himself right
now.”
“But you suggested the whole idea. You talked him into com-
ing. How do you know he wouldn’t have helped you? If he’d
suggested it you might have been suspicious. But you did it.”
“Of course.” Steve smiled and picked up both suitcases. “It’s
the first rule of detecting. You always let the victim make the
advances. That’s the A-number-one rule to avoid suspicion.”
“You mean,” she said narrowly, “like you making me ask you
for a job rather than offering me one?”
“You’re catching on,” Steve said abruptly. “Anyway, he knows
I know that but I was a good enough actor to throw him off a
little and get him thinking I was desperate.”
Cathy nodded grimly and went with him to the door where
Steve put on his Panama hat. There was no further need to ex-
pose his bald head. In fact he wanted to hide it now. “But he
might have helped us, Steve,” she said. “He really might have.”
“Why, Cathy? Why should he lay himself open to a jail sen-
tence too? Why should he sacrifice his job just because I say
 158 v
Girl on the Run
you’re innocent? He’d turn us in and maybe look into the matter
afterward, but he certainly wouldn’t do it before.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Never mind,” Steve said shortly. He opened the door. “Now
what we’re going to do is take a cab to the next town only we’ve
got to be careful. Dick made the mistake of tipping me off that
the roads are watched and they’re going, to be double-watched
once he gets to a telephone. That’s why we’ve got to move fast
and try to get away before the police and Brandt’s men get
everything set up. We’re going to get a cab and I’m going to
switch places with the driver so he can sit in back with you. That
way we might work it.”
It was a difficult maneuver. It seemed there was the union and
the cab company and a few other reasons against the idea but
Steve had two twenty-dollar bills on his side of the argument
and that outweighed the opposition.
“I don’t know what you got up your sleeve, Mister,” the driver
said, taking off his cap and jacket. “I don’t know what the story
• yy
is.
Steve put the cap on his head, pulling its tight brim down as
far as he could. “The money is to keep you from asking ques-
tions,” he said.
The jacket was small too and half his arms hung out of the
sleeves. However, the effect was created and that was the im-
portant thing. “Put on my jacket,” Steve told the man, “and get
in back with the lady. Don’t wear my hat.”
The short, black-haired man grumbled but followed orders.
“I’m telling you I don’t like this. One cent less than forty bucks
and I wouldn’t do it.”
“That’s why it’s exactly forty. Are you set?” He climbed into
the driver’s seat and started off. “You’re going to have to give me
directions how to get up to the next town.”
“Yeah. O.K.”
They started off and Steve drove rapidly yet carefully. It was
no time to have an accident. They got through the city all right
and onto the highway leading north. Traffic was moderate and
Steve passed car after car. Near the outskirts he spotted an ice
cream wagon and he purposely went by at a moderate speed to
give the white-coated vendor a fair look at the riders. He fol-
Girl on the Run 159
lowed the actions of the man through the rear view mirror after
they had passed and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He let out
a sigh and relaxed, then stepped a little harder on the acceler-
ator.
Almost immediately the wail of a siren sounded behind him
and Steve tensed. He couldn’t be going that fast. For a moment
he was tempted to jam the pedal to the floor but he conquered
the urge and, instead, slowed to a more moderate pace. They
were on a straight stretch now, three hundred yards ahead of
the nearest car and the siren farther back. Then the squad car
pulled out and swept past the distant sedan behind them, ducked
back into its lane in the face of oncoming traffic and started eat-
ing up the gap. The sweat was on Steve’s hands and again he
wanted to open up and again he decided to bluff his way
through. The cab driver in the back seat twisted around and
stared out the rear window. “Wonder what’s up,” he said. “That
cop is sure moving.”
“Right behind us?” asked Steve. He looked at Cathy’s face in
the mirror and tried to wink. She was white and her eyes were
dark and huge. She sat forward in her seat clutching her purse
like a vice. He winked twice trying to relax her so the cabby
wouldn’t start wondering if, indeed, he had not already begun,
what the forty dollars was really for, but Cathy wasn’t looking at
him. She was staring past his shoulder at the road ahead as
though there lay salvation.
“She’s coming fast,” the cabby said. “She’s sure moving.”
Steve checked. The police car was gaining on them in giant
strides and it was only a matter of moments. Then something
happened. “She’s stopping,” said the cabby. “Right at the city
limits. They’re turning out into the road and getting out. Looks
like a road block. Somebody must have done something.”
Steve said, “Somebody has,” only he said it to himself. When
they rounded the curve that shut off the highway behind from
view he saw that the police had stopped the car that had fol-
lowed so far behind. He sat back and spent a quiet five minutes
getting over the shakes.
CHAPTER 27

Steve and Cathy came into New York across the George
Washington Bridge in a taxicab. The trip had been a roundabout
and expensive one. They had left their forty-dollar cab in Yulee,
Florida, a few miles north of Jacksonville and from there had
taken a local train to Brunswick, Georgia and there hired a pri-
vate plane to fly them to Washington. At Norfolk, down for re-
fueling, Steve cancelled the rest of the hop and he and Cathy
purchased bus tickets to New York. They got off at Wilmington
and took a train to Philadelphia where Steve risked a trip to a
drive-in branch of his bank on the outskirts of the city to draw
out some cash. He was pleased to find that the drive-in window
was one spot that wasn’t covered by a Brandt agent. They were
ahead of the cops and the Brandt men but how far ahead he did
not know. The southern newspapers had carried the tale of their
escape from Jacksonville and he read about it in Brunswick the
following day at the airport. That much he expected for while
the cab driver would have to watch his step, Steve was sure he’d
go to the police as soon as he heard they were looking for a man
and young woman. Where he had the edge was that no one knew
where he was going. Even Brandt would be crossed up for he
would think in terms of hideouts and Steve was not going under
cover.
But Brandt wouldn’t be fooled for long, Steve knew, and when
he and Cathy left Philadelphia with tickets for New York, he
took her off the train at Newark and went up the Hudson by cab
to avoid the tunnel. How many of the blind alleys actually threw
off the police he couldn’t tell but, to Steve, every one was neces-
sary—if not to delay immediate capture, then to slow pursuit and
that was one of his aims.
They went on a brief shopping spree in the garment district
of New York to substitute northern clothes for the sporty things
Girl on the Run 161

they had acquired in Florida and purchase other necessities.

Then, with Cathy looking like a model oil on a holiday and Steve
looking like a camper with too much equipment, they entered
Grand Central Station by separate doors, purchased tickets sepa-
rately and sat in different seats in the same car all the way to
Springfield, Massachusetts.
When the train backed out of the Springfield station and
headed up north towards the other Springfield in New Hamp-
shire, there were few enough people in the car for Steve to risk
sitting down beside the girl. Her costume consisted of a simple
beige dress with brown buttons down the front, a small tan purse,
a discreet amount of lipstick and a yellow sweater hung on the
hook. When Steve sat down beside her, she looked at him quickly
and then stared out the window. “I didn’t think I’d be scared
going back there,” she said. “But I am.”
“So am I, but I don’t know what else to do with you.”
She shrugged in that quick way of hers. “There isn’t anything
to do with me. I wish I’d never run away. I make a mess of every-
thing. I couldn’t make friends in school. I couldn’t make the boys
behave without driving them away. I caused the death of the
only person who had any feeling for me. I’ve squandered all the
money she’d ever saved, and now I’ve lost you your job and
you’ll have to go to jail. Even if I got out of this I don’t know
what good it would do. No money, no job, no training.” She
smiled wanly. “I seem to be rather a liability to everybody, my-
self included.”
Steve said, “You’ll get out of it. And when you do, then I stop
being a fugitive. As soon as we prove you’re innocent, then I’m
no longer guilty of aiding a murderess. In fact, Brandt will prob-
ably offer me back my old job on bended knee.”
“I can imagine,” she said wryly. “But you don’t have any plan.
What can you do that will be any good? It’s only our word against
the sheriff’s and you don’t think anybody will believe us, do you?
Your Mr. Brandt didn’t and the townspeople certainly won’t.
They never liked me and they think I’m guilty anyway.”
“Oh, I’ve got a few plans. Shapely killed your aunt so there’s
going to be evidence that says so. All we have to do is get our
hands on it.”
“If you’re thinking of fingeiprints when he was down in the
 162 Girl on the Run
cellar or something, that won’t do any good. He’ll only say he
went through the house looking for clues himself.”
“That he will but there are other things that can help us. For
example, there’s the lad who took the fingerprints off the bread-
knife. He’ll know they aren’t placed the way you’d hold a knife
to stab somebody.”
“That’s going to be one of the sheriff s men,” Cathy said. “He’ll
say what Mr. Shapely tells him to.”
“You don’t have much faith in your fellow townspeople,” Steve
answered, but he didn’t have much himself. “What I would like
to get my hands on, though, is Shapely’s hunting knife. He may
have washed it but you don’t remove all traces of blood by wash-
ing. And there are a few other things that might have blood. He
probably got rid of any clothes that got stained but the clothes
may have left traces somewhere else. There may be a spot on the
seat of his car or in a crevice of his shoes.”
Cathy shook her head. “What good is that? You can’t possibly
get close enough to him to find out. He’s got the law on his side
and we can’t even show our face.”
“Oh, he does have a few things going for him at present,” Steve
agreed. “But we might be able to do something about that. We
aren’t exactly without resource.”
“What have we got?”
“First I’ve got you and that’s important. You can show me all
the places I want to get to.”
“That’s a fine resource. What else?”
Steve took a stamped envelope from his pocket. “And we have
this. There’s a daily newspaper in Springfield isn’t there?”
“Yes, the Springfield Evening Gazette.”
Steve took out a pen and started to address it. “That’s what I
want to know. Thanks.”
“What’s die letter?”
He tucked it back in his pocket. “It’s the start of a letters-to-
the-editor’ campaign. This one says very briefly diat Shapely is
framing you; that he dipped a clean nightgown in your aunt’s
blood and he’s withholding the fact diat placement of your fin-
gerprints on the breadknife proves it wasn’t the murder weapon.
We’ll follow this up with others that go a little further and maybe
nobody will believe diem in die beginning but people will start
Girl on the Run 163
thinking about it. And pretty soon they’ll start looking at the
sheriff and he’ll get jittery. He might even leave town.”
Cathy smiled faintly. “I’m afraid you don’t know the country
around home.”
“No, but I know people and I know how they’ll react to some-
thing like that. Shapely won’t have things quite so much his own
way once the rumors start circulating.”
“Uh uh, Mr. Gregory. You don’t know why Mr. Shapely is
sheriff. He’s got influence. He’s related to just about everybody
who is anybody in Springfield and White River and every other
place around. Your letters won’t ever get printed in the Gazette.
His brother’s the editor.”
Steve arched an eyebrow and pulled out his pipe. “Well, the
sheriff does have the deck stacked, doesn’t he? But we’ll mail
the letter anyway. Who knows, the editor might not like brother
J lm.»
*

They disembarked one stop south of Springfield at a town

where Cathy was not known and dropped the letter in the box
outside the post office so it would go out that evening. “Keep
your fingers crossed,” he said. “Pray it appears in tomorrow’s pa-
per. Then we’ll have a wingding.”
Cathy only shook her head. “You know what that letter will do,
don’t you? It’ll tell the sheriff and everybody else that we’re right
near by.”
“That can’t be helped,” Steve said. “We’ve got to force him
into the open. Pinning this on him is the main consideration.”
“We won’t get very far with the pinning if we’re caught,”
Cathy said.
Steve laughed. “Don’t you worry about that. Shapely’s no
hunter.”
They ate supper at a diner, picked up their camp equipment
and started walking up side streets heading north. Cathy wore
her sweater for the air was chilly with approaching night. June
in New Hampshire was not May in Florida. At the edge of town
she grew silent and pensive. Ahead lay Springfield and, beyond
that, White River. They passed the last of the street lamps along
a black macadam road that was unlighted by the passage of a
single car and she began to tremble. “What am I doing?” she
moaned. “I ran away and now I’m walking back.”
 164 v Girl on the Run
“Just remember Shapely,” Steve said. “Keep thinking about
Shapely.”
“Think about him? I can’t not think about him. That’s why I’m
so scared. Why did I have to meet you? Why did all this have to
happen?”
He put an arm around her in the darkness. “It had to happen
so you could meet me, kitten. We had to meet just as we have to
catch Shapely.”
“Or get caught. You don’t understand this town. We don’t have
a chance in the world. No proof, nothing. The paper won’t run
your letter. The editor will take it to the sheriff and he’ll come
after us. I know, Steve. I know.”
He hugged her briefly. “We’ll see,” he said. “And now we’ll
get off the road. We’ve got to find a place to sleep tonight and I
noticed there’re woods oyer there. We’ll cut across the fields and
find a spot.”
They fumbled their way through the gully beside the road and
out across the open, moving slowly. The sky was ink, heavily
overcast, and not a star lent its light to their progress. Steve found
a barbed wire fence and Cathy ripped her dress getting through.
“I know where we are,” she said. “Mr. Delrico’s place. He’s the
suspicious type. He claims the barbed wire is to keep his cattle in
but he doesn’t keep cattle where there’s wire. He only has wire
around his orchard.”
They worked their way through the orchard, groping from
tree to tree and die trek was so interminable Steve began to think
the trees were planted in circles. In the distance a dog began
barking and Cathy said, “Oh no. Steve, hurry. They’re vicious.”
Steve found a stone wall with the comfort of woods beyond.
“We’re here,” he said and threw his things over it. “Come on,
kitten. Scramble.”
Cathy did. She got over the top and fell on die odier side.
Steve climbed up and the stones rocked under him. He rolled
over and half fell on top of her. He caught her arm. “Are you all
right?”
“I’m bruised.”
“But whole?”
“I guess so.” She got to her knees and felt for her suitcase. The
Girl on the Rim 165
barking was drawing no closer. Steve fumbled for the sleeping
bags and his own suitcase and got up. “Give me your hand.”
She held it out and it was cold in his grasp. “How much farther,
Steve? I can’t see.”
“Out of sight. We’ve got to get out of sight.”
“There are snakes in there.”
“There are worse ones outside.”
They went perhaps a hundred yards into the woods, hitting
trees and scraping branches before Steve gave up. “This is hope-
less,” he said. “We ought to go farther but this may be far
enough. Let’s spread out our sleeping bags here.”
Cathy was more than willing. She had put down her suitcase
the moment Steve stopped and now she got busy unstrapping
her bag. She worked in silence with only the rustling of leaves
and bushes to mark her progress.
Steve worked hastily beside her and when he had his bag un-
rolled he slipped off his shoes and slid in. He reached out and
felt for Cathy’s bag. “Are you all right? Do you want some help?”
“No,” she said, “and don’t look. I’m taking off my dress.”
Steve smiled quietly and turned away. In that night he couldn’t
even see her silhouette. In a few moments her movements
quieted and he heard her zip up her bag. He said, “Good night,
kitten.”
“Good night,” she answered. “Pray there aren’t any snakes.”
He laughed. “Did I ever tell you I think you’re quite a girl?”
“No. And I’m not. I’m scared to death.”
He grinned and bid her good night again. Then he lay back,
cradling his head on his arm and stared up at whatever lay above
while he pondered what to do next and how he could keep Cathy
believing he knew all the answers.
CHAPTER 28

When Steve awoke the sun was up and he was alert in

an instant. He raised his head and cocked his ear for sounds.
Then he looked at his watch. It was ten past seven.
He twisted around to see if Cathy were awake and got a start
to find her sleeping bag empty. He climbed quickly out of his
and stood there, looking around, numbed by a stab of fear. Then
he heard the rustle of bushes and relief flooded through him
when he saw her approach, her torn dress soiled but her face
shining and clean. She was even smiling.
“Hello,” she said. “I found a little brook. Its wonderful to wash
in though I didn’t dare to drink any.”
Steve sank down on his bedding. “Don’t scare me like that,”
he said. “I thought you’d run off again.”
She laughed. “Why, wherever would I run to? There’s abso-
lutely no place to go.” She sat down on her own bed and adjusted
her mined skirt as though it were queenly raiment. “Is it safe to
light that can of sterno? I make very good instant coffee.”
“I guess it’s safe.” Steve rummaged through his cheap suitcase
for his shaving kit. “Where’s that brook? Maybe I can shave.”
They breakfasted on steaming coffee and dry rolls, sitting
cross-legged on their bags and in the bright morning sun trou-
bles seemed far away. Steve was content to live for the moment,
savoring his meal and thinking that he had never had a more
delicious breakfast and certainly never so attractive a companion
for the first meal of the day. Cathy looked radiant and happier
than he’d ever seen her before. She too seemed to have forgotten
the cares of the past and that she had once considered him her
betrayer.
When they had finished, Steve took out his pipe and lighted
up. Cathy washed tilings in the brook and then sat facing him. It
was time for the business at hand. Steve put his pipe away and
Girl on the Run 167

said, “Now we’ve got to make plans. First off, how far south of
Springfield are we?”
Cathy said, “About five miles.”
“And White River is ten miles beyond that?”
“Nine and four tenths.”
“And your house is where?”
“About two miles north of White River center.”
“Sixteen miles from home. Well, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Are we going back home?”
“In easy stages.” He picked up a stick and started doodling on
the ground. “Here’s the way I see it. We’ll stick to the woods and
work our way closer to Springfield. When does the Gazette come
out?”
“Late afternoon. About four o’clock.”
“All right. We’ll get as close to Springfield as we can and then
settle ourselves and I’ll make a trip into town for a paper. If they
run my letter, well and good. I’ll have a follow-up to mail. If
they don’t publish it I’ll mail a different kind of letter. That one
will say Shapely’s hiding the real murderer and there’s proof of
that in your house. It’s something he overlooked because he
doesn’t realize its significance but any other policeman who finds
it will.”
“Is there any proof?” Cathy asked.
“No. It’s only a ruse which just might sucker him into going out
to the house for a look. If he does, I might be able to get hold of
his knife. I’m going to send the State Police information about
your fingerprints on the breadknife and the nightgown which a
lab could show you hadn’t been wearing anyway but they might
be a little less loathe to take me seriously and go poking around
in Shapely’s bailiwick if I can send them a knife bearing micro-
scopic traces of your aunt’s blood along with it. That’s why I
want Shapely’s knife.”
Cathy nodded solemnly and watched Steve’s stick scratch and
mark the ground. “I can see that but how are you going to get it?
If he couldn’t get rid of the blood he’d get rid of the knife.”
“He’s still got it I’m sure. Pie had it when I first saw him and
that means he doesn’t know criminology and he doesn’t know
what a microscope can do. He cleaned it but I think that’s as far
as it went. At least it’s worth a try.”
 168 \ Girl on the Run

“But he’s not going to give it to you and he’s not going to leave
it around.”
“No, but if he goes to your house to look for that proof’ he’ll go
alone. So I’ll be there and I’ll get the knife.”
“How? He’ll have a gun and the knife besides. What will you
have?”
“My bare hands and the element of surprise.”
“He’s awfully big and strong.”
Steve smiled. “Don’t forget what I did to Dick Graves in Jack-
sonville.”
Cathy shook her head violently. “You can’t do that, Steve.
He’ll kill you. I know he will.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “He
hates you and he’ll have a perfect motive and—and—”
Steve reached forward and patted her hand. “There’s nothing
to worry about. I take a lot of killing. Remind me to tell you the
story of my life sometime. I’ve got more lives than a cat.”
“No, Steve. No.”
He threw the stick into the bushes and got up. “It’s yes, Cathy.
It’s the only thing we can do if the paper doesn’t run that story.
Besides, I’ve been pushed and chased just as far as I’m going to
be. I want to see him face to face, the two of us alone. I want to
see him try to get out his gun. It’s not just Iris knife I want. I want
to take it away from him.”
Cathy leaped up, frightened by the expression on his face. She
threw her arms around his waist, holding him and sobbing against
his chest. “You can’t. I won’t let you. You’ll be dead and I’ll have
killed you.”
The cold anger left Steve’s face. He kissed the top of her head
and stroked her hair. “Don’t you fret, kitten,” he smiled. “Noth-
ing like that’s going to happen. Shapely won’t kill me. I won’t
give him the chance. The worst that can happen is for me to get
caught and I’ll see that you’re left with money and a plan of es-
cape just in case.”
“I don’t care about that,” she sobbed. “I don’t care what hap-
pens to me. I only care what happens to you.”
His pulses leaped and he looked down at her. “Why kitten!”
She backed off suddenly as if aware of what she’d said. She
buried her face in her hands. “It’s all my fault. You’re risking
everything for me and I can’t let you.” She dropped her hands
Girl on the Run 169
and said to him angrily, “Can’t you see I’m poison? I poison every-
body who comes near me. First my parents, then my aunt and
now you. I’m jinxed. I’m a Jonah. Stay away from me!”
Steve took a step and pulled her back into his arms roughly.
“It’s not your fault. 7’m doing this. I’m deciding this. Not you.”
He laughed shortly. “Just think of the tales you can tell your
grandchildren about how we caught the big bad sheriff. Think
how their eyes will pop.”
She pulled away. “There aren’t going to be any grandchildren,
or children or anything. There’s only me and pretty soon there
isn’t even going to be that. Why don’t you get out while you
still have the chance? Why don’t you just leave?”
Steve said, “Because this isn’t^your doing, Cathy. It’s mine. I’m
the one Shapely played for the sucker. I’m the one who’s re-
sponsible. I owe him something and I’m going to pay it back. You
can leave if you want but I’m staying.”
Cathy sank to her knees. “Oh what’s the use?” she said for-
lornly and started to fold up her sleeping bag. “I know you’re
going to do it and I know I’m going to stay with you as long as
you want me.” Tears fell onto the padding as she worked.
“Where is it we go? Springfield?”
Steve knelt and folded his own bag. “That’s right. Through the
woods.”

CHAPTER 29

By four o’clock that afternoon Steve and Cathy had es-

tablished themselves in a small clearing a couple of miles north-
west of Springfield on the bank of a narrow brook beside a fallen
tree. They had lunched on sandwiches on the way but in spite of
the food they were still hungry and, above all, thirsty.
“You can light up the stemo and boil some water,” Steve said,
“but boil it five minutes before you drink it.”
 170 Girl on the Run
“How long will you be gone?” Cathy asked.
He looked at his watch. “I should get back by six.” Then he
pulled out his wallet and counted out half of his money. “Here.
Stuff this in your purse. It’s insurance just in case something
should happen. If I’m not back by tomorrow morning it’ll mean
I’m not coming back. Start working your way south through the
woods the way we came and take the train out, back to New
York or up to Maine, it doesn’t matter. There’s four hundred dol-
lars here to tide you over till you can find some kind of job. Prob-
ably Maine is the best bet.”
Cathy’s eyes were large and she couldn’t completely keep the
fright out of them. “And what will happen to you?”
“They can’t do much to me. Shapely will find I’m no lamb for
the slaughter. I know some lawyers who aren’t related to him and
I’ve got connections. Shapely will find he’s got a bear by the
tail.”
She was still worried, sitting on the bank in her ragged clothes
surrounded by their belongings, and Steve squeezed her shoul-
der. “But that’s just precaution in case the impossible happens.
Shapely hasn’t seen the day he can catch the likes of me. In fact,
he’s probably still in Jacksonville waiting for me to show.” He
laughed.
“Can you find your way back all right?”
“Sure. The fallen log and this big oak. That’s why I picked
this spot.” He backed off to the edge of the stream which he
would follow out of the woods and said, “Whatever you do, don’t
move from here.”
“No.”
“Goodbye, Cathy.”
Steve.
He paused and turned. “Yes?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Please come back.”
He laughed and waved and pushed through the bushes be-
side the water and lost her from view behind him. The brush
was thick and the ground near the river bed was marshy. The
mud and water got inside his shoes but he had long since ceased
to notice such things. His shoes had been alternately caked and
wet for a day, his socks stiff with slime. This was merely more of
the same. The dirty overalls and flannel shirt he wore were in
Girl on the Run 171

keeping with the role he both wanted and was forced to play, a
bum—a dirty bum.
He wandered on under a continually hot sun, perspiring even
in the shadow of the woods, moving quickly yet with remarkable
silence, his ears ever alert for the sound of other presences. After
twenty minutes he found himself at the edge of the woods. There
was an open field ahead through which the stream wound until
it went under a small wooden bridge on the road between
Springfield and White River. Steve stopped and looked around.
The only thing in sight was a car well up the road on the left com-
ing down toward the larger town. He withdrew to the woods
again, took off the cap he wore to hide the week’s growth of fuzz
on his head and washed his face and scalp in the water of the
stream, replacing the cap and standing up again. When he
moved to the edge of the woods again the car was gone.
He looked around once more then walked briskly across the
open, climbed the bank to the road, ducked through the guard
rail and started shuffling along with the slightly uneven gait of
one under the influence. He walked on the left side, facing the
oncoming traffic which was virtually non-existent, not for safety's
sake but to discourage offers of a ride.
Three cars passed before he reached the outskirts of Spring-
field and one did offer him a ride but it went on quickly when he
staggered badly turning to answer. The trek had been accom-
plished without the semblance of trouble.
He found a newspaper stand outside a drugstore near the
edge of town and took advantage of the opportunity of avoiding
the center. A stranger in a town of three thousand might attract
the attention of the police, especially if they had been alerted by
the postmark on the letter to the editor.
He reeled a little unsteadily into the drugstore which sported
three tables in the middle of the floor, two of them occupied by
soda-drinking youngsters, and he took the third, bought a couple
of sandwiches and drank all the water he could. He even bought
and smoked some cigarettes to throw a little suspicion away from
the pipe-smoking Steve Gregory.
There he opened the paper and was hit by the story on the
front page. “NEW EVIDENCE IN SINCLAIR CASE”, the
headline stated, but it wasn’t the evidence Steve had written
 172 Girl on the Run
about. His letter never saw the light of print. Instead, Sheriff
James Shapely announced in the story that, on the basis of new
evidence, he believed that the breadknife murderess and her
lover were in the vicinity. He further suggested that people lock
their houses at night and report the presence of any strangers.
Meanwhile, everything possible would be done to hunt down the
fugitives.
Steve took the rest of his sandwich with him and walked out.
He was glad now he had not risked the trip to the center of town.
The paper had been out for an hour and the news would spread
rapidly. Regardless of what he looked like he was a stranger and
that spelled danger.
The article told him two things. One was that Shapely was
back and the other was that his brother, as Cathy had predicted,
would not print anything against him. All Steve could do in re-
taliation was drop his “false clue” letter in the mailbox outside
the store and hope for the best.
He started back and this time got off the main road as soon as
possible. Now he didn’t want any cars to see him for they might
be police cars. Shapely would obviously make every effort to
catch him and Cathy and police and deputized citizens would
be all over the place. In fact, Steve was surprised he hadn’t en-
countered any before. Fifteen minutes later he found out why.
Fann lands extended out on both sides of the road and the
woods lay well behind. It might have been safer to stick to the
woods but Steve was in a hurry. After the newspaper story he
wanted to get back to Cathy as fast as he could and the traveling
was speedier through the fields, out in the open. He moved rap-
idly, paralleling the road, having to go back onto its macadam
surface at intervals to pass the clustered houses and barns that
sprang up in the center of each farm, going back off the road as
soon as he reached the uninhabited areas once more.
He was working his way through a cow pasture not far from
the bridge he used as a landmark when, from the direction of
the woods, he heard a shout. He turned, startled, and saw two
men in uniform carrying rifles standing at the edge of the woods
a hundred and fifty yards in front and to the left. One man waved
his rifle threateningly in the air. “Halt!” he shouted.
Steve halted, but not in response to the command. He turned
Girl on the Run 173

and started to walk away. They were standing on a knoll and he

angled back towards another rise diagonally across the boulder
infested pasture scattered with cows, toward the woods beyond.
Both men shouted, “Halt!” again and one raised his rifle to his
shoulder. Steve crouched and ran. He sprinted spraddle-legged,
like an iguana, and zig-zagged the way he had learned in the
Army. A bullet whined over his head. Another chunked in the
dirt beside him just as he zigged. Under any other circumstances
he would have allowed himself to be captured but thoughts of
Cathy were in his mind and though his heart pounded and he
steeled himself at every report of the rifles, expecting to feel the
thud of lead imbedding itself in his body, he kept running. He
made for the rise behind, sprinting as he had never sprinted be-
fore, racing up the slope, darting and ducking, while the bullets
pinged around him and the shouts of the men rose. They were
running after him and that hampered their aim, giving him an
added chance.
Close to the top he threw himself flat on the ground and looked
behind. He had gained ground even though they were moving
downhill and he was going up. However, they were coming full
speed now and making it up.
He rose from his crouch again and started on, this time drag-
ging one leg. It wouldn't hurt if they thought he were wounded.
He fell and stumbled and they stopped shooting, concentrating
merely on closing the gap. He made one last dive and collapsed
behind a boulder at the top of the rise out of their range of vision.
The woods were close now and, shielding himself by the hill, .he
ducked low and raced for them.
He ran twenty yards in among the trees and bushes and
stopped again. There were other sounds ahead, other policemen
breaking through toward the open and the sound of the shots.
He looked quickly about, found a large maple with the lowest
branch barely out of reach. He leaped against the trunk of the
tree and shot upward, higher than he could ever have leaped
normally, and caught the branch. In half a minute he was thirty
feet above the ground, high enough and protected enough so that
while he could hear the men crashing through the brush pass
beneath the tree, he could not see them nor they him.
Safe for the moment, he looked about. The view from that
 174 i
Girl on the Run

height was excellent. Through the branches he could survey the

pasture he had left behind and, well beyond that, the road. Off
to the right were the house and barns of the last farmer.
The men from the woods, two of them, were out in the open
now, joined with his pursuers. He could hear the voices. “Lank
wounded him. He fell right about here.”
“Just where?”
“Close to this boulder. He may’ve crawled some but he couldn’t
have got very far.”
“We didn’t see him in the woods. He didn’t come our way
lessen he hid in the bushes.”
“Wal, we’ll look in the bushes but go easy now. Shapely says
he’s armed.”
“Where’d you get him, Lank?”
“In the leg.”
They wandered around the pasture in the neighborhood of the
boulder and passed from sight. Steve could hear them poking
through the woods. “He can’t have got far,” somebody said ir-
ritably.
Another ten minutes and another said, “You sure you plugged
him, Lank?”
“Lank isn’t sure of anything right now,” said one.
“Might’ve been playing possum.”
“Probably was. Miles from here by now most likely. We been
wasting time.”
“He was hurt. He could run but not fast. Trouble is you guys
should’ve picked him up on your way out of the woods. You’re
the ones who let him get away.”
There were vigorous complaints to the contrary, all virtually
under the tree.
“Sure you did. He probably lay in the bushes till you went by
and then he skipped. We had him and you let him go. No telling
where he is by now.”
There was more grumbling and then they moved out into the
pasture where Steve could see them once more. Off in the road
a car pulled up. Steve strained to see who it was and his face got
grim. Out of the car stepped Shapely himself. He hallooed and
stumbled across the rocky uneven terrain with its bright green
grass and varied white stones. “Find anything?”
Girl on the Run 175
“Spotted him,” one hollered back. “Think it was him, but he
got away.”
The sheriff joined the group and there was talk in lower voices
that Steve couldn’t hear. The men were gesturing, pointing out
his probable progress.
Shapely wasn’t too cross with his men. He seemed pleased
with the way things were going in general and Steve heard his
voice come up. “That’s all right. He won’t get far now. Let’s get
back to town.”
Steve strained to hear some mention of Cathy and whether
they had found her or not but nothing further was said. The
group started across the field toward the sheriff5s car with an oc-
casional backward glance at the woods.
He waited until the car pulled away and then climbed down
hastily from his high perch. He was thoroughly alarmed now as
he plunged through the woods, keeping out of sight, pausing
every few seconds to listen for other sounds, staying close to the
pasture till he picked up the stream.
It was twenty minutes before he did and nothing further hap-
pened. All the hunters had apparently gone. The sun was sinking
lower now, the air growing cooler, and it was well after six. He
waded hurriedly across the stream, unmindful that the water
came to his knees and his dungarees were not rolled up.
Once on the other side he struck out upstream, trampling the
bushes, thrusting branches aside, stumbling, catching himself. He
made no effort at silence. His only aim was to get back to the
fallen tree that marked the clearing.
He came upon it unexpectedly and with a suddenness that
left him unprepared. He had to stop and look around to make
sure it was the right place. The log he remembered and the large
oak but he still wasn’t certain. The tiny spot by the bank where
he and Cathy had spread their things was absolutely bare.
He looked around it, walking this way and that. No sleeping
bags, no knapsacks, no cheap suitcases, no Cathy. Not a thing but
some matted grass. He went to die edge of the stream and looked
at the log again. It was the same log. It was the same oak tree. His
foot kicked something and he stooped and picked it up—the
cover of the stemo can.
He stared at it blankly and dropped it in a gesture of hopeless-
 176 v
Girl on the Run
ness. He had never felt so whipped, so defeated. He moaned
and cursed at himself for leaving her. He should have known
better. He should have listened to her. The postmark on the let-
ter was a dead giveaway and he should never have been so sure
of himself as to ignore the danger. He had thought Shapely
would hunt the towns, not the woods. But Shapely had un-
doubtedly picked up the description of the couple with knapsack
and sleeping bags and even Shapely could add that together.
He sat down on the bank of the stream, his feet half in the
water, and felt for his pipe. The sheriff’s men even had that and
all that was left to him was his pack of tasteless cigarettes. He
pulled one out and lighted it with the pack of matches that came
with it. Those and four hundred dollars were all he had to his
name.
“Steve?” The voice was very soft.
He jumped a foot and in an instant was standing looking
around. “Cathy!”
“Steve.” The voice was louder and choked. -
He swung around wildly, hardly daring to believe. “Where
are you?”
“Up here.”
He could hear the rustle in the large tree, ran to it and looked
up. Cathy was descending gingerly. He stood there breathless,
unmoving, while she groped her way down from branch to
branch. It was as though time stood still until she dropped down
beside him. Then she was in his arms sobbing brokenly, pressing
against him, her arms, tight around his neck, holding him as she
had never held anyone. “Oh, Steve! Steve! Steve!”
He clutched her to him, bracing his feet against the soft tram-
pled earth and kissed her hair and forehead, unable to speak.
She cried against his chest, with great wracking sobs that shook
her small body, and clung tighter.
He sank to the ground, pulling her down beside him, cradling
her in his arms. The angled rays of the sun through the leaves
threw patches of light across her hair and face and danced in the
cool breeze across the torn remnants of her dress and on her bare
legs. Her trembling was like his own for he was shuddering too.
They stayed like that for minutes, clinging to each other in
emotional reaction until Cathy’s sobs gradually abated and her
Girl on the Ran 177
shaking ceased and she lay quietly and spent, her head against
Steve’s chest.
“They came?” he finally said when he was able to speak.
She nodded and disengaged herself gently. Even then he let
her go reluctantly. “I’ve got something for you,” she said. “They
took everything else but I saved this.” She reached down the
front of her bra where it was visible through the tom min of her
dress and pulled forth a crumpled wad of bills. It was the other
four hundred dollars.
This time Steve really laughed. “My dear, practical Cathy,”
he said. “You mean we’ve got something left?”
“Only money,” she told him. “They took everything else. All
our clothes and everything.”
“And our food?”
“Everything.” She looked down at her dress. “I wish I hadn’t
been so scared to get undressed in the woods. Now they’ve taken
it all and I couldn’t change if I wanted to. I’m practically un-
dressed now. I don’t even have a sweater any more.”
Steve said, “They can have everything as long as they didn’t
get you. What happened?”
“I made some sandwiches for supper after you went and was
sitting around and had just about got up enough nerve to take
off this ragged dress and put on those jeans and shirt you got me
when I heard trampling in the woods. I thought it was you at
first only it seemed too early. Then it sounded like two people
and I got panicky. I wanted to run away only you’d said I
shouldn’t leave and I saw the tree here so I decided to climb it.
I couldn’t climb with my purse so I took out the money and left
everything and got up in the tree.
“Then, right after that, two policemen came along and they
practically fell all over themselves with delight when they saw
everything I had to leave behind. They looked and they shouted
and pretty soon some other men came along and they decided
we must be somewhere around and one man hid in the bushes
here and the others started hunting all over and they did that
for half an hour and I didn’t know what I was going to do if you
came back. I couldn’t think of any way of warning you. Anyway,
you didn’t come and pretty soon the other men came back and
they decided we must have heard them coming and fled. So
 178 Girl on the Run
they gathered up everything we had and took it away with them.
They said that would drive us out of the woods—not having any-
thing.”
“They never looked up in the tree?”
“I don't know. They may have. I got up high enough so I
couldn't see them and they couldn't see me.” She said, “Steve, is
it Mr. Shapely's men?”
“Shapely’s in charge all right and he’ll be back. He knows
we’re in the woods.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Were going to stay in the woods and go hungry. He’s count-
ing on our being driven out and we’re going to fool him. We
aren’t coming out of here until we’re a long way away. We’re
going to start now and go north as far as we can. We’ve got to
get to your house by tomorrow anyway, so we might as well
start now.”
She sighed and said, “I wish I’d stuck a sandwich down my
front as well as all that money. I had them all made.”
Steve got up and took her hand and started leading her
through the undergrowth away from the sun. “You mean they
even took the sandwiches along too?”
Cathy made a face. “Those terrible people just sat right down
and ate them. Every last one. They didn’t even leave a crust.
We’ve certainly lost a lot of things between here and Miami. We
could outfit half the population.”
Steve said, “There’s only one thing I wish we hadn’t lost and
that’s the gun I took from Shapely. The rest I don’t miss.”
“You’re going to miss supper tonight, believe me.”
They went half a mile and then had to cross a road to regain
the woods. The going was tedious, up and down slopes and hills,
pushing through briars and bushes, skirting the moss covered
boulders that existed in profusion, crossing brooks and rivulets.
There were other roads too, criss-crossing through and, in one
spot, the woods ended entirely. They waited till darkness before
crossing fields and farms to pick up the wilderness again.
The night served them better than the previous one for a
nearly full moon rose with the coming of darkness. Even so the
going was treacherous and after a couple of falls they were forced
out into the open.
Girl on the Run 179

They did better through the farmlands and by ten o’clock were
on the farm of someone Cathy knew. She gripped Steve’s hand
and said, “This is the Boardman place. White River is right over
there about a mile,” and she waved a hand to the right and
slightly behind. “We aren’t more than a mile and a half from
Auntie’s. Is that where you want us to go?”
Steve said, “No. We can’t go to your place because some
woman comes over to feed the chickens. Besides, it’s probably
staked out. We’re going to spend the night out in the open.”
“How about the Boardmans’ bam? The big one way out here
away from the house? It’s one they don’t use any more except for
storage so we won’t be bothered.”
Steve was dubious but he agreed. “It looks safe enough so long
as they don’t come out to it.”
“They don’t and we can sneak away in the morning back to the
woods without being seen. Besides, they have some hay in there
I think and we won’t catch pneumonia and besides, it’s softer.”

CHAPTER 30

There was hay in the bam and when Steve sank into it
he almost immediately fell asleep.
How long he slept before he was stirred into half wakefulness
by Cathy moving around beside him he did not at first know. A
large rectangular cut in the bam wall, light against the inky
blackness of the interior, showed moonlight on the fields outside
and let in enough light for him to see the dim outline of the girl
in the hay beside him. He said drowsily, “What’s the matter?
Can’t you sleep?”
Cathy, in a low voice, said, “No. I don’t know what’s the mat-
ter. The dogs woke me up.”
“What dogs?” Steve said faintly and fought to gather his wits.
“Those dogs barking out there.”
Steve rolled over, sat up and listened. The sound carried
 180 Girl on the Run
clearly from a long way off in the still, silent air. It was the baying
of hounds.
The hair crept up on the nape of his neck. “My God,” he said.
“Is that for us?”
“What? Those dogs?”
He was wide awake now. “Bloodhounds or whatever they are,
following our scent?” He looked at his watch, blinking his eyes to
make out the position of the luminous hands. “Half past two.
Shapely said they had us. That must be what he meant.”
Cathy was up on her knees peering at the open night ten feet
away. “You mean bloodhounds? ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’? I don’t
believe it.”
Steve caught her arm. “Ssh.” He listened for a moment.
“They’re getting closer ” He leaped up, pulled open the huge
barn door and listened again. Cathy came over beside him and
he gripped her shoulder. “They’re out there in the woods. It can’t
mean anything else. They got our scent from the sleeping bags
and stuff. They took the dogs to the spot where they found them
and started out.”
Cathy moaned. “Oh, Steve! We’ll never get away now.”
“We’ve got to try.” He seized her hand and dragged her off
into the moonlight, across the fields and away from the yipping
and howling of the dogs.
The pasture was white with the semblance of day and the
moon, working its way to the southwest, was a bright silver coin
in a light blue field. The stars were few and spaced out over the
sky, warm and inviting and only just beyond reach. There was
peace in the air and the country stillness, quiet with the quiet of
insect sounds. Only the barking of the dogs intruded, their harsh
note ringing through the cool night air.
The fields were rock-strewn, the boulders gleaming white
against the grayer hue of the grass but they offered no hiding
place, not against dogs and Steve and Cathy, black against the
gray, kept running as fast as a safe footing would permit across
the open towards the darker shaded woods three hundred yards
away.
They were breathless when they reached the shelter of the
trees but there was no stopping. There was a new note in the
sound of the dogs, a burst of enthusiasm as though they were
Girl on the Run 181

getting close and a more open, ringing tone to their bark that
indicated they had come out of the woods and were now tracking
their quarry across the field toward the newly fled bam. Not
much time would be lost there, Steve knew. The tracks they had
just made would be picked up on the dogs’ arrival. Had Steve
had the time he could have done something about crossing them
up. He could have gained time had the sheriff and his men been
forced to go through the barn for them. This way only a couple
of men would be left at the barn and Shapely and the others
would be close on their heels.
Steve dragged Cathy behind him deeper into the woods. It
was very dark in there and while they could see the larger trees,
they kept running into branches and tripping over roots, stones
and the smaller bushes. As they got in deeper the whole sky was
blotted out by the overlapping thick-leafed tree limbs and the
going was very bad. Cathy was uncomplaining but the whipping
of branches across her face made her gasp in pain. Her breathing
was fast and panting but she did her best to keep up. Steve him-
self, holding her hand, dragging her along, casting courtesy to
die winds in favor of speed, felt his own lungs on fire. He plunged
farther, ran carelessly into the trunk of a birch with a force that
stunned him, shook his head and staggered on. He was weak and
sick and fatigue worked on his emotions. It almost became more
preferable to give up than continue. It had been a bad job from
the start. Everything he had done was wrong. He alone against
Shapely, against Brandt, against all the police in the land, could
not hope to win. Give up and have done with it. Why prolong
the agony? If Brandt had been on his side they could have done
it. But Brandt was against him too. Everybody was against him.
Maybe he was the fool. They couldn’t all be wrong. Had it merely
been a case of hiding out, he could have done it, perhaps even
against Brandt’s men. But it wasn’t hiding out. It was a question
of finding evidence, evidence that Shapely was a murderer.
Maybe there was none. Maybe Shapely hadn’t done it. Maybe it
was someone else. Maybe it was Cathy after all. Maybe if he gave
up someone could come in and find out what it was all about.
But it wasn’t Cathy. It was fatigue. You can’t give up. You
can’t let fatigue make you. He mentally flogged himself brutally
for his weakness and drove harder. He tripped and fell and
 182 Girl on the Run
Cathy stumbled over him. She let out a startled gasp as she
plunged into the bushes but she said nothing. He staggered up
and pulled her to her feet and started on. What direction they
were going in he did not know. The moon was hidden and they
might be fighting their way around in a circle. The only thing
that helped was the barking of the hounds. The dogs were back
in the woods now, still well behind them. As near as he could
tell, he and Cathy were maintaining their lead but he knew it
could not be for long. They could not run forever.
There was a break in the branches overhead and he got a
glimpse of the moon. It was dead ahead of them. That meant
they had shifted from northwest to southwest. They were mov-
ing in a circle. If they kept it up they would eventually come out
into the pasture again. He angled sharply to the right and fought
his way forward. The branches closed in above once more and
the darkness settled. Cathy’s gasping for breath was turning to
sobs. She was slowing but Steve sensed it not because she
dragged on him more but because he himself was slowing and
she dragged no less. The futility of their effort made him want
to surrender while he still had some strength left and perhaps he
would have had it not been for the dogs. Facing Shapely and
taking their chances was preferable to fruitless flight but being
torn apart by a pack of vicious hounds was something to be put
off to the last moment.
They stumbled on with the continued yelping and barking of
the dogs in the rear, scratched and bleeding from their contact
with thorns and twigs. The sounds of pursuit were drawing slowly
closer now but they had nothing left. They could not increase
their speed.
Steve stepped off the end of a small embankment invisible to
him in the dark and pitched forward headlong, landing in water
with a splash, scraping his hands on stones underneath the shal-
low surface. Cathy fell in after him, into the water on her knees,
and she moaned in pain and dragged herself back onto the bank.
Steve got to his own knees soaking wet, the cold level of the
stream nearly to his chest. The moon was in sight now, above
and to the left, gleaming on the swirling, eddying surface of a
winding shallow river. The water looked like a bright twisted
ribbon against the dark woods that lined the other side twenty
Girl on the Run 183
feet away. The broken surface shimmered where it cascaded over
small rocks and eddied around the larger ones that were scat-
tered in the middle. Along the banks the stream moved quietly
with scarcely a ripple, deeper there, reaching a depth of three
feet, sloping to ankle shallows in the center.
Cathy moaned and held her leg. “My knee.” She rocked on the
bank.
Steve was on his feet now, the water streaming from his
clothes. He grabbed and shook her. “Can you walk? You’ve got
to walk. Maybe we can do it now.”
“I’ll walk.” She took his hand and waded in with him. “Where?”
“Upstream a little.” He cut diagonally to the right, dragging
her—limping, sloshing through the shallows, plunging nearly to
his waist by the other bank. They scrambled onto the dry turf
and Steve pulled her to her feet. “Hurry. We’ve got to hurry!”
The dogs and men were so close behind them now they could
hear the shouts of voices over the barking. Steve ducked with
her about twenty feet through the brush to the base of the largest
tree he had seen outlined against the sky from the river. The
lowest branches were too high to reach but he had no time to
seek out another. He stopped there and looked. “Yes. There’s a
branch on the other side. I could boost you to that.”
“No, Steve. No. They’ll find us. The dogs will find us.”
“Ssh. No they won’t. Now, back to the river the same way we
came. The exact same way, and hurry.” He led her back, follow-
ing the gleam of the water through the bushes, coming out at the
broken sod of the bank where they had climbed out.
On the other side of the river the barking dogs were close,
their howls filling the air. Loud voices were urging and there was
the noise of a group plowing through the underbrush. They were
so near that the reflections of flashlights were visible, lighting
the darkness.
Steve leaped into the water pulling Cathy with him. It was a
gamble and he splashed hastily back across the stream, making a
straight line for the opposite bank only ten yards upstream from
where they had first fallen in.
He held his breath, fearful that the men would burst into view
of the river before they got back but they made it with a minute
to spare. “Don’t touch the bank,” he cautioned and led her, waist
 184 Girl on the Run
deep in the chilly water, along the bank away from the spot. She
followed his directions blindly, not knowing what it was about
but trusting his superior skill. They added another twenty yards
to their distance and then the dogs were on the bank and bark-
ing at the river below them.
“Down,” he whispered urgently and sank in the water up to
his neck. She went down with him and he pulled her back against
the bank, only their heads above the surface, pressing against
the moist earth, withdrawing as much as they could under the
slight overhang of the grass. The voices were loud and clear on
the bank downstream, a short stone’s throw away, and Cathy
could see the beams of many flashlights. She felt horribly exposed
with nothing to hide behind. As soon as the men started across
the river they’d be sure to see her, she felt, and she closed her
eyes and trembled. Steve squeezed her hand under the water
and whispered, “Don’t move a muscle. Don’t even blink.”
Cathy didn’t and froze, looking down toward the men and
dogs she couldn’t yet see, wishing her face had been averted the
other way but not daring to turn. The trouble was they were at a
bend in the river and in their position they were almost in sight
of the same bank. One step into the river itself and the dogs and
men would be in view. There was a pause, however, before the
pursuers took the plunge.
“Shut up,” someone said and Cathy recognized it as the sheriff’s
voice. “Do you hear them in the water?”
Next there was a splash and as she looked toward the moon,
down the gleaming sparkling stream, she could see the dark fig-
ure of a man wade out hastily, armed with a flashlight. The flash
seemed unnecessary to her, the night was so bright. In her panic
it seemed like high noon and one glance upstream by that man
would disclose two heads close against the bank less than a hun-
dred feet distant.
The man had turned the other way and was shining his light
downstream in the direction of the moon toward the next bend
in the river. Then he wheeled and she could see the beam
brighten the night in its path like a searchlight as it probed in
their direction. It pointed dead center up the river, then swept
back along the farther bank, leaped out again and came along
their side. Cathy tried not to move but she couldn’t help cringing
Girl on the Run 185
as the beam coursed with what to her seemed infinite slowness.
It drew closer and then she was staring dead into the light as it
moved across her face. She blinked and winced again and when
she opened her eyes it had gone and there had beeri no outcry. It
swung over to the other side again and the man said, “They
aren’t in the river unless they got around the bend.” Cathy
thought she would faint and only the realization that it was but a
temporary reprieve kept relief from stealing her senses.
“Come on across. Maybe they come right out.” It was the sher-
iff’s voice again. He followed his own advice and splashed into
the water. He stumbled and fell and came up, pulled by a pair
of leaping, yelping dogs on leash, eager to make the other bank.
He recovered his hat from the water and started across.
Other splashes followed and Cathy and Steve could see the
whole number of their pursuers, five dogs and eight men, all
carrying lights. They broke through to the farther side, silhou-
etted against the moonlit surface of the stream, and the dogs
scrambled onto the embankment and started barking in frustra-
tion. Shapely held them back and conducted a hurried council,
still standing waist deep in the water. “O.K. Now we know. They
didn’t come straight out. We’ll split up. They didn’t get very far,
that’s one thing sure. We’re right on their tails. Tom, take a dog
down the bank on this side. I’ll work up with these two. Joe, you
and Howard take dogs up and down the other bank. The rest
of you split up and go with them. They aren’t far away. Go care-
ful and don’t be afraid to shoot.”
There was more splashing. Four men climbed onto the other
bank and were lost in the darkness, their progress marked by
the continual howling of the dogs, the flicker of lights. The others
returned to the bank they had left. In half a minute no one was
visible in the stream but the smashing of bushes and the barking
and the voices filled the air.
On Cathy’s and Steve’s side, the dogs were fighting their way
ahead along the river’s edge, drawing closer by the second, and
Cathy turned her face toward Steve and pressed her cheek into
the bank. It did no good trying to be inconspicuous. The dogs
would find them. It was only a question of a minute or two. Tears
came to her eyes and started rolling unbidden down her face in
huge heavy drops. They had tried. They had tried everything but
 186 Girl on the Run
they could not stand up, two against the world. Steve had done
his best and, good though it was, it could not be good enough.
Nobody could be good enough. He had sacrificed his job for her.
It might be more. The approaching men were not afraid to shoot.
Should Steve make any move it would be his life he had sacri-
ficed.
If she got up and ran, perhaps she might cause enough con-
fusion to let him get away. But she could not get up. He held her
hand in a grip of death. He wouldn’t let her go and he wouldn’t
use the confusion to escape if she did. He would stay with her
because he had always stayed with her. Nothing she could say or
do would induce him to leave her now. “Steve,” she whispered
against the bank, “I love you.”
“Sssh.” He hadn’t heard the words but he heard the sound and
his hand clamped tighter on hers. She opened her eyes and
looked at him. His head was digging into the bank as hers was
but he was staring across the stream. His attention was riveted
there despite the fact that the thrashing bushes on their own side
was halfway to them. She turned her head and looked too but
could see nothing but the shifting fragments of light in the shad-
owy woods, could hear nothing but the shrieks of dogs and the
crunch of brush under the sheriff’s heavy feet.
Then, as she watched and listened, the dogs set up a frenzied
cry and Shapely’s voice rang out, charged with triumph. “Here!
I’ve got it. They came out over here. C’mere quick!”
The sounds of the hunt took on an added impetus. Well down-
stream men and animals splashed into the water in a rush. Ten
yards away, so close that it startled Cathy to see how large the
man loomed, their own immediate pursuer and his dog leaped
into the river.
In a remarkably short time they were all over there, united as
a group once more, fighting through the growths away from the
stream. Beside her, Steve sighed softly and said, “That was just
about time.”
“But they’ll be back,” Cathy whispered. “That won’t fool
them.”
Steve said nothing and they listened together and for the first
time Cathy realized how cold the water was. Her hands and feet
were numb from it, her body like ice.
Girl on the Run 187
From the woods came excited and frustrated yelps and barks.
Yellow reflections flickered in the bushes and danced in the trees.
“They lost it,” Shapely's voice boomed in anger. “Damned dogs!”
Steve started to move, inching his way in the water, keeping
only his head above, hugging the bank. Cathy moved after, stiff
with the cold, clamping her teeth to keep them from chattering,
careful to make no sound though the bubbling of the river would
have covered anything less than the splashing of hasty flight. She
wanted to get up and wade, to rise from the icy water and move
as fast as possible before the hunters came back but Steve inched
along, increasing the distance steadily but slowly.
Back in the woods the lights were weaving among the treetops
and Shapely was bellowing, “It's the end of the trail. That's all
there is to it!”
“They’re in that tree,” someone else shouted. “Come on down.
We know you’re there.”
“Circle the tree. They might have dropped from a branch to
break the trail. Beat the bushes. Look for another trail. If they
didn’t do that they’re still up there and we’ve got ’em.”
“Someone go up in that tree.”
Cathy and Steve moved upstream around the bend, hugging
the bank, knowing they would be visible should they stand and
one of the hunters wander back. That was a risk Steve had no in-
tention of taking. They inched their way to a bend in the opposite
direction and the strident shouts of the men and the frustrated
howls of the dogs were growing fainter.
When they were safely beyond view, Steve stood and Cathy
stood up with him. She was trembling from the cold and the night
air felt like the first frost of October. But she was safe. Steve
hugged her momentarily and she clung to the hint of warmth
that the contact gave her. “I think we’ve done it, kid,” he said and
she could see that he was grinning in the moonlight. “Now we’re
going to wade just as far as we can. They’ll probably sit around
that tree till daylight but we’re going to go.”
“Yes, Steve,” she said and tried valiantly to keep her teeth
from chattering.
They walked through the water for an hour, deep into the
woods toward the hills, until the last sounds of the dogs had long
since faded into nothingness, until Cathy thought she would drop
 188 v
Girl on the Run
from exhaustion and exposure. Even then it was only through
thought of her that Steve finally yielded to the temptation to re-
gain dry land.
He climbed out as the moon was sinking behind the trees and
the river was fading into the same darkness as the forest. He
helped her onto die grass by the roots of a tree and sank to the
ground. She went down beside him utterly spent and chilled as
she’d never been chilled before. “Can we build a fire?” she
begged. “I’d give ten years of my life for a fire.”
He was shivering too, his teeth chattering in the cold of the
early morning hours. “I’ll lose forty years of my life if we don’t,”
he said. “I’m a cinch for pneumonia, but I’m not a Boy Scout and
this is all I’ve got.” He reached his cold hand into a wet shirt
pocket and pulled out die souvenir of his trip into town, a packet
of matches, very waterlogged.
Cathy, on her knees in front of him, clutching her arms and
shaking, looked and wailed, “Oh, Steve. What are we going to
do?”
He laid the matches carefully on the grass beside him where
the sun would catch and dry them out. “Well,” he said soberly,
“the best thing we could do to get warm would be to take off our
wet clothes and huddle together but—”
Her eyes grew large in the dim light, questioning, but obedi-
ent. “All my clothes, Steve?” she asked wistfully. “Would I have
to take off all my clothes?”
He laughed despite his quivering and rattling teeth. “Only
what you dare, kitten. You don’t have to take off anything if you
don’t want but I’m going to take off most of mine.” He fumbled
at his shirt buttons with stiff, numbed fingers.
“If I took off my dress and slip would that be enough? Could
I keep the rest on?”
“That would be fine.” He stood up and worked awkwardly,
shivering violently, until he had stripped down to his shorts and
spread his pants and shirt in anticipation of the sun. Cathy was
so numb she had to have help with her dress and slip and when
he laid them out, she looked down at her huddled, all-but-naked
self and said mournfully, “A girl loses all her propriety when she’s
so cold.”
Steve came back and took her in his arms and they clutched
Girl on the Run 189

each other tightly. They stood quivering together, neither with

any warmth to give the other. Steve kissed her wet hair and said,
“Tonight is one night when propriety doesn’t matter. Even if I
were the villain you think me, this is one time you don’t have to
worry about passes. Tonight we just try to survive.”
She kissed his chest and laid her head against it. “I don’t even
care any more,” she whispered helplessly. “I don’t care about
anything except you.”
“Kitten.” He caught her hair and tilted her face up to his. He
said it softly. “Kitten.”
Her eyes were brimming. “Don’t you know? You can lie to me,
you can leave me, you can do anything you want to me. I love
you.”
Then he was kissing her and the night and the danger were
forgotten. They sank to the ground caught in each other’s arms,
blinded to the world, alone in the universe, almost even blinded
to the cold. He kissed her lips, her eyes, forehead, chin, her
cheeks and nose. And she kissed him back, eagerly and breath-
lessly until they were both exhausted and lay quietly together,
warmer now but still shivering. And then they kissed some more
and the warmth grew but it wasn’t till the sun came up and
added its heat to their bodies that they were able to stop shaking
and, still in each other’s arms, fall asleep.

CHAPTER 31

When Steve and Cathy woke, the sun was past the
zenith and Steve’s waterproof watch said half past one. He kissed
her lingeringly and one hand started to slide over her body be-
fore he caught himself and pulled away. She sat up smiling.
“You’re not so safe today now that you’re not cold any more.”
“You’re not so safe either, not in your outfit. I think we’d better
bring back propriety before we forget what we’re doing here.”
He checked their clothes and said, “Damn. Still damp.”
 190 Girl on the Run

Cathy pushed back her tousled hair and said, “These home
permanents aren’t worth anything. It’s straight as string.”
They dressed together, shivering as they got into clammy
clothes, and Cathy said, “I wonder if I’ll ever be really warm
again.”
Steve was concerned with other things. He desperately wanted
a smoke and even a cigarette would have been welcome but,
while his matches were dry, the cigarettes were still in his damp
pocket, wet and stained. He put them back disconsolately and
said, “I don’t suppose you know anything about woodlore and
what in the forest is good to eat? They don’t grow coffee beans
here, do they?”
Cathy laughed and shook her head. “Not coffee. Maybe berries
but I don’t know where or what.”
“Are you as hungry as I am?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” Then she added, “Yes, I am. I
haven’t eaten in a day.”
“I don’t suppose this river is safe to drink.”
“It might be. I don’t see how it could be polluted way up here.”
“I don’t either, but I think I’ll go thirsty. Maybe we can find
some food at your house.”
Cathy looked shocked. “Oh no, Steve. We can’t go there.”
“We’ve got to go there eventually. Shapely’s going to show.”
“Do you really think he will?”
“If I can figure him right he will. The editor of the Gazette
showed him yesterday’s letter. He’ll show him today’s. And
Shapely will believe it. He won’t dare not believe it. He’ll be out
to the house the first chance he gets trying to find what he left
behind. I’ve got to be there when he does.”
“We've got to be there,” Cathy corrected.
“I,” repeated Steve. “You’re going to be in hiding just in case
there’re any fireworks.”
She swung around in front of him with a new and stubborn
look on her face. “This is my mess and if you’re going to risk your
life tackling the sheriff when you don’t have a gun, I’m not going
to let you do it alone. Don’t say a word. Either I go with you or
neither one of us goes.”
“You’d be in the way, Cathy. I couldn’t do my best work if I
had to worry about you.”
Girl on the Run 191
“If I’m there it’s two against one. Maybe I wouldn’t be as good
as another man, but I’d be better than nothing. It’s all settled.”
“No it isn’t settled,” Steve said sternly. “I’m a lone wolf in this
business. I’ve always worked alone. That’s how I was trained. I
can operate much better that way. You wouldn’t be anything but
a handicap.”
She moved closer and looked him in the eye. “All right, Mr.
Gregory, if you try to leave me behind, I’ll get out and walk down
the road to White River right out in plain view. I’ll go right into
Shapely’s office. You wished yourself into this but you’re not
going to wish me out. If we separate, it’s for keeps and 111 walk in
the road.” Her voice quavered but she remained firm. “I really
mean that, Steve. I’ll turn myself in.”
Steve growled and mumbled under his breath. Then he cast
a dour look at the clouds sweeping darkly in from the west. “All
right,” he muttered. “Time enough to decide that later. We’ve
got to get moving.”
“You know the way back?”
He scowled angrily. “We’re going to have to go by the river,
wherever that brings us out. In a few minutes there’s going to
be no sun and we don’t have a compass. By the time we get to
your house the sheriff will probably have been there and gone.
He won’t waste any time once he hears about that letter, and
God knows when well get there.”
Cathy started following his lead through the bushes that lined
the stream and said, “He wouldn’t go out in daylight would he?”
“Why not? Your house isn’t visible from any other. He might
be able to squeeze it in before your neighbor comes over to feed
the chickens for the night.”
“She can’t see the house,” Cathy admitted, “but she can see the
road in front. Do you think he’d risk it?”
“Maybe not. I hope not.” Then he said angrily, “These bushes
slow us down too much. We’d better start wading again.”
Cathy said not a word but jumped into the water to confirm
acquiescence. Steve was in a bad mood because of her and she
wanted to prove herself the asset she claimed rather than the
liability he feared. He turned and watched her, then jumped
in himself. They began splashing along. “You don’t think the
 192 v Girl on the Run
sheriff would still be in the woods looking for us, do you?” she
hazarded.
"No. There's no place for him to look once he finds we aren’t
in that tree.”
"I’ll bet he thinks we’re magicians.” She was trying to boost
his morale but Steve merely glanced at the sky and said nothing.
They splashed in silence for fifteen minutes and by now the sky
was overcast and the sun had disappeared. There were dark
clouds, sailing fast and growing ever more threatening. Steve
looked glummer. When he spoke, it was to say, “We’ll be lucky
if it’s only our feet we get wet today.”
"I’m used to being wet,” Cathy reminded him.
"And used to being hungry and thirsty too, I’ll bet.”
She followed his lead, catching drops of water that his careless
steps threw to the winds. Her dress was drenched to her hips,
wet to her waist, and sprinkled above. As a dress it would make
a good floor cloth. It was stained, dirty, shrunken, wet, and torn
to shreds. More of her slip and underthings were exposed to
public view than any man had ever seen, save Steve the night
before, but Cathy had changed in the past days. It no longer
embarrassed her. It no longer even attracted her attention. What
occupied her most was the gnawing ache in her stomach, the
tired soreness of her muscles, the dull dead block of hopelessness
she carried like a baby inside, and concern over the moods and
attitudes of the man with her. The state of her hair, her face,
and her clothes was of little import to her now. She could hardly
remember when they had been, when it was important to look
nice, when nothing was more pressing or more vital than a hot
bath or a shampoo. It seemed like another life, one she had left
so far behind that even the remembrance of it was vague.
When the rain began the sky was already black and though
it was mid-afternoon, the quality of twilight ran through the
woods. They were large drops at first, round wet things that
splashed when they hit, that rattled in the leaves above and
made plopping sounds along the quiet edges of the river. The
man ahead of her cursed low so that only the sounds and not the
words came to her ears. Cathy kept very still and plodded along
behind, somewhat fearful of his anger. It was a day when tilings
were not going at all well and could they have existed another
Girl on the Run 193
twenty-four hours in the woods, she would have preferred to.
Everything was wrong this day and it boded ill for the project
at hand.
Then the skies opened and the rain came down in torrents. It
would not have been so drenching under the trees but out in the
open, in mid-stream, there was no refuge and they kept on, Steve
sloshing angrily, Cathy hurrying timidly behind, huddling first
against the driving force of the rain then, when she was wet
through, ignoring it. She felt chilled and sneezed and Steve
muttered curses under his breath again. She sensed she was a
drag on him and fought back another temptation to sneeze,
smothering it when it finally forced its way through. Steve said,
“I think this river is heading southeast.” He growled the words.
“That’s the wrong direction,” Cathy said, trying to be bright.
“The house is northeast.”
After a few more minutes he said, “Anyway, the rain cuts down
the chances of anybody being in the woods looking for us.”
After that they waded in silence.
The woods were very dark by the time they broke into the
open and found themselves facing an expanse of cultivated field
and, well beyond that, bams and a house and a road. The rain
had settled into a steady, soaking downpour and the hills that
scalloped the horizon were lost in mist and only the nearer trees
that bordered the farmlands were visible as dark backdrops for
the heavy gray of the rain. It was a cold and cheerless scene,
reflecting the hopelessness of their own mood. Cathy put down
thoughts of similar rainy days at home when a dash to the coops
in Auntie’s old slicker was the ultimate of discomfort and when
there was a roaring fire in the living room to come back to. She
could see the fireplace now and herself stripping down her wet
clothes in front of it, bundling into a warm robe and sipping hot
tea. The fire was an admitted luxury but the tea was fast becom-
ing a necessity. Her stomach felt contorted and she wondered
how long people could exist without food or water. The water
was plentiful and she licked her wet lips, swallowing to moisten
her parched throat. Food was another matter. As they stood
there and surveyed the bleak scene, she realized that there were
no plans for a next meal. There was nothing in the foreseeable
future that even resembled a meal. They were barely north of
 194 Girl on the Run
White River but there was nothing for them there. They could
not show their faces. As for the house, even if they could get to
it unnoticed, it was doubtful that there would be any food in the
larder. It was doubtful that Steve would let them go in, at least
until he was convinced the sheriff would not be coming.
Beside her Steve said, "How far are we from your house?”
"About two miles.”
He swore softly. "It’ll be dark before we get there. Shapely
may have been and gone.”
She waited patiently for his decision. It wouldn’t be regarding
food, she knew, for he seemed to have forgotten about that
so-called necessity. He didn’t even feel the pelting rain. All he
could think about was the sheriff and what chances they had
should they meet him.
Steve said, "Come along. We’ve got to make it as fast as we
can. We shouldn’t have slept so long.” He started plodding near
the edge of the wood, keeping just inside the fringes, out of sight
of peering eyes behind the windows of the distant house. Cathy
ached all over and her legs felt in danger of soon losing their
ability to support her but she started after him without com-
plaint. She lived in the belief that one word of distress would
turn him on her like a tiger.
Once out of sight of the farmhouse, Steve came into the open
again, out from the bushes into the plowed lands, but the prog-
ress was little if any faster. The soil was soft under their feet and
sticky with the water which ran in rivulets through the furrows.
A child could follow the tracks they made.
As it got darker and actual twilight set in, Steve moved farther
out into the fields. They went over a fence and through a cow
pasture and there the walking was better but progress was still
slow for night was fast shutting down with that complete and
total darkness that only a rainstorm brings and there were boul-
ders and rocks left behind at random by the last glacier.
When it became too dark, Steve worked his way to the road.
Cathy dragged her weary legs over a stone wall and onto the
paved surface and felt with strange relief the solid support
beneath her burning and blistered feet. They were safe in their
invisibility on the main road, equipped with ample warning of
approaching cars by their own headlights. "If a car comes,” Steve
Girl on the Run 195
said, “get down flat in the gully.” She said, “Yes, Steve,” without
a quaver but the muddy streams that ran beside the road made
her wince at the thought of immersion. For once, however, luck
was with them. There were no cars.
It was nine o'clock and totally black when they reached the
house. At that they could not see it from the road and she only
knew its presence by her familiarity with the road itself. She
touched Steve's soaking sleeve with her own wet hand, pushed
the hair back from her face and whispered, “It's right ahead. Just
past the next curve on the right.”
Steve didn’t sound angry any more. She could feel an electric
quality in his arm where she touched him. He seemed to be walk-
ing on the balls of his feet. “O.K.,” he whispered back through
the rain. “Now we go carefully.”
They found the stones set in the bank to form steps to the slate
walk to the porch but they found no car in front. Steve clambered
up the bank, helped Cathy up, then pulled her off the walk and
across the lawn to the tall grass at the side. “Either Shapely's
been and gone or he hasn’t come,” Steve said. “Or he may have
parked his car around in back.” He looked at his watch and said,
“It could be that he hasn’t come. He’s probably been directing
search operations all day. He might be waiting till he won’t be
missed.”
Cathy wanted to say, “Perhaps he won’t come at all,” but it
wasn’t a hopeful statement and Steve was less frightening when
there was something to hope for. He took her hand and led her
with him along the edge of the tall grass, up nearer the special
quality of blackness that hinted the presence of something mas-
sive. She could as yet make out none of the outlines of the house
and certainly no sign of light in or about it.
Steve paused when they were about opposite it and listened.
Cathy listened too but there was nothing to hear other than the
constant sound of the rain. She said hesitantly, “Is there any-
thing?”
Steve shook his head in the darkness. “It’s a safe bet he’s not
here. Probably isn’t coming.”
“I wonder if there's any food inside,” Cathy said wistfully.
Steve put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “You
 196 ' Girl on the Run
poor kid. You must be dying. But we can’t find out yet. We’ve
got to wait.”
“How long?”
He said with a sigh, “At least till midnight.”
“Oh.” Then she said because she couldn’t help herself, “That’s
almost three hours.”
“Yeah,” Steve said grimly. “Why don’t you go around to the
chicken coops and get in out of the wet? I’ll call you when it’s
safe.”
“What are you going to do, stay here?”
“That’s right.”
“Just stand in the rain for three hours?”
“No,” Steve said. “Sit.”
“For three whole hours?”
“At least three.” Then he laughed shortly. “Three hours in the
detective business is nothing. I’ve waited ten.”
“Out in the rain?”
“Rain has nothing to do with it. Human behavior is only very
little dependent on weather. You go out back and I’ll call you.”
Cathy set her mouth in a firm line. “No, thank you. I’ll wait
where you wait.”
Steve didn’t argue. He merely sat down on the lawn fifty feet
from the house at the edge of the deep grass and said, “Make
yourself comfortable.”
She sat beside him as close as she dared but not too close be-
cause he didn’t appear to be in a mood that invited companion-
ship. To her surprise he put his arm around her and drew her
nearer, giving her some solace and warmth without detracting
from his own concentration.
Cathy had no expectation of anything other than the longest
three hours she had ever spent. She was brought out of her cold,
numb, half-drowned, enduring self about ten thirty when head-
lights appeared suddenly at the front of the house. It was Steve’s
tightened grip on her shoulder, a grip that tingled with elation,
that made her turn. She watched the lights ease by slowly, then
swing around and climb into the drive, reflecting dully on the
dark exterior of the house as they came to a halt directly across
from where they waited. She sat frozen as she watched them
blink off and then Steve was whispering, “O.K., Cathy, get back
Girl on the Run 197

into the grass and lie flat.” He led the way while, through the
rain and rustle, she heard the sound of a car door being quietly
closed. She didn’t have to be told who it was. Instinct identified
the sheriff and she felt a tin-ill of uneasy excitement and not a
little revulsion.
Beside her in the grass, Steve was as silent as death. He was
like a rattlesnake watching and waiting for the unwary prey to
draw within range. She shuddered. The next hour, she felt, was
going to be one she would never forget. There might be murder
in it. She could almost smell a killing. She devoted her attention
to the blackness beyond, peering through the grass at where the
car had been but there was nothing to see. She strained her ears,
conscious of the continual rain only from the sound it made, and
waited for other, less natural sounds.
They came. The screen door creaked, the cheap metal knob
on the front door turned and after a moment, the screen door
bumped quietly against the frame as it shut. Their quarry had
gone inside. Then, as she watched, a ray of light appeared on
the drawn windowshades, the moving beam of a flashlight and,
with its appearance, Steve started to move quietly forward, his
prey located and pinned by that beam.
She let him get out of the grass first, following behind, close
lest she lose him in the dark. Together they crept over the soggy,
rainswept lawn toward the house. Then they crouched and
paused and watched the moving light.
It went from one end of the living room to the other, sweeping
back and forth endlessly. Finally it disappeared for a moment and
came on again in the murder victim’s bedroom. After a long time
it went back to the kitchen and finally appeared in the narrow
cellar windows at ground level.
That was when Steve moved. He practically raced across the
grass and dove flat on the ground by the cellar pane, three feet
back, looking in. Cathy came up beside him on her knees and
bent low, watching too.
It was Shapely down there, moving carefully, flicking his light
back and forth, its glow occasionally reflecting his face, a face
that bore a thousand expressions, fury, concern, concentration,
a hint of panic, and more than a trace of suspicion. He moved
 198 Girl on the Run
quickly for a heavy man and he covered the area in haste as
though fearful of interruption.
When he was through he went upstairs again and now he
risked turning on the lights. First it was the kitchen light. Then
that went out and the bedroom light came on. That stayed for
a long time and Steve and Cathy moved to the window close
enough to peer through the gap between the bottom of the
drawn shade and the sill. Shapely was going over the room with
everything but a magnifying glass.
Next he went upstairs and lights appeared briefly there. Steve
caught Cathy by the hand and brought her around to the porch.
“Does it creak?" he whispered.
“Some,” she whispered back. “But not enough for him to hear
in the rain from upstairs.”
“O.K ” He led her carefully up the single step. It creaked too,
more loudly than she had expected and the porch seemed ex-
cessively noisy. She hadn’t remembered it behaving thus badly
in the past. “What do we do now?” she asked when Steve
stopped by the door.
“We wait for him to come out.” He drew back and flattened
himself against the clapboards beside the screen door and she
backed up against them herself. But where he was relaxed and
almost casual, she was tense and breathless. Though it might be
some time before Shapely appeared, she felt as though he were
half out the door already. They were out of the rain now but she
would rather have been in it than standing where Shapely would
pass. Over the dripping running streams that trickled off the
porch roof and beat a gully into the earth she could hear the
heavy tread of the sheriff’s feet as he came back down the stairs.
She held her breath.
The living room light went on. Shapely was throwing caution
to the winds and searching everywhere for that one possible clue
he might have overlooked. Though the whole tiling might be a
ruse, he couldn’t afford to take the chance.
The windows cast a pair of shiny rectangular patches of light
on the wet planks of the porch outside and Steve backed away
from the door to stoop and peer beneath the shadoof the nearest
one. Cathy bent too. There was a five inch gap and the inside
Girl on the Run 199

curtains blocked the sheriffs vision while only dimming theirs

and they could see him plainly.
Had there been any doubt in Cathy’s mind about the identity
of her aunt’s murderer, one look at Shapely’s face dispelled it.
She had never seen such an evil expression. Hate and rage and
desperation were written on its fat features and were reflected
in his manner. He looked obese in his gray shirt, spotted from
the rain, and the star on the pocket twisted and contorted when
he breathed. His feet were wet and so was the butt of the re-
volver he wore loose in the holster on his gun belt. She looked
at the belt with its array of cartridges and her heart suddenly
sank. He was wearing no knife.
She wondered if Steve had noticed and wanted to tell him but
she didn’t dare speak. Steve was a detective and he probably
had. She wondered what he would do now.
Shapely left the room again, returning one last time to the
scene of the crime. In a minute he came out and stood perplexed
in the middle of the floor, looking around. She and Steve
crouched together outside the window, watching closely.
Then, from behind, the beam of a flashlight shined on them
both. She could see her shadow in it thrown against the window
and with the suddenness of its appearance she gave a little
scream. Through the raging rain behind a cold nasal voice said,
“Put up your hands or I’ll shoot.”

CHAPTER 32

Steve raised his hands slowly to shoulder height and

Cathy, seeing that, put up her own, rather more rapidly. In the
living room Shapely, aware of light and sound outside, had stiff-
ened with his own hand on his holster. Then the man out in the
rain shouted, “Jim! Hey, Jim!”
Shapely moved then. He went to the door and opened it care-
fully, looking out. His eyes fell on Steve and Cathy standing in
 v
200 Girl on the Run
the beam of the flash and his mouth opened. He did not quite
understand.
‘‘Hey, Jim,” the man said. “It’s me, Howard. Look what I got.”
Shapely said, “Wal, I’ll be,” and a half grin came over his face.
He made a quick movement and drew his own gun. “O.K., don’t
you move, either of you.”
Steve said, somewhat in disgust, “I wasn’t about to.”
“I got a gun on them myself,” Howard said. “It’s a good thing
you made me a deputy.”
“Yeah,” Shapely said. “O.K.,” he snapped at the couple, mus-
tering himself but holding his gun aimed. “Get in here.” He
backed into the room slowly, looking nervous.
Cathy felt little fear but Steve was uneasy. Shapely was too
uncertain with that gun and an uncertain man with a gun was a
good deal more dangerous than the poised type. He moved very
slowly, keeping his hands well up, being careful not to startle.
They went inside and the man behind followed. Shapely
backed Steve and Cathy against the fireplace in the far wall and
his confidence grew, especially when Howard stepped in beside
him, water running off his black slicker, a rain-flecked automatic
in one hand and a wet flashlight in the other. “Saw them out-
lined against the window as I was coming up,” Howard said. “I
thought you might be in for trouble.” He was a tall spare man
with the lean, hardlined face of a yankee, his graying hair
matted and wet.
“Yeah,” said Shapely, still trying to understand the whole
thing. “Thanks, Howard.”
“You should have told me you were coming out here when we
got through. I thought you’d ignore that letter, Jim. I only came
out on a hunch—parked around the bend and hiked up for a
look.”
Steve said, “You’d be the editor of the Gazette, I suppose.”
“That’s right.” He tucked his flashlight in a deep pocket.
“One of Shapely’s co-conspirators.”
“The conspiring seems to be on your side. Poison-pen letters
aren’t going to get you anywhere. Jim’s my half-brother and I
don’t fancy what you’re up to.”
Jim’s grin was broader now. “Yeah. Looks like they were going
Girl on the Run 201
to ambush me kind of sneaky-like.” Harshness came into the grin,
giving it a sadistic character.
Steve said, “Backing up your half-brother in a frame, eh,
Howard? Make sure he gets rid of die evidence?”
Howards eyes got colder. “I don’t like the tone of your re-
marks, Mister. You’re the one trying to do the framing, you and
those letters. But we’re not so dumb around here as to fall for that
kind of a trick.”
“Howard showed ’em to me,” the sheriff said proudly.
“Thought you were smart but it didn’t work.”
Steve ignored him, making his play for the editor. “If your
sheriff’s so clean, what’s he doing out here? If he didn’t commit
any crime, what’s he trying to find that evidence I mentioned
for?”
Howard shook his head. “You aren’t kidding anybody. Maybe
it didn’t occur to Jim, like it did to me, that your letter was a
trap—laid out to add him to your fist. He was figuring you
planted something around here someplace and was writing in
about it trying to confuse the case we’ve got against this girl. He
had no choice but to come out and see what you did. Right, Jim?
The point is, if you had something legal, you wouldn’t be writ-
ing letters about it.” He shook his head again, regretfully this
time. “I feel sorry for you, Mister, falling for the girl. You
should’ve had more sense after what you were told about her.
Now you’re in for it good. It was bad enough helping her escape,
but plotting a little killing on your own—you bought yourself the
works.”
Steve said angrily, “Oh, grow up. Shapely’s got a gun and I
only have bare hands. I couldn’t attack him.”
The editor said coldly, “You’re not going to kid us with that
one either. Mister. You were laying for him. I caught you at it.
And we heard what you did to your friend down in Jacksonville
with your bare hands. You don’t need anything else.”
“That’s right, Howard,” Shapely said in a voice that was grow-
ing hearty. “Reckon you saved my life. Wasn’t figuring when I
came out here that they’d be around. Looked for them, of course,
but didn’t look too hard, what with this rain and all. As for that
clue they were talking about, I think that’s baloney. Thought
so all along but wanted to make sure.”

ptj R L i f NI G AW fci
PUBLIC
LIB.
 \
202 Girl on the Run
“Nothing here?” Howard asked.
“Not a thing. Couldn’t see how there could be. Couldn’t see
how they could rig anything like that without stealing something
of mine or something. There’s nothing here, Howard. It’s what we
thought it was, just trying to confuse the issue.”
“So it was just a trap. And it backfired.”
“Yeah. Right on them. I guess they know now when I go after
somebody, I get ’em.”
“You do,” said Howard. “And now that we’ve got them, what’s
the next step?”
“I’d like you to go back to Springfield and get everybody out.
Get your photographer and all the deputies and have them col-
lect at the county jail ’cause that’s where I’m gonna take ’em.”
The editor looked dubious. “Think you can handle them alone?
That guy’s kind of tricky,”
“I’ve got a gun for his tricks.”
“I think you ought to handcuff them, Jim.”
“Yeah. I was planning to. Put your gun on ’em, Howard.”
Howard did as asked and Shapely went around behind and
linked Cathy’s right hand to Steve’s left. He stepped back ex-
pansively. “You’re sure going to have yourself a scoop, Howard.
The murdering lovers. Look at ’em. Stuck on each other and
ready to kill for it.”
“It’ll make a good story.”
Shapely leveled his own gun once more and stood, legs wide
apart, holding the revolver easily. He had all the confidence in
the world. “Hell of a good story,” he said. “How long before you
can round up the boys? An hour?”
“About. Mind if I bring some of the printers over?”
“Bring anybody you want. I’ll see you there.” Shapely’s grin
was broad as he watched the editor push open the screen door
and go out into the rain, letting it slam behind him. He watched
the circle of light from the flash move down the path to the steps
at the road and the grin was still there but fading a little. When
he turned back it was gone entirely. “All right,” he snapped.
“Where is it?”
Steve was bland, “Where is what?”
“That clue you were talking about.”
“The one you left?”
Girl on the Run 203
“You heard me.”
Shapely was worried and Steve played on that. “Think back,”
he said. “Think what you did that night. It ought to be easy for
you. You came sneaking in thinking it was Cathy in the bedroom.
You groped and fumbled and you touched things.”
“Like hell I did.”
“You opened the door. You touched the knob.”
Shapely's lip curled. “If you’re talking about fingerprints,
there’s no place you ivont find my prints. I went through the
house after the murder and you won’t be proving any prints were
there before. Quit stalling.”
“Think what you did then.”
“I know what I did.”
“Then there’s no need to ask me about anything.”
Shapely took a step and stood closer. “Stop stalling, Gregory.
You’re going to tell me what’s around here.”
“You answered it yourself. There’s nothing around here.”
“Maybe if I worked over this little girl with the butt of my gun
you’d talk a little more.”
“If you do that,” Steve said coolly, “you’ll have to kill me first
and that might be a little hard to explain to the editor. It will be
very hard to explain to Mr. Brandt of the Brandt Detective
Agency. He might look into you and it wouldn’t take a smart man
long to find out what happened.”
Shapely said, “You’ll be resisting arrest. That won’t be hard.”
“Handcuffed and shot in the chest? It doesn’t convince me and
it won’t convince the State Police. Your whole smelly scheme is
going to blow up in your face, Shapely, and anything you do to us
is only going to make it blow up faster. You only got this far be-
cause nobody around here knows anything about police work.
As soon as you get somebody outside interested, you’re going to
find out what police work is really like. You’d be surprised what
comes out of it. A blood-stained hair, a spot on your suit, and
you’re it.”
“Talk big, Mr. Detective,” the sheriff said, stepping back a
little. ‘"You’re bluffing. There’s no evidence here at all.”
“I said there wasn’t.”
“And to make sure, all I have to do is fight a match and this
place goes up in smoke.”
 v
204 Girl on the Run
“In all this rain?”
“Give it a good start and it will.”
Steve sighed. “I wasted my time with all this escape business.
All I had to do was wait. You’d give yourself away.”
“I’m smarter than you think,” Shapely said. “And you’ll find it
out.” He stepped to one side and gestured at the door. “Get on
outta here.”
Cathy took a hesitant step in front of Steve toward the screen
door but Steve jerked her back with his handcuff. “Stay where
you are, Cathy. We don’t precede the sheriff anywhere.”
Shapely gestured again. “You’re preceding me out that door
right now, Mister. Go.”
“So you can shoot us in the back and tell everyone we tried to
escape? You’re going to have to shoot us head-on or not at all.
I’m smarter than you think too, Sheriff.”
Shapely stood for a moment undecided. The gun in his hand
was tempting but the prospect of getting away with two cold-
blooded murders was not. He chewed his lip in silence and then
his attention was directed suddenly elsewhere. From outside came
the sound of a heavy tread on the porch and a casual voice said,
“Anybody home?”
The sheriff wheeled and for a moment looked ready to send
a bullet at random through the screen. “Who’s out there?” he
called.
“Just me.” Then a figure was at the entrance and the voice took
on a chuckle. “Well, look what we’ve got. A party!”
The door opened and in walked Dick Graves.

CHAPTER 33

Had Steve thought a savior was at hand, he was im-

mediately and thoroughly disappointed. Dick Graves came in
with a smile that radiated pleasure at his predicament and his
Girl on the Run 205
greeting to the sheriff was congratulatory. “Nice piece of work,
Sheriff,” he said. “Caught them single-handed, eh?”
“Well, ah, yes, I did.”
Dick allowed Steve a superior grin. “What’s the matter, Stevi-
kins? You look surprised. Did you think you left me for dead on
the streets of Jacksonville?”
Steve just said, “Oh, Christ.”
“That was no way to treat a fellow-agent, Steve, bopping him
when he’s trying to help you.”
“Sure,” Steve said. “You weren’t going to turn us in.”
“That’s all right, Steve. Now that I see the little lady you tossed
your cap over the windmill for, I don’t exactly blame you. If she
looked at me the way she’s looking at you right now, I’d probably
bop you too.”
“Couple of little lovers,” the sheriff growled.
“They do look pretty, don’t they. Crime doesn’t pay, I always
say.”
“This,” said Steve to Cathy, “is the friend I told you about, the
one I ran into in the bank down south, the one you thought I
should have let help us, the one you thought I shouldn’t have hit.
The one I should have hit a little harder.”
Dick said elaborately, “Howdy, Ma’am. Pleased to make your
acquaintance, short as it may be.” He turned to Steve and said,
“That’s all right, old man. No hard feelings. I can assure you I
was perfectly all right five minutes after your attack. Unfortu-
nately, that was all you needed to take you all the way up north.”
“But we got them in the end,” Shapely said with grim satisfac-
tion. Then he looked at Dick. “How did you get out here?”
Dick leaned against the door frame, his hands in his raincoat
pockets, the water wet on his face. “It’s this way, Sheriff. I got
to hear about that letter Stevikins wrote Howard and I got think-
ing just the way you did. I got thinking our friend here was lay-
ing a trap. Normally I’d figure you could handle it alone but,”
and here he rubbed his neck, “I had a recent recollection of our
friend here’s prowess in the art of surprise attack and it occurred
to me that possibly, just possibly mind you, he might contrive to
make things difficult all around. So I thought I’d make a little
trip. Didn’t have a car like you, Sheriff, so I had to walk. Seems
it was a wasted trip after all. Got him all by yourself.” Pie per-
 \
206 Girl on the Run
mitted a grin then. “That's going to make a good story, Sheriff.
Ought to make headlines all over the country about how the
sheriff who was robbed of his prisoner tracked his man down and
got them both. Those papers that panned you for letting them
get away will kind of have to eat their words.”
Shapely looked a little musing and not at all displeased. “Will
look kind of good at that, Graves. Guess it proves us small-town
sheriffs can hold our own with the big-city boys.”
“It will at that.”
Steve said, “Brandt will be pleased too. Took you a long time
to track me up from Jax, MIS-ter Graves.”
“I don’t think you’re talcing this in the right spirit,” Dick said.
“When you perpetrated your little daylight theft down there I
kind of spread the alarm. We got up road blocks but just about
half a minute too late. You got through but we found the cabby
that took you and we were right behind you all the way. Ahead
of you in spots, but I won’t count that because I don’t guess any
of our agents really expected you to arrive on the same trains
and planes you started out on. Mr. Brandt, while he wasn’t
pleased at my vulnerability, was not exactly surprised and, judg-
ing from the reports, he surmised that you were trekking back to
White River so he sent me on up. I’ve been here, what is it.
Sheriff, about a week?”
“About.”
“And if the sheriff hadn’t been so quick on the draw, I’d have
had you myself so, you see, Brandt’s doesn’t look too bad. We
come in a close second and against anybody other than Mr.
Shapely here, it would have been first. Right, Sheriff?”
“That’s right, Graves.” He and the detective grinned at each
other. The game was in the bag and they loved it.
“Tell you what. Sheriff. Let’s you and I take them back to town
and slap them in the jail and then notify the wire services about
your little coup. There’s still time to make the morning editions.”
He chuckled then. “You’ll need a big scrapbook to collect all the
writeups you’ll be getting. White River’s going to be the biggest
little town on the map.”
Shapely nodded. “Good idea, Graves. We’ll take them in right
now.”
“Fine, but let’s put another pair of cuffs on them.” He pro-
Girl on the Run 207
duced a pair from under his raincoat. “Just to make sure they
don’t give us any trouble. Lets see,” he mused. “Back to back
or front to front? Better make it front to front seeing they’re so
much in love. They can kiss each other all the way to jail.”
“Let them do what they can while they can,” Shapely growled.
Dick pushed Steve and Cathy together and clamped the other
pair of handcuffs on. Steve said, “Without doubt you are the
dumbest agent Brandt ever hired.”
“Second dumbest,” said Dick, stepping back admiringly. “I
never held up a sheriff. There you are, Shapely. A pretty pack-
age.”
Shapely waved his gun at the pair. “O.K., outside and into the
_ »
car.
It was an awkward position and Steve and Cathy had to move
out in crabwise fashion while Dick held the door. He guided
them along genially, chatting about the state of the weather and
the amount of mud under their feet, remarking how fortunate he
was in being able to borrow a raincoat that wasn’t too short in
the sleeves. He opened the car door for them and helped Cathy
in but was more of a hindrance to Steve, in whose way he kept
managing to get. Steve finally ended up in the car and out of the
wet, more on the floor than the rear seat and Dick closed him in
with a cheery, “Comfortable?”
Shapely went around to the driver’s side and climbed in, push-
ing his coat open to sheath his gun and Dick climbed in beside
him. “You keep an eye on them?” Shapely asked.
“Sure thing, Sheriff. I’ve got a gun too, in case they get rest-
less.”
“Fine.” Shapely started the engine, threw the car in reverse
and backed out the drive, the wipers sloshing through the
torrents of water that streamed down the windshield. They went
back over the road toward town.
Steve worked himself up onto the back seat and Cathy laid her
wet head against his wet shoulder. “I’m sorry, Steve,” she mur-
mured. “It’s all such a horrible mess.”
He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It’s not your fault, it’s
mine. I’m the one who messed it up.”
“I wish I’d never run away. I wish you’d never found me or
they had sent somebody else after me.”
 208 Girl on the Run
“I’m glad I found you,” Steve whispered. “I waited thirty-four
years to find you. I haven’t said it yet, kitten, but I love you and
when I say it to you I mean it’s for keeps. Forever. No matter
what happens.”
“Steve.”
He kissed her full on the lips and warmth flooded through him,
blotting out the cold and making him forget his hunger. For a long
moment there was nothing in the world but the girl beside him.
In the front seat, Dick said, “That’s very touching.”
Steve and Cathy ignored him and kissed again. She began to
sob quietly.
Shapely rolled over a small bridge and growled, “What’s going
on back there?”
“Ssh,” said Dick. “They’re in love.”
“Hah,” the sheriff snarled. “They’ve been living together for
two weeks.”
“A crude thought,” said Dick, “but probably true.”
They rode on in silence, through White River and down to-
ward Springfield and the county jail. The time fairly flew and
Steve noticed with reluctance the clusterings of houses that
marked the outskirts of the town. They’d had so little time, so
little of eveiything.
In the front seat Dick said, “Steve?”
Steve didn’t answer. He bent over Cathy’s upturned face, her
flickering lashes and parted lips.
“Hey, Steve!”
He paused angrily. “What do you want?”
Dick’s tone became conversational. “You know, Steve, I think
maybe this sheriff really is dumb. I couldn’t believe you actually
took his gun away from him but look, I just did it myself.”
The car veered and Shapely straightened it. He said in a roar,
“What?”
Dick patted his arm. '“That’s all right, Sheriff. Just keep driving
—and not over twenty-five or this thing might go off.”
Steve was sitting up straight now. “What the hell are you
doing?”
Dick went on in his conversational tone but he wasn’t looking
in the back seat now. He had twisted around facing the sheriff.
“Both hands on the wheel, James. And never mind the county
Girl on the Run 209
jail. You may drive us to State Police Headquarters instead.
They’ve got better cells there. You know, Steve, he really is
dumb. Either that or he’s grossly insulting. He shows no respect
at all for Brandt’s Detective Agency. He goes and kills a woman
and then has the gall to hire us to hunt somebody else. He doesn’t
give us any credit for brains at all. And he thinks we aren’t ever
on time. He thinks Brandt men are so slow they come strolling
into a play in the last act. He really thinks I only just got there
when I came up on the porch. What a crying shame that a man
can be so dumb.”
Steve’s eyes were wide and Cathy’s mouth was open. She was
gasping in disbelief. As for Shapely, he was choking.
Steve said, “What is this reverse all about?”
“Why, Stevikins. Are you so overwhelmed with your new-
found love that you too are becoming dense? I’ve been hanging
around your little cabin out there since before nightfall. It was
with great pleasure that I watched first you, then Mr. Shapely,
and lastly Mr. Shapely’s half-brother, Howard, put in your re-
spective appearances. It was a two-mile hike from White River.
You don’t think I was going to learn about your letter at four
o’clock in the afternoon and then wait till after dark to begin
walking, do you? I’ve been hanging around all evening and, in
the vernacular, I heard a mouthful.”
Steve said, “Omigod. Then you mean you heard Shapely
confess?”
“That I did. It was a nice confession, Shapely. Brief, but to the
point.”
Steve hugged Cathy. “Well, what do you know! We did it!”
“Sorry, old man. I don’t like to steal your thunder,” Dick re-
plied, “but you didn’t do anything. I had Shapely sewed up
before you started writing those billet cloux. When I called up
Brandt after that Jacksonville fiasco, he sent me on up here to
look around. You don’t give him credit, Stevie. He’s not so dumb
as to think you’d pull the trick you did for no more reason than
because a little girl made eyes at you. He was mad at first, but
by the time he cooled off a little he decided the whole thing
could bear investigation. That’s what I’ve been doing—investigat-
ing. Lots of things turned up. Hair with blood on it that looks like
Shapely’s. That was in the bedroom and the lab will check when
 v
210 Girl on the Run
we give them some of old Jim’s here. Blood on his knife. Thanks
for the loan of that knife, Sheriff. I didn’t really lose it, I just took
it to the police lab. There are a few other things that haven’t been
checked yet, like some little spots on the seat of this car that I
think will be blood from his clothes.” He paused to prod the
sheriff with his gun. “Easy, Buster. Not over twenty-five, I said,
and draw up right in front of State Police Headquarters. They’ll
be waiting for you.”
The sheriff was unable to speak. His face was white with terror
and he moved like an automaton, obeying orders, unable to act
on his own.
“That’s about all we’ve got so far though I’m hoping to find the
clothes he wore or what’s left of them. So, Stevie, I guess your
little girl-friend won’t be going up for a murder rap and you
won’t go to jail for helping her escape. Wouldn’t be surprised
but that the old man takes you back. I wouldn’t expect any
bonus, though. A dock in pay would be more like it.”
Steve said drily, “Thanks. So what you mean is you knew when
you walked in that house tonight that Shapely was the boy?”
“But of course, Stevie.”
“And you handcuffed us up and let us suffer for an extra half
hour?”
“Well now,” Dick said. “That was sort of a dirty trick you
played on me down there in Jax, Stevie. I kind of thought it
wouldn’t hurt you to repent for a little while.”
“If I didn’t have these handcuffs on I’d do it to you again.”
Cathy shushed him and spoke then. “Mr. Graves, I think you’re
the most wonderful man in the world—next to Steve. I’d like to
kiss you.”
“Why thank you, Ma’am. Someone appreciates how I work my
fingers to the bone. This looks like the place, Mr. Sheriff. You
just draw up to the curb nice and easy and kill the engine. Then
we’ll kind of go inside. Right?” He spoke to the passengers again
as the car came to a stop and the sheriff sat there gripping the
wheel. “Mighty nice of you, Ma’am, like I say,” he drawled. “But
Stevikins here might object to the kissing part. I don’t think he
likes me any more.”
Steve said, “I might forget my distaste if you’ll take both of us
 Girl on the Run 211

out for a big dinner right now. We haven’t eaten in two days.”
Dick nodded. “I frankly don’t know who’d serve anybody
dressed as miserably as you two are. But I guess we can look into
the matter just as soon as I take care of a little business inside.
You can let go of the wheel now, Sheriff. We’re here safe and
sound. Come on, Jimmy. Pick up your head and walk.”

4°
9

\
girlonrunOOwaug
girlonrunOOwaug
A PENNY FOR THE GUY
Jan Roffman
Pembridge had always made much of its
Guy Fawkes Day celebration. This time the
festivities included murder. The victim was
a pretty girl with few scruples and less
morals—but Detective Sgt. Ratlin was de-
termined to find her killer.

THE UNLOVED
Dolan Birkley
The victim was young Brian Cayhill, a part-
time gardener, and the police were stymied.
But Jeremy Dane remembered that the
gardener had kept a notebook about the
neighborhood people ... a notebook that
someone had once tried to steal . . .

A COMPLETE STRANGER
Van Siller
The investigation uncovered no reason for
Victor Mallory’s death. But someone must
have had a reason for meeting him at the
charming old mansion where his mutilated
body was discovered by a local real estate
agent.

THURSDAY AT DAWN
Werner J. Luddecke
Walter Klett had been tried, convicted, and
sentenced for the brutal murder of his aunt.
His mistress had done everything she could
to obtain mitigating evidence, but unless the
real killer were found Klett would die by the
guillotine, Thursday at dawn.

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