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questions you should be out trying to find her. Why don’t you start doing what you’re getting paid to do?”
    The sheriff flushed. Prentice, who had noticed the Cadillac and the Corvette in the garage, stood up and said heartily, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Barry. We’ll do our best.” He glanced sharply at the sheriff and added, “And so will the sheriff’s department, I’m sure.”
    Lambert got to his feet and said to Richard, “I meant no offense. I hope we can find your wife. We will certainly try.”
    “Thank you,” Richard said quietly. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
    “It’s quite understandable, under the circumstances.” Lambert and Prentice moved to the door. Richard opened it for them and said, “Thanks for coming, gentlemen.”
    “All part of our job,” Prentice said. “Good night, Mr. Barry.”
    “Good night.”
    When they were gone Richard carried the coffee pot and cup to the kitchen. Then he went to the terrace with the bourbon bottle and sat in the wind and drank just enough from time to time to maintain a mild glow. It helped, because he was restless and tired of being confined to the house. He wanted to leave, take the Corvette and just drive anywhere, but it wouldn’t be wise, not tonight. Tomorrow it would be all right for him to leave. Maybe then it would be even safe for him to see Rose Ann, if only for a short while. He sipped the whisky and thought of Rose Ann.
    At eleven o’clock he went to bed. As he lay naked, smoking a final cigarette, he reached out and switched on the radio beside the bed. The tubes warmed and presently a man’s smooth, modulated voice filled the room.
    … And there is mystery in Harbor City this evening, a mystery involving an unidentified blond woman who was found unconscious on a small island in the lake this afternoon by a party of fishermen…
    Richard jerked erect, turned up the radio’s volume and listened intently while a growing sick horror filled his brain.
    … She was taken to Memorial Hospital where she is reported to be recovering from exposure, fatigue and shock. However, she apparently cannot remember her identity or how she came to be on the island clad only in a bathing suit. She is described by hospital attendants as having light brown hair, cut short, gray eyes, about forty years old, with an abdominal scar resulting from an appendicitis operation. And now to the world of sports. This evening—
    Richard snapped off the radio and in the sudden quiet he heard the wind rustling around the house. He took a cigarette from a package on the bedside table and lit it with hands that trembled only a little. He drew on the cigarette, frowning, and then crushed it out. He stood up and dressed quickly—gray flannel slacks, the dark blue polo shirt, a light gray tweed jacket. After pocketing keys and money he turned out the light and left the house by the front door, locking it behind him. The garage door was open and in the moonlight he saw the two cars there, Karen’s white Cadillac and the yellow Corvette. He unlocked the trunk of the Cadillac, took out a flat, heavy crescent wrench, slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, closed and locked the trunk. Then he stood a moment, gazing at the two cars. Abruptly he got into the Corvette and started the motor. He would have preferred a less conspicuous vehicle for his mission, but he did not have much choice.
    He drove the sixteen miles into Harbor City at a steady fifty miles an hour and was careful to obey all traffic signs, lights and warnings. On the edge of the city he stopped at an all-night gas station to ask for directions to Memorial Hospital. He reached the hospital a little after eleven-thirty, parked a block down the street in the shadow of a maple tree and walked back. A wide cement walk bordered by a thick hedge led from the street to the front entrance of the long low building. Richard approached the building at a normal gait, annoyed at the sagging weight of