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and—”
    “Shut up, I can’t stand a guy so full of wise cracks.”
    “A definite character flaw.”
    “Come on, Tucker, tie him back up.”
    Tucker complied.

    There was a cold silence all around him. The shovel felt twice as heavy as it had when Tucker had climbed up out of the secret exit and into the foggy forest.
    A wild goose chase, he told himself. There’s no money here. It’s just a pipe dream, something Silva made up when he was completely goofy. And we’re just as bad, wasting our time.
    And yet Stark seemed so certain.
    Give it a few more days, he thought. You got nothing much waiting for you back in Los Angeles. And a million bucks split three ways . . .
    There was something following him.
    Tucker stopped and spun around.
    Only curtains of mist all around him. Black trees.
    Brush crackled, twigs snapped.
    The girl was small and dark. She was dressed in a long, flowing white gown.
    Tucker swallowed. She didn’t look like a ghost. No, she seemed very real. “Uh . . . good evening,” he said softly. “You must be with the movie gang. I’m . . . uh . . . a fisherman. Had some trouble with my boat out on the—”
    She was smiling at him.
    And the smile made Tucker’s stomach go cold. “What is it?”
    He didn’t have to ask. He knew she meant to kill him. Her eyes flashed that, her smile made it certain. That horrible smile.
    Tucker remembered that he had the shovel. “Watch out, lady! Stay away from me.”
    He swung the shovel like an ax, making a great rushing sound and tattering the fog.
    The dark girl leaped, dodged the swing, and caught hold of the handle. She was incredibly strong. She wrenched the shovel from his grip and flung it off into the night.
    “Watch out,” he warned. “I’ll—”
    Her hands were all at once around his neck, fingers digging into flesh.
    The fog and the blackness of the night seemed to be flowing into him through his open, gasping mouth. An awful coldness filled him. The fingers dug deeper and deeper.
    Globes of light blossomed before Tucker. It got brighter and brighter all around. As if the night were ending and a warm new day was—
    Then his life was ended.

CHAPTER XI

Beating the Bush
    “Sugar?” asked Heather Brail.
    Little Nellie Gray crossed her legs. “Plain, please.”
    The actress handed her the tea cup. “I’m not actually English, despite the name they’ve stuck on me and the publicity buildup,” she said. “But I do find I like a cup of tea now and then.”
    The two women were in Heather’s room in the mansion. The night fog pressed against the leaded windows.
    “It’s hard to avoid some affectations in your line of work,” Nellie said.
    Heather smiled. “You’re quite fond of Cole Wilson, aren’t you?”
    Nellie blinked. “Well . . . yes. I’m fond of all the guys I work with in Justice, Incorporated.”
    “A little more than that in Cole’s case, isn’t it?”
    Nellie turned to look at the Black Forest clock on the mantle. “No, not really. I have to be democratic, being the only girl on the team. I . . . I can’t have favorites.”
    “I see,” said the auburn-haired girl after sipping her tea. “Somehow I get the impression you don’t care for me much. And I thought it might be because you felt Cole and I are close friends.”
    “You are, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, we are friends. I like him quite a lot,” said Heather. “I’m very concerned right now. I’d like to know where he is and be certain he’s still all right. It’s not a romance, however.”
    “Oh, so?” Nellie set her tea cup on the table beside her chair.
    “Yes, really.”
    The little blonde said, “What do you think about the Fiddler girl?”
    “Fanny and I aren’t very close,” replied Heather.
    “Trying to talk to her at dinner,” said Nellie, “I got the feeling she was keeping something back. But I can’t figure out what.”
    “It wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of Fanny if she lied to us,” said Heather. “But I don’t think she