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regular patrons of the Lodge.”
    In his report Inspector Jones set down the details of the investigation and added the opinion that no local people had been responsible for the arson. Since the two Australians who had called at the pub shortly before the fire both had extensive criminal records, suspicion pointed very strongly toward them.
    The superintendent who reviewed it concurred. The word was passed to all stations to be on the alert for the wanted men. If located, they were to be handled with maximum care.

    While sitting quietly in a corner of the Mountaineer bar, Peter did some careful thinking. He was definitely upset by the delay in seeing O’Malley; his mind kept conjuring up various disasters that could occur before he could complete his mission. At the same time, he could see a benefit: by keeping him waiting this way, O’Malley was being put under a certain obligation.
    He had agreed to listen to what Peter had to say. He might even pave the way for a personal meeting with Bishop. If that became a reality, then any delay would be justified.
    As far as going up the West Coast was concerned, he was not too enthusiastic. Queenstown was an ideal place to rest and wait. Also, in the back of his mind he had the thought of asking Jenny Holbrook out.
    But O’Malley had suggested the West Coast trip; if he turned the idea down, it might not sit too well. O’Malley had even offered to arrange for a car. Obviously, he had no choice: thank God he had had enough sense to see that.

    In the morning a solid breakfast and three cups of coffee got him in gear for the day. He packed his bags, checked out, and was waiting when a little red Ford Cortina pulled up in the small parking lot.
    The road map was simplicity itself—a sheet of paper that showed the single highway up the West Coast of the South Island and the few other roads that fed into it.
    “There’s a government-owned tourist hotel at Franz Josef, where you may want to spend the night,” the driver said. “Take care on the one-way bridges, and have a fine trip.”
    At first, Peter found driving on the left unexpectedly trying. Staying on what was to him the wrong side of the road was bad enough, but because he was seated on the right side of his vehicle, all his feeling for clearances was thrown off. Twice he ran the left tires off the road before he began to get a better command of the car.
    Following the map he had been given, he took a narrow, winding road to Wanaka, where he turned westward. When he finally cleared the last of the winding turns and saw the brilliant, tumbling, almost living waters of the Tasman Sea, all of his long-suppressed sense of wanderlust came surging back.
    He marveled at the magnificent, unspoiled panorama as he turned north at the tiny community of Haast and gave himself over to full enjoyment of the spectacular drive. Gigantic ferns grew alongside the road, mixed with other forms of plant life that were unknown to him. Despite the lack of almost any traffic, he was forced to keep a slow pace to handle the constant twists in the road, the frequent one-way bridges, and the narrow pavement.
    When he at last reached Franz Josef, it was rapidly growing dark. Among the few buildings he found a motel, where he checked in. An inviting dining room provided a very acceptable dinner. Before he had finished his meal, it had begun to pour rain.
    In the morning the rain was still coming down, with no signs of relenting. As soon as he had finished his breakfast, Peter checked out, got back into his little car and started north. He had driven several hundred feet before he was abruptly reminded that he was driving on the right; he had to swerve sharply to avoid a Pedestrian who stood, utterly confused, in the middle of the roadway.
    In the still-continuing rain he drove on, taking what pleasure he could from the shifting vistas of the Tasman Sea but concentrating on the highway, which was narrow and much too winding for comfort. Trees overhung