oOo

The dark streets seemed to stretch endlessly into the night. Paul checked the clock on the dashboard for the umpteenth time. According to what the people at the garage had told him, the drive to Glennview would take a good ninety minutes. He had already been on the road for ninety-five minutes interminable minutes and had yet to regain civilization or even see as much as another vehicle on the road.

Factoring in the time he would likely need to obtain the information he was after and then another drive of probably a few miles to reach the mansion, Paul was deeply worried that he might be too late. By now, the kidnappers had surely noticed that Jocelyn Raynor had fled. They would likely leap to the conclusion that she had done so with the intent of betraying their secret and would act accordingly. In the best possible case, they would simply leave Steve behind, but it was also possible that they would take her with him, or, and that was what Paul feared the most, kill Steve in order to silence her. Paul was so lost in his thoughts, that he was startled when another car suddenly overtook him, racing down the narrow street at an alarming speed. The other car had hardly gained a distance of 30 meters when without the last warning, an explosion erupted in its place, a bright ball of fire enveloping the space where it had been mere moments ago. In the same instant, something slammed into the windscreen of Paul's hired car, shattering the glass. Paul instinctively raised his arm top protect himself, loosing control of the steering wheel in the process. The car swerved widely and finally came to a crashing halt in a ditch at the side of the street.

Paul was stunned for a moment, but soon regained enough presence of mind to turn of the engine which was still spluttering despite the accident. It was only when he'd clambered out of the wrecked vehicle and back onto the road, that he noticed that he was bleeding quite profusely. Probably from where the shards of the windscreen had cut him, he thought, still too numb with shock to register any pain. The other car burned brightly in the night, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh and rubber. Even if he'd been able to approach the burning vehicle, there would have been nothing he could do for its driver. For what felt like an eternity to him, but could in reality only have been a minute at the most, Paul stood, still dazed and stared at burning car ahead. Eventually, the pain brought him back the his senses. His right cheek was hurting furiously, from what was most likely a bad cut from flying glass. Paul turned around in circle, looking and listening for any signs that someone other than himself had heard or seen the explosion or the subsequent fire. But the crackling of the fire remained the only noise. However, as he looked closely, he spotted a faint glimmer of light to his left. It was completely stationary, indicating that it might be a building in the far distance. He would have to walk straight across the fields to reach it, but with the light on, it was likely that somebody was home. With the hired car wrecked and no help in sight, it seemed like the only option to try and reach the distant dwelling.

oOo

More than once while Paul Temple had been stumbling towards the faint light in the distance, he had been certain that it had to be moving away from him, as he never seemed to get any closer, no matter how long he walked across the rough countryside. Finally, however, the light grew and brightened and five minutes later, a sizable estate came into view. Paul nearly tripped when the uneven surface suddenly made way to a gravel path leading up to a wrought iron gate looking very solid and formidable. It was only when he was quite close to the gate that he noticed that it stood ajar. Paul slipped through the opening, quickening his steps as he approached the building. Its whole appearance was one of neglected wealth. The building was large and sprawling, set in vast grounds. However, the garden was ill-kept and the facade was in need of repair. All these observations registered in the back of Paul's mind, his main focus on reaching help. He climbed up the stone steps leading up to the front door and pressed the bell. When he received no reply, he tried again, holding down the button longer. He could hear the sound of the bell reverberating inside, but once again there was no sound betraying the presence of any occupants. Not willing to give up so quickly, not after he had come this far, Paul walked around the side of the building. He wasn't sure what he was hoping to find exactly, but he knew he had struck gold when he came upon a backdoor standing half open.

He knocked against the wood for good measure, but didn't bother to wait for a reply this time before he pulled open the door and peered inside.

The lights were on inside, but there was no sign of the occupants. Paul cautiously stepped inside, following the narrow passage until it opened into a spacious entrance hall. Paul wasn't more than two steps away from the end of the passage before he spotted the slumped form of a man on the stone floor at the foot of the stairs. A pool of crimson surrounded his head, indicating some sort of catastrophic injury there. The novelist was certain that the man was dead, but nonetheless he bent down to check for a pulse. The skin under his fingers was still warm, but he wasn't surprised to find no pulse. Suddenly feeling faint and rather dizzy, Paul had to grip the railing of the stairs to steady himself. It struck him, rather belatedly, that he had probably hit his head harder than he had first thought when he'd crashed the car. He would be lucky if he didn't have a concussion. But he was getting side-tracked, he reminded himself sternly, he had come here to find help and the notify the police, so that he could get back to finding Steve. He found it strangely hard to concentrate, struggling to remain focused on the task at hand. A phone, he said out loud, I need a phone.

It was in that moment, that a noise registered in his ears. It was faint, barely audible, but it sounded like a person moaning in pain or some other kind of distress. It was coming from upstairs. He grabbed hold of the railing once again and made his way up the broad staircase as quickly as his condition would allow. Trying to track to source of the sounds, he paused for a moment once he'd reached the first floor and listened attentively. Now that he was closer, he could make out more than just moans. Interspersed between these pained noises where indistinct words, muttered and barely audible, let alone comprehensible. He passed several door as he let himself be guided by his hearing, pausing briefly in front of each one. Finally, he reached the door from behind which the sounds seemed to emanate. Without losing a second, a turned the handle and stepped inside. The room was completely dark. Only the sliver of light coming in through the opened door allowed him to make out the outlines of various pieces of furniture. In the center of the room, facing the large windows was a bed in which a woman's figure was huddled, moving restlessly as if trapped in a nightmare. It only took Paul a second to realize who it was, even though her face was turned away from him, He would recognize the figure and hair anywhere. It was Steve! Losing no time, Paul crossed over to the bed, ignoring the pounding ache in his head.

"Steve? Steve!" he called out. As soon as he laid his hand on her shoulder though, he realized that she wouldn't answer. Through the thin fabric of her nightgown, he could feel the heat radiating off her. Even in her fevered state, Steve tried to shift away from his touch, nearly breaking Paul's heart. What if she died without ever regaining awareness, without any chance for them to say a final good-bye? Paul forced himself to reign in his thoughts. He needed to get it together and get Steve help. He loathed to leave Steve even for an instant, but had no choice. He needed to find a phone quickly. With a last look at Steve, he hurried from the room and back down the stairs. He had already noted that there was no phone in the entrance hall, so he proceeded to the first door leading from it. Beyond it lay a sitting room, its furniture though once luxurious, was several decades out of fashion and visibly worn. But there was a telephone all right.

oOo

It was early morning before Temple was finally free to leave mansion. Steve had long since been taken to the nearest hospital, he'd been question, quite at length, by the local police and finally, had been seen to be doctor one of the officers had called in. The physician had urged him to go to hospital himself, but Paul had been adamant in his refusal. He had allowed the medical man to see to the cut on his face however. Stranded as he was at the lonely estate, he was glad when the detective on the case, one Detective Curtis, drove him back to an inn in the small town of Glennview. He longed for news of Steve, but reason told him that he was unlikely to be able to satisfy that need until dawn at least.

He was dead on his feet by the time he more or less stumbled towards the reception desk of the small inn. The porter eyed him dubiously, with a distinct hint of fear, but Paul was too tired to care about his appearance. The sight of several dollar bills appeared to mollify the porter and five minutes later, Paul had obtained a room for what was left of the night. Staggering inside, all he could do was collapse onto the bed. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

It was from seemingly the exact same position that he was roused seven hours later by pounding noise. Still half-asleep, he attempted to burrow further into the pillow, but as that action caused a sharp pain from the cut to his face, he only succeeded in waking fully. Realizing that the pounding noise was coming from someone knocking at the door very insistently, he called out: "Just a moment!" before climbing out of bed.

Looking down on himself, he was somewhat dismayed to find his attire more worthy of a tramp than a successful novelist: his shirt was not only extremely rumpled, but also covered with brown stains of dried blood both down the front and on both sleeves, which also bore quite a few rips from where they had been cut by flying glass. His trousers were slightly better off, but stained with mud almost up to the knees. His shoes were positively ruined, too, by the mud. Since there was nothing he could do about his ragged appearance, he simply ignored it for the time-being and opened the door. Outside stood the some porter whom had manned the reception desk earlier.

"Visitors to see you, sir. Detective Harrington of the New York City Police Department and another gentleman. Shall I tell them to come up?"

"Yes, please." In light of his appearance, it seemed safer to receive the visitors up here in his room, rather than downstairs were people would be passing.

Paul did not have to wait long before Detective Harrington arrived, along with another man, a tall spruce-looking fellow in his early thirties.

Harrington immediately introduced the second visitor to Paul as one Agent Tobin of the FBI. Paul, having pictured Tobin as at last fifteen years older, managed to conceal his surprise.

"You arrived here very quickly," he commented instead. "But it seems like you came all this way for nothing."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Tobin replied evenly. "Detective Harrington has filled me in on the details, and it seems like you got involved with some rather ruthless people, Mr Temple. After what happened last night, I'd say you need all the help you can get on this."

"What did happen last night, as far as you're concerned?" Paul asked. "I have to admit I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, and what I do remember doesn't make a lot of sense to me."

"Well, we were hoping you would complete the picture for us," Harrington said, avoiding the question. "How did you find out where your wife was being held?"

"A woman came to me yesterday at the Laurent Hotel and told me as much. I tried to reach you, Detective Harrington after I received this information, but it seems that you were unavailable, so I decided to investigate on my own. I hired a car and as I was driving up to Glennview, another car passed me before it suddenly exploded."

"Beverly Kingston was driving that car," Harrington informed him solemnly.

"That's interesting, that's very interesting indeed," was Paul's only remark. When he noticed that both investigators were looking at him with unbridled attention. "Well, I assume you already know the rest. At any rate, I told everything to the Glennview police last night."

It was Harrington who picked up the thread. "What interests me most is that woman you say came to see you at your hotel. Did she tell you her name?"

Paul nodded. "Yes, she did. She called herself Jocelyn Raynor, but I doubt it's her real name."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because," Paul began deliberately, "I believe that she is both an accomplished blackmailer and a multiple murderess."

The two men stared at him, completely aghast. It was Agent Tobin who recover first from the shock.

"Assuming you're right about this, I understand what murders you mean, but blackmail? Who did she blackmail and why?"

"I can't answer the question of why just yet, but I m convinced that she blackmailed both Patrick and Beverly Kingston, Winifred Morris, Peter Baxter, Andrea Miller and Cecil Blake . And those are only the people I know about, there may have been others."

"And then she murdered some of them? That doesn't make any sense!" Harrington exclaimed.

"It does if her ultimate motive was murder all along," Paul replied. "I think the blackmail was only a means to an end and she planned to kill all her victims eventually."

"But that's all just speculation!" Harrington exclaimed.

"I will give you the proof along with the killer." Paul promised coolly.

"When? How?"

"I ask you to leave to how up to me. As for the when,I propose tonight. All you have to do is give me a little bit of help to set the trap. This is what I need you to do..."

oOo

After he'd finished the conversation with Tobin and Harrington and they'd, albeit reluctantly, acceded to his requests, Paul hired a car at the local garage in Glennview and drove to the hospital where Steve had been taken. She was, as he soon learned, still in the throes of fever. Paul spent the day by her side, refusing to believe the doctors' dire predictions about her chances to make it through. She had defied the odds ever since the initial shooting and Paul fervently clung to the hope that she might do so yet again. The fear however was undeniable and as night started to fall, he regretted bitterly that he'd have to leave her side soon in order to catch the woman who'd done this to her. He had made a promise to the investigators though and had no choice but to follow through. Sir Graham had furnished some of the missing information when Paul had telephoned him earlier and all that was left now was to trap the murderess once and for all.

With a last look at Steve's now still form, he quietly left the ward.

TBC