I started it up, dropped it into reverse, backed out to clear a car being serviced ahead, and sent the little machine forward, picking up speed through the gears.

"Nuts," the kid said, "you've driven one before. I thought I was giving you a treat."

"Any Mercedes is a treat," I said.

"I heard you talking to Mrs. Logan," she said. "It sounds as if Dad's been giving them a rough time."

"He's a good strategist," I said. "He can see the enemy's weak points clearly. I mean, normally you don't go threatening a man like Duke Logan about his kids, no matter how retired he is. Because what happens is, you get a phone call one night and a gentle British voice says, I say, old chap, if anything should happen to Peter, I'd have to hold you personally responsible, don't you know? It's the natural reaction of anybody trained a certain way. It's what I'd do, and it's what Logan did, I'm sure."

"You sound… you sound as if you and the Duke had a lot in common. Besides a wife."

"Oh, we do," I said. "And don't forget Fenn. He's one of the smoky boys, too, and a good one.

But what I was saying is, Fredericks would know the Duke meant every word of it. Your dad's goons could ride around the hills looking menacing all they wanted to; but the minute they made a real move, your dad would know the Duke wouldn't spend one fraction of a second over the boy. He'd leave that to his crew. Himself, he'd just wind up that fancy Jag of his and head for town with a gun under his arm, and he wouldn't be bluffing one little bit. No, your dad never had a chance of pressuring Logan as long as there was just the boy."

"But I don't see how his getting married changed-"

I said, "The trouble with Logan's countermove, kid, is that like the hydrogen bomb, it's a great deterrent, but when it comes to actual use, it's more or less a one-shot proposition. You can't go charging into town with blood in your eye every time some mysterious stranger hands a baby a lollipop. You've just got to sit out these harassing tactics. Well, the Duke could do it, and his boy probably just thought it was real exciting, like the movies, and my kids are too young to worry about things like that. But Beth isn't what you'd call a real good sitting-it-out type. She's led a sheltered, civilized life until quite recently; her nerves aren't up to this kind of cold warfare. So Fredericks twists the screws, bit by bit, never really stepping over the line far enough to send the Duke on the warpath-but meanwhile the lady of the ranch is slowly going out of her mind with worry, and probably not keeping it a secret from her embattled husband. He can laugh at Fredericks, but if he loves her he can't very well laugh at her."

Moira said, "That makes Dad a real creep, doesn't it? Hitting at a man through a woman."

"Yes," I said, "it sure does."

She glanced at me quickly. Apparently there had been something odd in my voice, of which I hadn't been aware. I dropped the little Mercedes down a gear with a neat job of double-clutching, and sent it charging up the next hill with the tachometer riding the red danger-line. It wasn't the hottest job in the world, but it smoothed out those Nevada back roads in a startling fashion, and stuck like glue in the curves.

The place was well back in the hills. We reached it after following a dirt track and a single telephone wire for a good many miles. It was a small ranch, complete with barns and corrals, but there didn't seem to be any people or livestock around. We pulled up in the dusty yard, and Moira laughed and pulled off the kerchief she'd put on to protect her hair, breathing deeply.

"All right," she said. "I'm convinced. You've driven one before. Let me order seatbelts before the next demonstration, please."

I waited without speaking, with my hand on the gun in my pocket. The front door opened and a youngish man came out. He gave me a certain signal, and I took my hand out of my pocket. I reached back and lifted Moira's suitcase out of the space behind the seats, and helped her out.

As we walked towards the house together; she said, "God, what a dead-looking joint. I hope I won't have to stay here long."

I didn't answer. The man who had greeted us, following my earlier instructions, was at the phone when we came in. I closed the door and put the suitcase down. The man signaled that he had the connection. I turned to look at the kid.

"I made you a promise once," I said.

"A promise?"

"I said that even if the situation should arise, I wouldn't ask you for help." She remembered, and her expression changed, becoming faintly puzzled and wary. I said, "Your dad is coming on the line. He's already a bit worried because of the radio reports saying you're missing. I'm going to talk to him now. I'm not asking you, Moira, I'm telling you: at a certain point in the conversation, you're going to scream. It will be a good, loud, scream. It will convince him I mean business, which I do. You won't be betraying him voluntarily. You'll be screaming simply because you have to. You can remember that, later."

She took a step backwards, her eyes wide and shocked and incredulous. Then I had a painful grip on her arm, and the young man was beckoning me towards the phone, urgently…

Chapter Eighteen

I DROVE away from there fast, taking the little Merc. If it were seen in my possession later, so much the better. It would let Fredericks know I hadn't been bluffing when I said I was holding its owner hostage for his good behavior in certain specified regards.

It took me two hours to find my way by back roads to the Double-L Ranch. When I got there, it was approaching the same time of afternoon as when I'd seen it previously, and the place looked about the same, except that there didn't seem to be anybody around. Beth's Buick station wagon was parked in front of the door, however, headed out. I pulled up behind it, making the swing in the yard very smartly with a quick down-shift and some fine sports-car exhaust noises. It's a subdued and polite little car, not one of your raging beasts, but you can make it snarl a bit if you try.

I switched off and got out, stretching my legs and looking as casual as I could with all my senses tuned for trouble. Then the front door slammed open and Beth ran out of the house looking very breathless. She came to a sudden stop, staring at me in a surprised way.

"Matt!" she said. "Oh! I thought…" She checked herself abruptly.

I didn't get it at once. But she was looking so confused and guilty there had to be a reason, and I looked around and glanced at the Merc and recalled the youthful, noisy flourish with which I'd announced my arrival. I looked over towards the carport. The Land Rover was missing. Well, young Peter Logan had taken that to transport the kids and their retinue back into the mountains. But the big green Jaguar roadster was missing, too.

Nobody who's consciously compared the two would ever mistake the polite burble of the little Mercedes for the roar of an XK-150S, but Beth hardly qualified as a sports-car expert. To her, a car was just something that ran until it stopped running, after which you got a man to fix it for you. I looked at her standing there, still in her lady-of-the-ranch costume, regarding the toes of her handsome saddle-leather pumps with downcast eyes, like a teen-ager in the principal's office.

"Where is he?" I asked.

She said, "Matt, I-"

I wanted to shake her. "Where's he gone?" I demanded. She didn't answer. I said, "Wherever it is, you obviously didn't expect him back so soon. Where'd you send him, Beth?"

She licked her lips. "I didn't…" She stopped. "It was just a… a stupid quarrel…" She stopped again. "I couldn't stop him!" she breathed.

"He went to town after Fredericks? The damn fool! What does he think this is, a Wild West movie? I told you to sit tight, both of you!"