I got a busy signal, and dialed again.

This time Mrs. Brighton answered on the first ring: "Hello?"

"This is Archer speaking. Have you had any luck?"

"Yes, sir, but all of it was bad. The trouble is that a whole lot of the people sound suspicious. It may be something in _my_ voice that does it to them. I'm sort of scared sitting here by myself, you know. And I don't seem to be accomplishing anything."

"How far down the list are you?"

"Maybe halfway. But I feel that I'm not accomplishing anything. Is it all right with you if I quit for the night?"

I didn't answer her right away. Before I did, she let out an apologetic snuffling sob and hung up.

XXX

I switched off the kitchen lights and took another look at the Chantry place. There were definitely movements in the greenhouse. But I couldn't make out their significance.

I went out to the car for my binoculars, and ran into Ruth Biemeyer for the second time.

"Have you seen Doris?" she said. "I'm getting a little concerned about her."

She was more than a little concerned. Her voice was thin. Her eyes were dark and craterous in the brilliant outside lights. I said, "Has Doris left the house?"

"I'm afraid she has, unless she's hiding somewhere. She may have run away with Fred Johnson."

"How could she? Fred's in jail."

"He was," she said. "But my lawyer got him out today. I'm afraid I made a mistake. Please don't tell Jack about it, will you? He'd never let me forget it."

She was a woman in trouble, sinking still deeper into trouble. She had lost her poise and started to lose her hope.

"I'll tell your husband what I have to-no more. Where is Fred? I want to talk to him."

"We dropped him off at his parents' home. I'm afraid it wasn't a good idea, was it?"

"It isn't a good idea," I said, "for you and me to be standing here with all the outside lights on. There's something funny going on at the Chantry place."

"I know there is. It's been going on a good part of the day. Today they were cutting down weeds in there. Tonight they've been digging a hole."

"What kind of a hole?"

"Go and look for yourself. They're still at it."

I went down the driveway to the edge of the slope, where the wire fence stopped me. The lights went out behind me. I leaned on the fence and focused my binoculars on the greenhouse. A dark man and a woman with shining gray hair-Rico and Mrs. Chantry-were working inside the building. They seemed to be filling in a hole with shovels, using a pile of dirt that stood between them.

Rico slid down into the half-filled hole and jumped up and down, packing the loose dirt. He appeared to be sinking upright into the earth, like a damned soul sinking into hell by his own volition. Mrs. Chantry stood and watched him.

I caught her face in my binoculars. She looked rosy and rough and dangerous. There was dirt on her face, and her hair curved like glistening gray hawk wings over her temples.

She reached a hand down to Rico and helped him out of the hole. They teetered together on its edge and then returned to their task of filling it in. The earth fell soundlessly from their spades.

A black thought bit at the edge of my mind and gradually eclipsed it. The people in the greenhouse had dug a grave and now they were filling it in. It didn't seem quite possible. But if it was, then it was possible that Betty Siddon's body was under the dirt.

I went back to the car for my gun and had it in my hand when Ruth Biemeyer said behind me, "What are you planning to do with that?"

"I want to know what's happening down there."

"For God's sake, don't take a gun with you. So many innocent people get shot. And I still haven't found my daughter."

I didn't argue. But I slipped the gun, a medium-caliber automatic, into my jacket pocket. I went back to the fence and climbed over it and started down the slope to the barranca. It had been planted and overgrown with succulent plants that felt rubbery under my feet.

Farther down, the succulents gave way to sage and other native bushes. Nestled among the bushes, like a giant golden egg, was a girl's blond head. Doris was crouched there, watching what was going on in the greenhouse.

"Doris?" I said. "Don't be scared."

But she jumped like a fawn and went crashing down the slope. I caught her and told her to be quiet. She was trembling and breathing hard. Her body kept making unwilled or half-willed movements, trying to jerk away from me. I held her with both arms around her shoulders.

"Don't be afraid, Doris. I won't hurt you."

"You're hurting me now. Let me go."

"I will if you promise to stay where you are and keep quiet."

The girl quieted down a bit, but I could still hear her breathing.

The couple in the greenhouse had stopped filling in the hole and were standing together in listening attitudes. Their eyes ranged up the dark hillside. I got down among the sagebrush and pulled Doris down with me. After a long tense minute, the people in the greenhouse resumed their work. It looked like gravediggers' work.

"Did you see what they were burying, Doris?"

"No, I didn't. It was already covered when I got here."

"What brought you here?"

"I saw the light in the greenhouse; then I came down the hill and saw the big pile of dirt. Do you think they're burying a body?"

There was awe in her voice. There was also familiarity, as if her nightmares were coming true at last. "I don't know," I said.

We moved across the slope to the corner of the wire fence and along it to her parents' driveway. Ruth Biemeyer was waiting at the top.

"What do you think we ought to do?" she said.

"I'll phone Captain Mackendrick."

She left me in the kitchen. I kept my eye on the greenhouse through the window. All I could see was barred light crossed by occasional shadows.

Mackendrick wasn't in his office, and the police operator couldn't locate him right away. I had time to remember that he had known Chantry when he was a young cop, and to wonder if he was going to see him again shortly.

I got Mackendrick at home. His phone-was answered by a woman with a semi-official voice who sounded both impatient and resigned. After a certain amount of explanation, I persuaded her to let me talk to her husband. I told him what was happening in the greenhouse.

"Digging in your own greenhouse isn't a crime," he said. "I can't do anything about it officially. Hell, they could sue the city."

"Not if they buried a body."

"Did you see them bury a body?"

"No."

"Then what do you expect me to do?"

"Think about it," I said. "People don't dig grave-sized holes and fill them up just for the fun of it."

"You'd be surprised at what they do. Maybe they're looking for something."

"Such as?"

"A leaky water main. I've seen people dig up a whole yard looking for a water pipe with a hole in it."

"People like Mrs. Chantry?"

He was slow in answering. "I don't think we better continue this conversation. If you decide to take any action, I don't want to know about it."

"There's something else you don't want to know about," I said. "But I want to tell you."

Mackendrick sighed, or grunted. "Make it fast, eh? I've got a lot on my agenda, and it's late."

"You know a young woman named Betty Siddon."

"That I do. She's been in my hair."

"You haven't seen her tonight, have you?"

"No."

"She seems to be missing."

"What does that mean?"

"She's dropped out of sight. I haven't been able to contact her."

"For how long?"

"Several hours."

Mackendrick shouted at me, in a voice that was half angry and half jocose, "For God's sake, that doesn't mean anything. If she'd been gone for a week or two, you might say she was missing."