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am going to be extremely busy."
"Sure, mate. I'll just stay here and study."
The door closed and Cobber's eyes lit up craftily. No way was he going to sit
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here and be bored all day. He was going to have a little excursion into town.
After all, Dick was going to be busy. And what Dick didn't know wouldn't hurt
him.
Sidney walked across the front lawn to where Vishnik sat painting.
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"Vishnik did not order drink," snapped the artist without missing a brush
stroke.
"Compliments of the hotel."
"In that case, Vishnik accepts." He picked up the glass from the bar tray.
From behind a clump of bushes peered Tom. Oh, no! Sidney was delivering drinks
again! He jumped out of the bushes and dashed across the lawn. Reaching
Vishnik in a wild bound, he grabbed the glass from the astounded artist's lips
and spilled the contents out on the grass.
In one swift motion Sidney inserted the homing pin into the collar of
Vishnik's painting smock.
"What kind of stupid hotel is this?" raved Vishnik. "They give with one hand
and take away with other!"
"You didn't want to drink that, did you?" stammered Tom.
"Go away. Vishnik cannot paint."
"You were trying to feed poor Mr. Vishnik some of that laxative!" Tom accused
as he and Sidney walked away.
"No," said his brother in amazement. "Mr. Parson asked me to deliver a
complimentary drink, that's all."
"Do you expect me to believe that, Sidney? You're off duty."
"I volunteered to do it anyway. It's no big deal."
With a sinking heart, Tom looked at the front
entrance of the hotel. There stood Parson, burn137
ing with indignation. Tom ran up to his boss. Sidney walked off in another
direction.
"Weston, what on earth were you trying to prove out there? Why would you do
such a thing?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said Tom. "I'll get Mr. Vishnik another drink."
"At once, if you please. The poor man is terribly upset about his dog. Get out
there and cheer him up. Talk to him. Make him enjoy his stay here at Pine
Grove."
Tom ran off, got the drink and raced back across the lawn towards Vishnik.
As the artist arched and craned to examine his work, he felt something
scratching against his
neck_ He reached back and pulled out the pin.
"What is this? I should kill those creeps in laundry! Vishnik could have been
stabbed! Then world would be deprived of great art!" He tossed the pin
contemptuously onto the ground.
Tom jogged up. "Here's your drink, Mr. Vishnik."
Vishnik took the glass and looked around warily. "Where is other one who looks
exactly like You to take away?"
Tom grinned sheepishly. "No, this one you can keep."
Vishnik took a sip and returned to his work.
"That's a very beautiful painting you're working on, sir." Tom craned his neck
to get a better view. It looked like two people taking a bubble bath in an
egg.
"Bah! Vishnik cannot paint without companionship of Vishnik's dog!"
Tom swallowed. "Well, anyway, have a nice day." He began to walk away. "Ow!"
He lifted up his right foot. Embedded in the sole was a pin exactly like the
one he had removed from Waghorn's shoe. Angrily he jammed the pin deep into
the ground and stomped off.
Wings Weinberg and Captain Snider stepped out of the movie theatre and walked
towards their car in the parking lot.
"Pretty good movie, eh, Wings?"
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"Yeah," agreed Wings enthusiastically. "I loved the part where Bill tracked
down the man who'd been haunting him for years. What a great murder scene!"
Snider got into the car, Colonel Cartwright's staff car, and unlocked Wings'
door.
Wings' gaze suddenly locked on a blue Plymouth sedan at the edge of the
sidewalk. His eyes bulged, his mouth dropped again.
"It's-Bert Cobber!"
"Where?" cried Snider.
Wings pointed wordlessly at the Plymouth, which was pulling away.
"Come on, Wings! Get in the car!"
With a screech of tires, the big Oldsmobile whipped out of the parking lot and
onto the street behind Cobber.
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checked the rearview mirror. Wow, it was Wings -Wings and that captain guy!
Oh, no! They were chasing him! If he got caught, Dick would kill him! He
wasn't even supposed to be in town! He speeded up and began to weave in and
out of the traffic, widening the gap between the two cars. Snider, too, began
to accelerate.
With a squeal of his tires, Cobber turned onto the highway against the light,
narrowly missing a red car, which spun around in traffic to avoid him. Snider
whipped around the corner as well, leaning on the horn to warn people out of
the way. He sideswiped the red car, leaving a long scratch along the length of
the Colonel's. Once on the highway, he floored the pedal with determination.
"We're going to catch that guy if it kills us!"
Wings held on, gazing fixedly at the car up ahead and at what he knew to be
the back of Cobber's head.
Cobber noticed the Oldsmobile still on his tail. "This'll shake 'em!" He
wrenched the wheel around and the car flew over the median. Making a complete
turn, he roared down the highway in the opposite direction, passing Wings and
Snider and averting his face to avoid recognition.
Snider spun his own steering wheel and, with a squeal, was over the median,
leaving the muffler clanking behind. The sand and gravel flew as Snider's car
hit the soft shoulder. A rock flew up and cracked Wings' side window.
Cobber checked his mirror. The Olds was still there. He leaned on the horn,
but two trucks blocking his way ahead would not permit him to pass. Snider and
Wings were getting larger and larger in the mirror. Suddenly Cobber signalled
to the left and veered sharply right, tearing off the road through a
cedar-rail fence and jouncing across a well-cultivated cornfield, spraying mud
in all directions.
Snider gritted his teeth and followed, flicking on his windshield wipers to
clear away the dirt Cobber was kicking up. The wipers snapped off and were
gone. Snider was driving completely blind. Hastily he rolled down his window
and stuck his head out. There was a barn coming! With a crash, the car smashed
through the barn door, wood splinters and hay flying everywhere. The cows
looked on without interest as the Oldsmobile shot straight through the barn
and out the other side.
Snider brought the car to a halt to get his bearings.
"There he is!" Wings pointed to Cobber's blue Plymouth working its way back
through the field towards the highway.
Snider floored the accelerator, spinning the back wheels, sending mud and hay
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