The Flesh of The Orchid by James Hadley Chase Page A

By the circles under her eyes she’d give herself away as well as information for two hundred bucks.”
    Garland’s face fell.
    “He’s right,” he said to Joe.
    “But you’d never be the same guy again,” Joe said seriously. “I’ve tried her. It’s like wrestling with a bear-trap.”
    “I like ‘em that way,” Magarth said simply. “Ever since I was knee-high to an ant I’ve been handling energetic women. You don’t have to worry about me.” He tilted his hat over his nose, squinted at Garland. “Of course, if you’d like to make it a hundred bucks I’d play along with you. I’m the self-sacrificing type.”
    Garland and Joe exchanged glances.
    “O.K.,” Garland said. “It’s a deal.”
    “It’ll have to be good for the dough,” Magarth reminded him.
    “It’s better than good—it’s sensational,” Garland said. “Front page stuff in six-inch type.”
    “Bigger than Pearl Harbour,” Joe said.
    “Bigger than the Atom Bomb,” Garland added, not to be outdone.
    Magarth produced a roll of notes, peeled off five twenty-dollar bills.
    “I came heeled guessing you two would sing,” he said, dangling the bills. “Let’s hear.”
    “John Blandish’s heiress,” Sam said, grabbed the notes. “How do you like that?”
    Magarth took a step forward.
    “What do you mean?” he said, a rasp in his voice. “What kind of fluff’s this?”
    “What I say,” Sam said. “Ain’t you heard of John Blandish ? Well, this guy had a daughter and she was kidnapped. . .”
    *     *     *
    Steve and Carol breakfasted alone together the next morning. Roy had gone out early after trout.
    “Did you sleep all right last night?” Steve asked casually as he poured coffee.
    “I dreamed,” she returned. “I always dream.”
    “But did you get up in the night?” Steve smiled at her. “I thought I heard someone moving about in the cabin. Maybe I was dreaming, too.”
    “Oh, no,” she said, touched her temples with slim fingers. “But something did happen. I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything. It frightens me.” She reached across the table for his hand. “I don’t know what I should do without you. I feel so safe with you.”
    Steve grinned uncomfortably, patted her hand.
    “You’d be all right,” he said. “What do you dream about, Carol?”
    “I don’t really remember. I seem to dream the same dream ever and over again. It’s something to do with a nurse. I don’t know what she does, but it’s always the same nurse. She has a horrible look in her eyes and she stands over me. I am so frightened in my dreams, and I wake up frightened, my heart beating, and the dark frightens me.”
    Steve worried about her all day, and he was still worrying when Roy returned after dark.
    Roy was silent and surly until bedtime, his eyes continually on Carol.
    He was already in bed when Steve came in after locking up, and he pretended to be asleep.
    Steve glanced at him, shrugged, got into bed. He was tired of his brother’s surly behaviour, longed to be rid of him.
    Later in the night Roy sat up, called softly, and when Steve made no reply he cautiously pushed off his blanket. ? He was trembling with excitement and desire. All day he had brooded about Carol, working himself up, determined that tonight when Steve was asleep he’d go to her. She had let him kiss her: showed no fight. It should be easy so long as he could get out of the room without waking Steve. Quietly he slid out of bed.
    Steve stirred in his sleep and Roy waited, tense, ready to slip back to bed, but Steve slept on. Moving softly, Roy left the room, closed the door, stood listening.
    Carol’s room was at the end of the passage. There was no sound but the wind rustling in the trees and the lake water swirling against the jetty.
    Roy crept down the passage, listened at Carol’s door, heard nothing, turned the handle and went in.
    He could see Carol lying in the bed, her arms uncovered, her hair like a, red halo on the