that night.
“Some kind of fracas here,” observed Nellie, bending to poke at the trampled ground. “Somebody fell . . . and somebody else seems to have come up behind him.”
Smitty had gone over to examine a nearby tree trunk. “Had a wire tied around here,” he pointed out. “That’s what they must have done . . . stretched a wire across the path and tripped Cole up.”
“Yeah, and then came up and sapped him from behind.”
“Nice guys,” said Smitty. “Well, now let’s see where they took him.”
The tracking device led them on. In a few moments they had left the overgrown path and were cutting through weeds and underbrush.
“We picked the least-traveled path for sure,” said the little blonde.
“Yeah, I’m starting to feel like Robinson Caruso,” said Smitty.
“You mean Crusoe.”
“Geeze,” complained the giant. “When Cole makes a remark like that everybody chuckles and says he’s witty. But when I make a wisecrack . . .”
Nellie patted his arm. “Sorry, pal.”
The mechanical bloodhound in Smitty’s palm made one soft clucking sound, then started buzzing faintly.
“What’s that mean?” asked Nellie.
Smitty scratched his head. “It means Cole’s right here.” He swiveled his big head around. “This gadget never fails . . . except I—”
“Oh, Smitty! You don’t think he’s buried here . . . right underneath us?”
The giant lifted up a foot and looked at the ground. “Naw, there’s no sign of any digging here . . . Hey!” He dropped to his knees and tossed her the mechanical bloodhound. With his huge fingers he brushed at something underneath the moss. “Look here, Nell! It’s a brass ring.”
“Does that mean we get a free ride on the merry-go-round?”
“It means,” said a voice behind them, “that you’ve found something you weren’t supposed to find. And you’re in very serious trouble.”
CHAPTER XV
Survivors
Terence O’Malley shuffled again through the small stack of new publicity stills. He wasn’t seeing them; his mind was elsewhere.
He got up and made another circuit of his room. It was twilight and the fog was rolling in outside.
The thing is, he said to himself, she’s performing okay. That scene she did this afternoon with Heather was damn good. If I tell anybody what I know . . . what I suspect, they’ll haul Fanny away and I’ll have half a picture and no more second lead to play in the rest of it.
O’Malley crossed to the window. Fog was filling in the spaces between the forest and the castle. But that dead guy down there . . . she must be involved in that somehow. She was out there when the guy, whoever he was, got killed.
Now there were cops to contend with, too. Lt. Bonner and his men. Even if O’Malley could persuade the Avenger to let him finish his picture before doing anything about Fanny, the police would never stand still for that. Hollywood cops you could maybe talk around, but not these boys.
And Fanny maybe knows something about what happened to Cole, O’Malley reminded himself. You can’t let your friend just disappear . . . even to save a movie.
He tossed the photos on his bed and went out of the room.
At Fanny Fiddler’s door he stopped and knocked.
“Miss Fiddler isn’t receiving today,” came the voice of the young actress.
“It’s Terry. I want to talk to you.”
“Couldn’t it wait?”
“No.”
The door opened, accompanied by a sigh from the dark-haired girl. “I’m really not in the mood for a pep talk.”
“This has nothing to do with your work,” said the director, stepping by her and into her room. “Although it does have something to do with the movie. With what happens to the movie.”
Fanny slumped into a straightback chair. “You sound like you’re going to ask me to put some money into the thing.”
“Look, Fanny, we’re both wise guys. Okay, agreed. Now knock it off and listen to me.” O’Malley faced her. “Nobody else seems to know about this . . . but I do. You
“Some kind of fracas here,” observed Nellie, bending to poke at the trampled ground. “Somebody fell . . . and somebody else seems to have come up behind him.”
Smitty had gone over to examine a nearby tree trunk. “Had a wire tied around here,” he pointed out. “That’s what they must have done . . . stretched a wire across the path and tripped Cole up.”
“Yeah, and then came up and sapped him from behind.”
“Nice guys,” said Smitty. “Well, now let’s see where they took him.”
The tracking device led them on. In a few moments they had left the overgrown path and were cutting through weeds and underbrush.
“We picked the least-traveled path for sure,” said the little blonde.
“Yeah, I’m starting to feel like Robinson Caruso,” said Smitty.
“You mean Crusoe.”
“Geeze,” complained the giant. “When Cole makes a remark like that everybody chuckles and says he’s witty. But when I make a wisecrack . . .”
Nellie patted his arm. “Sorry, pal.”
The mechanical bloodhound in Smitty’s palm made one soft clucking sound, then started buzzing faintly.
“What’s that mean?” asked Nellie.
Smitty scratched his head. “It means Cole’s right here.” He swiveled his big head around. “This gadget never fails . . . except I—”
“Oh, Smitty! You don’t think he’s buried here . . . right underneath us?”
The giant lifted up a foot and looked at the ground. “Naw, there’s no sign of any digging here . . . Hey!” He dropped to his knees and tossed her the mechanical bloodhound. With his huge fingers he brushed at something underneath the moss. “Look here, Nell! It’s a brass ring.”
“Does that mean we get a free ride on the merry-go-round?”
“It means,” said a voice behind them, “that you’ve found something you weren’t supposed to find. And you’re in very serious trouble.”
CHAPTER XV
Survivors
Terence O’Malley shuffled again through the small stack of new publicity stills. He wasn’t seeing them; his mind was elsewhere.
He got up and made another circuit of his room. It was twilight and the fog was rolling in outside.
The thing is, he said to himself, she’s performing okay. That scene she did this afternoon with Heather was damn good. If I tell anybody what I know . . . what I suspect, they’ll haul Fanny away and I’ll have half a picture and no more second lead to play in the rest of it.
O’Malley crossed to the window. Fog was filling in the spaces between the forest and the castle. But that dead guy down there . . . she must be involved in that somehow. She was out there when the guy, whoever he was, got killed.
Now there were cops to contend with, too. Lt. Bonner and his men. Even if O’Malley could persuade the Avenger to let him finish his picture before doing anything about Fanny, the police would never stand still for that. Hollywood cops you could maybe talk around, but not these boys.
And Fanny maybe knows something about what happened to Cole, O’Malley reminded himself. You can’t let your friend just disappear . . . even to save a movie.
He tossed the photos on his bed and went out of the room.
At Fanny Fiddler’s door he stopped and knocked.
“Miss Fiddler isn’t receiving today,” came the voice of the young actress.
“It’s Terry. I want to talk to you.”
“Couldn’t it wait?”
“No.”
The door opened, accompanied by a sigh from the dark-haired girl. “I’m really not in the mood for a pep talk.”
“This has nothing to do with your work,” said the director, stepping by her and into her room. “Although it does have something to do with the movie. With what happens to the movie.”
Fanny slumped into a straightback chair. “You sound like you’re going to ask me to put some money into the thing.”
“Look, Fanny, we’re both wise guys. Okay, agreed. Now knock it off and listen to me.” O’Malley faced her. “Nobody else seems to know about this . . . but I do. You
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