I walked forward, saying:
“Hello, Nancy Regan.”
This time the gasp was a cry.
“Oh! Oh!” Then, unless the moonlight was playing tricks, she recognized me and terror began to go away from her. She put both hands out to me, with relief in the gesture.
“Well?” A bearish grumble came from the big boulder of a man who had appeared out of the darkness behind her. “What’s all this?”
“Hello, Andy,” I greeted the boulder.
“Hullo,” MacElroy echoed and stood still.
Andy always did what he was told to do. He had been told to take care of Miss Newhall. I looked at the girl and then at him again.
“Is this Miss Newhall?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he rumbled. “I came down like you said, but she told me she didn’t want me—wouldn’t let me in the house. But you hadn’t said anything about coming back. So I just camped outside, moseying around, keeping my eyes on things. And when I seen her shinnying out a window a little while ago, I just went on along behind her to take care of her, like you said I was to do.”
Tom-Tom Carey and Jack Counihan came back into the road, crossed it to us. The swarthy man had an automatic in one hand. The girl’s eyes were glued on mine. She paid no attention to the others.
“What is it all about?” I asked her.
“I don’t know,” she babbled, her hands holding on to mine, her face close to mine. “Yes, I’m Ann Newhall. I didn’t know. I thought it was