to question that dame. Interview!”

The door opened and a policeman with shirt sleeves rolled up came in. He was carrying a folder.

“Infirmary sent this over. For you, Herron.” He threw the folder on the desk and went out.

“Infirmary?” Herron started to open the folder.

“Probably another interview. That’s where we took your friend Selma. The state she was in—”

“She sick or something?”

“All I know is they were sedating her when we left. What’s it say?”

Herron leafed through the papers in the folder and pulled out one of the sheets.

“Here’s a tentative medical report: ‘…alcoholic, hallucinatory. Severe hysterical state makes diagnosis difficult at present.’ Then something here—hallucinosis.”

“That’s the d.t.’s, the heeby-jeebies.”

“No. Not hallucinosis. It’s worse.”

“Crap. Probably she just needs a drink.”

Without answering, Herron went through the rest of the papers.

“Here it says ‘Interview’ and today’s date. This morning.” Herron read on. “What kind of an interview! Listen to this, Rosen: ‘Q: Did you push the victim? A: Dash. Q: Did Catell push the girl? A: Dash. Q. Was he trying to assault the girl? A: Dash. Q: Was the girl known to you? A: Dash.’ What in hell are all these dashes for? What kind of a—”

“They probably mean: ‘She screams.’”

“So at least let ‘em put that down instead of those crazy—Wait, here’s a note: ‘Where answer is followed by dash, witness screamed.’”

Rosen laughed, slapping himself on the thigh. “Witness screamed. Boy, that’s hot. She’s a witness!”

“So shut up already. She was there, wasn’t she?”

“That makes her a witness? Christ. She was probably witnessing bats, snakes, and elephants, all waltzing along the molding on top of the room.”

“Wait, here are some answers. She says: ‘So he came down the long chimney, all covered with snow and the loveliest kind of horsehair—’ What the hell?”

“Go on, Jackie, go on. This is interesting.”

“Rosen, will you be serious a minute?”

“So go on. There he was and here she was. What happened next?”

“Nothing. She stops. There’s another dash.”

“Scream, no doubt.”

“Rosen, do you know how important that Selma is in all this? Besides, I don’t think it’s so funny, all this she’s going through. Anyway, here’s more: ‘I tried to tell him I loved him but the slimy sonofabitch just turned around and out he goes. I love him, I tell ya. Jeesis, I want him around. Come back, Jackie—come back, Otto—come back—’ Then she goes on with all kinds of names. Wait. Jackie Herron! She’s got my name in here too!”

“I told ya, Jackie. All she needs is a drink.”

“Why don’t you shut up?”

Herron started to flutter the pages irritably, trying to find one sane clue in that demented interview,

“Here, wait. She gives places: ‘Santa Monica, Manitou, Toulouse, Louse, House, Grouse—’ Off again, I guess.” Herron put the papers down and leaned back. “Guess we gotta do our own figuring.”

“Any notion where he’s heading?”

“No. South, probably.”

“To get his gold or just to get away?”

“Both, I guess. It’s probably the same to him.”

Southeast of the city a shivering man sat crouched behind the wheel of a big car, roaring over the hot highway, and thinking of nothing. He just drove. With the dull, single-minded determination of an animal he held out against the terrible weakness that liquefied his bones and made his muscles like dead meat. He was thinking of nothing, but he drove toward the desert.

“Anything come in during the last three hours?” Herron stood behind the man at the short-wave set. The monotonous garble of police calls and report messages filled the room, but none of it interested Herron, because none of it told him anything about Tony Catell.

“Hold it, Mr. Herron, here’s something now.” The man scribbled notes, then took his earphones off. “Man answering description of Catell gassed up at this crossroad here. Take a look at the map. Looks like he’s going to Palm Springs, maybe? He had a stained bandage on one hand.”

“This sounds like it. Relay that. I’m going to take a cruiser up there.”

Rosen drove with Herron. They kept the short-wave on but nothing new came on.

“Bet that murdering bum is plenty scared by now.” Rosen turned the siren on to get himself a clear way through the traffic. “If he’s really in that neck of the woods, he must have slipped two of our checkpoints. How in hell he did it, I don’t know.”

“You underestimate those types, Rosen. When they want something, they’re driven by furies, and nothing gets in their way.”

Catell knew he was close to the place but it meant nothing to him, except that he