John felt chilling fear race along his spinal column. He had been right. The man was a maniac, and those children were somewhere in the house. The lamp he was arching in circles was a spotlight that illuminated the solid thickness of Parrish's bulk. John felt totally inadequate, aware that he was no physical match for this man. He had only the flashlight as a weapon. Should he go for help? Was it possible Michael had got away from Parrish? But if Parrish found him, even a few minutes might make a difference.

Then, before his horrified eyes, John saw Parrish swing the lamp over to the right and reach behind the couch to pull out a small figure who tried desperately to escape. Parrish put down the lamp and, as John watched, closed both hands around the child's throat.

Acting as instinctively as he had when he'd been on combat duty in World War II, John pulled his arm back and smashed the window with his flashlight. As Courtney Parrish spun around, John reached his hand in and forced the lock open. With superhuman strength, he pushed the window up and vaulted over the sill into the room. He dropped the flashlight as his feet hit the floor, and Parrish grabbed for it. Still holding the hurricane lamp in his left hand, Parrish raised the flashlight in his right hand, holding it over his head like a weapon.

There was no way to escape the inevitable blow. But John ducked and weaved back against the wall for time. Shouting, 'Run away, Michael… Call help,' he managed to kick the kerosene lamp from Parrish's hand an instant before the flashlight crashed down on his skull.

It had been a mistake to ditch the car. It had been an act of sheer, stupid panic. Rob believed in making your own luck. Today he had made every blunder in the book. When he saw Nancy at the lake, he should have got the hell off Cape Cod. Instead, he'd figured that she might be on a trip or stoned and all he had to do was lie low for a day and then go see her and her husband and get some money. Now he'd made a point of placing himself in the vicinity, and her kids were missing.

Rob had never really believed that Nancy had anything to do with the other kids' disappearance; but now, who could know? Maybe she did go haywire, just as Harmon used to tell him.

When he left the car, Rob had headed south towards the main expressway that ran through the center of the Cape. But when a police car whipped past him, he'd doubled back. Even if he could hitch a ride, the odds were they'd have a roadblock at the bridge. It would be better to head towards the bay. There had to be plenty of closed-up summer cottages there. He'd break into one of them and hole up for a while. Most of them probably had some staples left in the kitchen, and he was getting hungry. Then in a couple of days, when the heat was off, he'd find a truck, hide in the back and get off this damned island.

He shivered as he hurried down the narrow, darkened roads. One good thing: in this shit weather, there wasn't any danger of running into people out walking. Hardly any cars on the road, either.

But when he rounded a bend in the road, Rob barely had time to jump back into thick hedges to escape being revealed by the headlights of an approaching car. Breathing harshly, he waited till the automobile had screeched past him. Christ. Another cop car. The place was swarming with them. He'd have to get off the road. It couldn't be more than a couple of blocks to the beach now. Moving swiftly along the row of hedge, Rob headed towards the clump of woods that edged the back of the houses near him. Less chance of being spotted there, even if it took longer to wind through back yards.

Suppose Nancy had seen him at the lake? She did look in his direction… but maybe not. He'd deny he was there, of course. She was in no state to be a witness about seeing him. Nobody else had. He was sure of that. Except… the driver of that station wagon. Probably a local guy… Massachusetts plates… 8X642… How did he remember that? The reverse… oh, sure… 2-4-6-8. He'd noticed that. If Rob did get caught, he could tell the cops about that station wagon. He'd seen it backing out of the dirt road leading from the Eldredge property, and that must have been just around the time the kids disappeared.

But, on the other hand, suppose the station wagon was a regular delivery car that they already knew about? Rob hadn't seen the driver at all; hadn't paid attention, really… just noticed he was a big, fat guy. If he did get caught and told about the station wagon, he'd only nail himself as having been Johnny-on-the-spot at the Eldredge house.

No, he wouldn't admit anything if they got him. He'd say he had been planning to visit Nancy. Then he had seen his picture in that story about the Harmon case and decided to get away. The decision made, Rob felt better. Now if he could just get to the beach and into a cottage…

He hurried, careful to stay well in the shadows of the stark trees; stumbled; swore softly and recovered his balance. This sleet was making the whole damn place as slippery as a skating rink. But he couldn't have much farther to go. He had to get indoors somewhere, or someone would be sure to spot him. Steadying himself against the ice-crusted trees, he tried to move faster.

Thurston Givens sat quietly in his glassed-in back porch, watching the storm in the near dark. An octogenarian, he'd always found nor'-easters fascinating and knew that he wouldn't be likely to see them for too many more years. The radio was on very low, and he'd just heard the latest bulletin about the Eldredge children. There was still no trace of them.

Now Thurston sat staring out towards the back, wondering why young people had to know so much misery. His only child had died at five from flu during the epidemic of 1917.

A retired realtor, Thurston knew Ray Eldredge well. He'd been a friend of Ray's father and grandfather, too. Ray was a fine fellow, the kind of man the Cape needed. He was a go-getter and a good realtor – not the kind out to turn a fast buck and the public be damned. Damn shame if anything happened to those little children of his. Nancy certainly didn't strike Thurston as the type to get mixed up with murdering anyone. There had to be a better answer than that.

He was drifting into a kind of reverie when some movement in the woods caught his attention. He leaned forward and peered through narrowed eyes. There was someone out there, sliding along, obviously trying to stay hidden. Nobody up to any good was in those woods in this kind of weather, and there'd been a lot of robberies on the Cape, and particularly in this area.

Thurston reached for the phone. He dialled Police Headquarters. Chief Coffin was an old friend, but of course, the Chief probably wasn't there. He must be out on the Eldredge case.

The phone was answered at the other end, and a voice said, 'Adams Port Police Headquarters. Sergeant Poler -"

Thurston interrupted impatiently. 'Thurston Givens here,' he said crisply. 'I want you fellows to know there's a prowler in the woods behind my place and he's heading towards the bay.'