"Where-where they are?" The doctor hesitated. "I'm afraid I don't know, uh, where-how…"

Rudy let it lay for the moment. He asked how his condition appeared to the doctor, and Clinton replied that it was excellent. "You have a wonderful constitution, Mr. Torrento. Might even say-ha-ha-that you had the constitution of a horse."

"Ha-ha," said Fran Clinton. "That's really good, Harold."

"It's a riot," Rudy said. "But what about the bandages, Clint-the wound? How often should I have it looked after?"

"Well, a couple of times a day perhaps. That's barring any unusual developments."

"How you mean, unusual?"

"Well, uh, fever. Any signs of gangrene or putrefaction. But I'm sure there won't be any. Just have it cleaned and rebandaged a couple of times a day for the next couple of days, and-and-" His voice died suddenly. He went on again, his eyes evading Rudy's. "On second thought, it might be wiser if you didn't have it tended at all. Might just irritate the wound, you know. Keep it from healing."

"It might," Rudy nodded. "I wouldn't know. You wouldn't maybe be kidding me would you, Clint, old boy?"

"K-kidding you? Why would I…"

"Because you want to get rid of me pronto, and you figure that if I need any taking care of, you'll be elected to do it."

Rudy pulled the heavy .38 from his belt, twirled it by the trigger guard and let the butt smack into his palm. Grinning savagely, he took aim at the doctor's stomach.

"Now, maybe you'd better have a good third thought," he said. "Just think real careful and give me the truth. Will I need more lookin' after, or won't I?"

"Y-you'll-y-y-y-" It was as far as the doctor could get.

"I'll need it, huh?" Rudy flipped the gun again and shoved it back into his belt. "Well, that's all I wanted to know. Just shoot square with me, and you got no more trouble than a flea in a dog pound. Now," he added casually, "I guess you want me to clear out of here."

Clinton nodded, weakly apologetic, as he sagged down onto a canvas camp stool. "Oh well, you did promise, Mr Torrento. You said that…"

"And I'll keep my promise," Rudy lied, "if that's the way you want it. I'll leave, and you'll call the cops, and…"

"N-no! No, we won't, Mr. Torrento! I…"

"…and then maybe tonight, maybe five years from now, you'd have a visitor. It'd probably be me, because I got quite a rep for breaking out of tight spots. But if I didn't make it, some pal of mine would. Anyway, you'd have a visitor-like the guy that fingered Willie Sutton had one-and you know what he'd do to you, Clint, to you and the little lady here, before he did you a big favor and killed you?"

He told them, threatened them with what would happen; lips wolfishly drawn back from his teeth; eyes holding them with an unwinking reptilian gaze. He finished the discourse, and the sudden silence was like a scream.

A drop of sweat rolled shinily down the veterinarian's nose. His wife gulped and clapped a hand to her mouth, spoke through the lattice of her fingers.

"We-he won't call any cops," she said whitely. "He even looks like he's going to, and I'll murder him myself!"

"Well, now, maybe he'd feel that he had to," Rudy said. "I'm hot as a three-dollar pistol. I need medical attention. Say I've got a three to one chance of getting away, and you're giving me the best of it. Wouldn't you figure it that way, Clint?"

Clinton cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Rudy beamed at him falsely.

"Kind of one of those hell.if — you-do-or-don't propositions, ain't it, Clint? You holler copper and you and Frannie get your clocks fixed. You don't do it, and you're still in the soup. They got enough on me to fry me six times. That'd bring you and Fran in on accessory raps for forty or fifty years."

"A-accessories?" the doctor stammered. "But how would they know that…"

"I'd tell them," Rudy said cheerfully. "I'd name you as accessories."

"B-but-but, why? After we'd helped…"

"Because I'd figure you were boobs," Rudy said, "and boobs I got a very low boiling point for."

Clinton shook his head in bewilderment. Helplessly, hopefully, he looked at his wife. There was some indefinable change in her expression, something that carried a chill shock and yet seemed entirely natural to her. He had a feeling that he had never seen her before; that she was at once a stranger to him and an old friend of Torrento's.

"What," she said, "is the proposition-Rudy?"

"What do you think? That you and Clinty boy go along with me."

"And?"

"I fork up for a new car. I pay all expenses, and me, I wouldn't kick on a little expense like a mink jacket. You get anything you want, as soon as we're where we're safe to buy it. You cross the country first-class, and when we hit California there'll be a ten-grand bonus."

Her eyes gleamed softly. "That sounds good," she murmured. "That sounds real good, Rudy."

"Good, hell," Rudy said. "It's perfect. Big dough for you, a new car, and a swell trip. And not a chance in the world of getting caught. Clint bandages me up so that no one can see what I look like-I been in a bad accident, see? Then…"

"I won't do it," Clinton had found his voice at last. "We are not going with you, Mr. Torrento."

"You shut up!" His wife glared at him fiercely. "I guess I've got something to say about what we're going to do!"

"Now, take it easy," Rudy said. "What's wrong with the deal, Clint? I thought it added up good for you, but maybe I could sweeten it a little."

"What's wrong with it?" The doctor waved his hands wildly. "Why-why, everthing's wrong! I'm a respected citizen, a professional man. I can't just throw everything I am overboard, and go gallivanting across the country with a-uh-I couldn't do it for any amount of money!"

"Why couldn't you?" Rudy asked interestedly.

"Well-uh-because! I just got through telling you!"

"The respected citizen gimmick? But you ain't going to be one, remember? You won't be very long, anyway, unless you figure on being a dead one with a hide full of broken bones and a pound of raw hamburger for a face."

"He's already dead," his wife snapped contemptuously. Then, her manner changing, she slid off the stool, crossed the aisle and knelt at Clinton's side. "Now, Harold, hon," she coaxed, "why do you want to act like this? Don't you love me any more? Don't you want me to be happy? We could have such a wonderful life together, hon. Not having to worry and fret about money all the time, and people respecting and looking up to you, instead of laughing and joking like…"

"But, Fran!" The doctor squirmed. "I-you know I love you and want you to be happy, but…"

"That's been your whole trouble, hon. Money. You just didn't have the money to get started off right. Oh, I know how smart and wonderful my lambie is, even if I haven't acted like it, and I could just absolutely cry sometimes when I think how different it could be for him. Just think of it, lambie! Starting out in a new place, with everything we need to make a good impression. Good clothes, and a swell car and a decent place to live. And a real office for you, hon. A nice big office, and a fine big laboratory where you could carry on your experiments…"

She held him close, and over his shoulder she winked at Rudy. Clinton twitched and sputtered, simultaneously attempting-it seemed-to return her embrace and disengage himself from it. His protests grew weaker and fewer. Finally, as a last resort, he professed a willingness to take on the enterprise, he wanted to do it. But the potential danger made it unthinkable.

"We might have an accident, and they'd find out who Mr. Torrento was. Or the police might just stop us on suspicion-you know, one of those routine investigations. A lot of criminals get caught that way and…"

"A lot of people get nibbled to death by wild ducks," Rudy yawned. "But I'll tell you what I'll do, Clint. We get a bad break like you mention, and you and Fran can be hostages. I'll back you up on it. You're helping me because I'd've killed you if you hadn't."