One Bright Summer Morning

On the highway leading to Arrow Lake, Kramer, who had been following Vic’s Cadillac in his hired car, tapped his horn button, waved his hand, then branched off on to the secondary road that led to his hotel. Vic saw him go in the driving mirror and continued on his way until in his turn, he turned off the highway and headed for the Van Wylies’ estate.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up the electrified gate, got out of the car and went across to the telephone box. A man’s voice answered as soon as he had lifted the receiver.

“A caller here for Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said. “He’s expecting me. It is to do with Miss Van Wylie.”

“Come right on up,” the man said curtly.

As Vic replaced the receiver, he heard a click and saw the gate swing back. He got in his car and drove up the twisting drive until he finally reached the main entrance to the big house.

Merrill Andrews was waiting at the top of the steps. He and Vic regarded each other as Vic came up the steps. Andrews was startled to see such a man as Vic. He was expecting some thug: not only surprised, but puzzled as he had a sudden idea he had seen this man somewhere before.

“My business is with Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said.

“This way,” Andrews said and strode across a big lobby, through a room lined with books and out on to a paved patio where John Van Wylie was waiting.

As Vic came into the strong sunlight, Van Wylie, dressed in a white shirt, black riding breeches and polished knee-high boots, turned to stare at him. With a flick of his hand, Van Wylie dismissed Andrews, then walking to the garden table, he took from a box a cigar which he lit before saying, “Well? Who are you and what do you want?”

“You and I, Mr. Van Wylie,” Vic said quietly, “are in the same position. We both have people we love in danger. My wife and baby are in the hands of the men who have kidnapped your daughter. I am more concerned with their safety than I am with your daughter’s.”

Van Wylie studied Vic for a long moment, then he waved to a basket chair. “Sit down... you talk. I’ll listen.”

“These people have picked on me to persuade you to part with four million dollars,” Vic said, sitting down. “Yesterday, they arrived at my house with your daughter and took over. If I don’t get the money from you, they intend to murder your daughter, my wife and baby. These people don’t bluff. I have seen them... you haven’t. There’s a young thug with them who could be capable of any cruelty. I think he has already murdered my servant.”

“Where is your house?” Van Wylie asked.

“I have been warned that if I tell you who I am and where I live, my wife and baby will suffer,” Vic said. “This is no idle threat. I can tell you nothing about myself: all I can tell you is that if you want your daughter back unharmed, you must give me ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand dollars each cheque.”

Van Wylie turned away and walked to the end of the patio, blowing a stream of cigar smoke through his nostrils. Vic waited. After a few moments, Van Wylie turned and came back.

“I guess you realize you’re making yourself an accessory to a capital crime?” he asked, standing over Vic and glaring at him. “When this is over and the police move in, you could land up in the gas chamber.”

“I don’t give a damn if I land up the middle of the Pacific,” Vic said quietly. “All I’m concerned about is keeping my wife and kid safe.”

Van Wylie was now staring at the livid bruise down the side of Vic’s face.

“How did you get that?” he demanded, pointing.

“From the young thug I told you about,” Vic said. “He wraps a bicycle chain around his fist and then he hits you... it’s some sock.”

Van Wylie took the cigar from his lips, stared at it in disgust and then dropped it into the ashtray.

“This thug,” Vic went on, “is capable of driving his chained fist into my baby’s face or into my wife’s face or even into your daughter’s face. You have plenty of money. So let’s have it! Ten certified cheques for four hundred thousand. I don’t see any reason, except pride, why you are hesitating. If your daughter gets a punch in the face from this thug, she won’t have much face left. I’m not just talking, Mr. Van Wylie, I am giving you the stark facts.”

“How do I know, if I give you the money, I’ll get my daughter back?” Van Wylie asked, putting his blunt, powerful hands on the table and leaning forward to stare at Vic.

“You don’t know: as I don’t know when I get back, I won’t find my wife and baby dead,” Vic said, “but that’s the way it is. You have plenty of money. If you want to gamble on getting your daughter back, you have the answer.”