-





Books by GEORGE HARMON COXE
Murder with Pictures (1935)
The Barotique Mystery (1936) The Camera Clue (1937)
Four Frightened Women (1939)
Murder for the Asking (1939) The Glass Triangle (1939)
The Lady Is Afraid (1940) No Time to Kill (1941)
Mrs. Murdock Takes a Case (1941)
Silent Are the Dead (1942) Assignment in Guiana (1942)
The Charred Witness (1942)
Alias the Dead (1943) Murder for Two (1943)
Murder in Havana (1943) The Groom Lay Dead (1944)
The Jade Venus (1945)
Woman at Bay (1945) Dangerous Legacy (1946)
The Fifth Key (1947) Fashioned for Murder (1947)
Venturous Lady (1948)
The Hollow Needle (1948) Lady Killer (1949)
Inland Passage (1949) Eye Witness (1950)
The Frightened Fiancée (1950) The Widow Had a Gun (1951)
The Man Who Died Twice (1951)
Never Bet Your Life (1952) The Crimson Clue (1953)
Uninvited Guest (1953) Focus on Murder (1954)
Death at the Isthmus (1954) Top Assignment (1955)
Suddenly a Widow (1956) Man on a Rope (1956)
Murder on Their Minds (1957) One Minute Past Eight (1957)
The Impetuous Mistress (1958) The Big Gamble (1958)
Slack Tide (1959) Triple Exposure (1959) CONTAINING
One Way Out (1960) The Glass Triangle, The Jade
The Last Commandment (1960) Venus, & The Fifth Key
Error of Judgment (1961) Moment of Violence (1961)
The Man Who Died Too Soon (1962) Mission of Fear (1962)
THESE ARE BORZOI BOOKS, PUBLISHED IN NEW YORK BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF


MISSION OF FEAR
Sam Adler appeared one afternoon at Marion Hayden's
door trying for the big pay-off—Blackmail. The next day he
was dead—paid-off with a knife in the back—and for the
Haydens the nightmare had just begun.
Adler's story had been stunning enough before—now,
with State Police Lieutenant Garvey pushing hard it could
mean a murder indictment for both of them. And Garvey
kept the questions coming fast—questions that all reduced
to one: Was Ted Corbin alive? Ted Corbin–Marion Hay-
den's ex-husband, and by every evidence dead these two
years in an airplane accident.
Doris Lamar knew some of the answers—but she had
her own good reasons for keeping them to herself.
John Hayden didn't have any answers—yet. But he did
have two photographs and a hunch; and that was why he
was traveling desperately across the country now—in
search of a dead man.
For if Corbin were alive he might know all the answers
—might very well be the answer.
This was John Hayden's last chance: he had to find
Corbin . . . he had to find him.
The pace and tension build in every page of this tale
of greed, jealousy and hatred by the dean of American
mystery writers. Here is one of George Harmon Coxe's
neatest, briskest performances.





MISSION OF FEAR
•+(Cº(Cº(C-3 (Cº(C-3-((C-3 (C-3-((Cº(C-3-((Cº(C-3-((Cº(Cº(Cº(C-3-((Cº(Cº(Cº(C-3 (C-3 (C-3 (C-3-((C
George Harmon Coxe
Tºrsº.
W
2.
ALFRED A. KNopF • New York
1962


L. C. catalog card number: 62–14612
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK,
§ PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. §
Copyright © 1962 by George Harmon Coxe.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be repro-
duced in any form without permission in writing from the
publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief
passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or news-
paper. Manufactured in the United States of America,
and distributed by Random House, Inc. Published simul-
taneously in Toronto, Canada, by Random House of
Canada, Limited.
F I R S T E DITION


T33305
&483% Ms
| 702-
AMA 18/
MISSION OF FEAR
849





I
(Rºſº (Cº(Cº(3(C-3(C-3(3.
THE FIRST WORD John Hayden heard about the stran-
ger who had arrived in Morrisville to threaten his mar-
riage came from Lee Cramer, who ran the filling station at
the south edge of the village. It was a gray, damp, and
windy day in early March, with no promise of spring in
the raw air, and now, at five-thirty, it was nearly dark
when Hayden, on his way home from his small factory
near South Norwalk, angled the sedan into the service area
and stopped opposite the row of gasoline pumps.
There were no other customers and Cramer popped out
of the concrete cube which was his office and hurried for-
ward, leaning a little against the wind and giving a tug
to the zipper on the short woolen jacket he wore over his
coveralls. He was a short but sturdy man with a rugged
face and a lively manner, and as Hayden rolled the win-
dow down, Cramer remarked with some disgust that it was
a lovely day. Hayden said yes but at least it was a change,
it wasn’t raining.
“Fill it up?”
“Please. I think the front end is okay for now.”
Cramer activated the pump's motor, and with the nozzle
inserted and the automatic cutoff working, he picked a
paper towel from the dispensing container, squirted
cleaner on one side of the windshield, and began to polish
it. He had finished half of this when he stopped and looked
at Hayden.
“Say, did that fellow find your place all right yesterday
afternoon?”


4. MISSION OF FEAR
“What fellow?” Hayden said, leaning toward the open
window.
“He drove in here and asked if there was a good motel
in town.” Cramer walked around the hood and attacked
the remaining part of the windshield. “I told him The
Shady Maple was the only one we had, and then he asked
if I knew you. I told him yes. I said you were a regular
here and he asked how to get to your place. I told him.”
“Did he give his name?”
“I didn't ask him.”
“What did he look like?”
Cramer heard the cutoff work in the nozzle and disap-
peared behind the car to remove it. When he had racked
it in place and stopped the motor he said: “Three-eighty,
Mr. Hayden. I’ll get the book.”
When he came out of the office with the charge book,
Hayden repeated the question.
“Oh—average size, dark-haired, late thirties maybe. A
snappy dresser with a city look to him. The cocky type.
Nosy too.”
“Oh? What did he say?”
“He said he was a friend of yours. Wanted to know if
you didn't have a factory that made citizen-band radios,
and when I said yes, he asked how you were doing. By
then I'd had enough. I told him if he was a friend of yours
he could ask you himself. He said he would. That's why I
mentioned it to you in the first place. I thought he was
going to look you up.”
Hayden signed the book and stepped on the starter, a
frown working at his brown eyes as he tried to place some-
one who would fit Cramer's description. When he failed
he thanked Cramer for the information and drove down
the main street toward Jerry's Tavern to get his nightly
after-work quick one.
In other days, before he had married and moved to Mor-
risville, he had commuted to a small apartment not far
from the Greenwich station. Like so many of his fellow
travelers, he had stopped at the Commodore or the Bilt-


MISSION OF FEAR 5
more Men's Bar to fortify himself with two martinis for
the ride home. Since the habit was strong and since Mar-
ion seldom wanted but one cocktail before dinner, it was
his custom on weekdays to stop at Jerry's for that first
drink to lessen the tensions of his work day and bring him
home for his drink with his wife in a more relaxed and
human frame of mind.
Jerry's Tavern was almost directly across the street from
The Shady Maple, a long, narrow, dimly lighted establish-
ment that was part of an old building which had been
sandwiched in between the more modern structures mak-
ing up the rest of the block. The ancient and massive bar,
the ornate back-bar, the woodwork, and the wide but un-
even board floors suggested that it had always been a tav-
ern, but under the present owner the kitchen had been
modernized, so that Jerry could offer a so-called business-
man's lunch as well as dinner from an a la carte menu.
John Hayden parked opposite the tavern and fifty feet
short of the motel office, which stood at the head of one
of the two long rectangular buildings that housed the
twenty-two units, noting as he did so that perhaps a dozen
cars had been parked aslant in the quadrangle. He con-
sidered again the information given him by Lee Cramer
as he crossed the wide, tree-lined village street, wondering
some but not bothered as he entered the tavern and angled
toward the familiar bar.
Jerry himself was presiding, as he usually did at this
hour, a large and beefy man with a round balding head
and very little neck. He wore white half-sleeved shirts win-
ter and summer, thereby exposing a pair of hard and hairy
forearms that tapered only slightly to his massive and
formidable fists. Now, seeing Hayden enter, he reached for
a bottle of bourbon, dropped ice cubes into an Old-Fash-
ioned glass, added whisky and a twist of lemon.
“Evening, Mr. Hayden,” he said as he centered the glass
and picked up the dollar bill. “When do you think we'll
see the sun again?”
“What are the odds?”


6 MISSION OF FEAR
“Prohibitive.”
Jerry punched the cash register, put change on the bar,
and moved away to draw a beer for another customer.
Hayden took a sip of his drink and turned with one elbow
on the bar to inspect the interior. He was a rangy-looking
man of thirty-two, with good height and no more weight
problem than he had when he was running the hurdles
for the small Ohio university where he got his education.
His dark brown hair matched his eyes, his brows were
straight, his jaw angular but well cut beneath a wide
mouth that was quick to smile and made one forget his
face was a little gaunt to be handsome.
The smile came when his glance looked past the cus-
tomers at the bar and he saw Doris Lamar give him a
small and welcoming salute as she moved from the kitchen
and began to set dinner places for a couple at one of the
booths that stretched along the opposite wall. He did not
recognize the pair, or the second couple who occupied
the booth at the rear, but he took time to give his approval
to the nicely rounded and supple body of the waitress as
she went so efficiently about her work. It was as he turned
back to his drink that he noticed George Freeman at the
far end of the bar.
Freeman was the acting manager of The Shady Maple
while the owner and his wife were spending three months
in Florida, a stubby pleasant-mannered man of forty or
so, with a colorless and inconspicuous look that seemed
somehow to present exactly the proper appearance for the
job he performed. Hayden did not know him well, but he
had heard that Freeman had become romantically inclined
toward Doris in the past months. Now, sitting hunched
over the bar on his solitary stool, there was a look of acute
melancholia on his round, boyish face, and the dark glasses
he wore seemed strangely out of place, considering the
hour and time of year.
Because his attitude seemed so out of character, Hayden
wondered about it as he took another sip of his drink.


MISSION OF FEAR 7
For Freeman was normally a friendly person in a shy sort
of way, and to watch him when Doris was present, to see
the way his eyes followed her about, was to know that he
was very fond of her indeed. Even when he was talking
to someone else, his approving glance sought her out, and
his smile was quick and eager and obvious whenever he
caught her eye. There was, somehow, a worshipful quality
in that look, and the regulars who understood the relation-
ship would wink and grin when they noticed it. But this
was a different man. This was a sullen, brooding man, and
when Doris came to get refills for the couple in the rear
booth, Hayden's curiosity got the better of him.
“What's the matter with the boy friend?”
“Scotch and water and another daiquiri, Jerry,” she said
before she acknowledged the question. “Hello, Mr. Hay-
den. You mean George? He's sulking tonight.”
“Why the dark glasses?”
“He had a little accident.”
“Today?”
“Last night.”
“From you?”
“From the fellow I was with.”
She did not look at him when she spoke but watched
her tray, and when the drinks were ready she went away.
As she did so, George Freeman slipped from his stool and
started for the door. Looking neither to the right nor the
left, and acknowledging no one's presence, he marched
out, and it was then that Hayden noticed the discoloration
under one eye that the dark glasses could not quite hide.
Jerry, who had moved opposite Hayden, watched Free-
man's stiff-legged exit and muttered softly.
“I asked him if he ran into a door and he said no.”
“Who’s the fellow Doris mentioned?”
“Never saw him before. Came in yesterday about this
time. Had a few drinks and then dinner. He was kidding
around with Doris and I guess she and George had had a


MISSION OF FEAR 9
slack and he asked Doris if she had a ride and she said no,
so he drove her to the small cottage she had rented, a
three-block ride that lasted little more than three minutes.
“George stopped here a little after ten that night,” she
added, “and Jerry told him he'd let me off early. It took
George all the next day to stop sulking. When he went
into the same routine last night just because he thought
I was being too friendly to a customer, I decided to show
him he couldn't tell me what to do.”
“Jerry said he was a stranger.”
“He was, and if George hadn't made such a fuss I prob-
ably wouldn't have gone out with Sam later. Not that there
was anything wrong with him. He was not bad-looking,
the city type, a sharp dresser. You could tell he'd been
around but then"—she tipped her head and gave him a
lopsided smile—“so have I. I’ve seen a lot of Sam Adlers.
Cocky, good spenders, always on the make for one thing
or another. Hard to discourage but not hard to handle
once you understand what makes them tick.
“After George had made his little scene and I finally got
rid of him, I decided to teach him a lesson and Sam made
it easy. He asked when I got off and I told him. He said
would I like to go somewhere later for a drink and a dance
and I said maybe I would. He picked me up at ten and
we went to the Log Cabin,” she added, mentioning a run-
of-the-mill night spot on the Post Road. “George must have
followed us because he came storming up to the table
and tried to get tough. Sam was agreeable. George swung
but Sam beat him to the punch and the owner escorted
George to the door. Poor George,” she said and then, as a
new thought occurred to her, the green eyes sobered.
“Incidentally, Sam asked about you.”
The statement reminded Hayden of the information Lee
Cramer had given him at the gasoline station and sud-
denly an odd and unaccountable feeling of uneasiness
started to work inside him. A frown dug in above the


1O MISSION OF FEAR
bridge of his nose and the brown eyes narrowed slightly
as he studied her.
“You say his name was Sam Adler?”
“That's the name he gave me.”
“What did he look like?”
He listened carefully as she gave her description, and
the picture that came to him corresponded with the one
Cramer had drawn. To this Doris added a thought of her
OWI).
“He gave me the idea he was some sort of business ac-
quaintance, but if you ask me you'd be more likely to find
him at the race track than you would in an office.”
Hayden finished his drink and put the glass down, the
uneasiness expanding and his thoughts uncertain. Sam Ad-
ler, whoever he was, had been in town since yesterday
afternoon and he knew where the Haydens lived. But Mar-
ion had said nothing about receiving a caller yesterday.
So maybe Adler hadn't called yesterday. Maybe he'd
called today.
He tried to remember whether his wife's manner and
actions had been any different when he came home last
night and remembered now that there had been one small
change. She had had a drink before he came in last night
and this in itself was unusual. But he understood that
women who were four months pregnant were likely to do
unusual things now and then, and he had not given it a
second thought. Now, aware that there was no point in
letting his imagination get off the track, he knew that it
was time to go home. He glanced at his watch, thanked
the girl for the information, and, in the act of turning
away, stopped abruptly.
“Have you seen him since last night?”
“Yes. He was in for lunch. He's staying over at The
Shady Maple if you want to talk to him. Room twelve.”
Hayden thanked her again. He said maybe he would
talk to Adler, but not now. He went out quickly then, his
bony face somber and signs of worry beginning to show in
the dark brown eyes.


2
JOHN HAYDEN knew as he walked into the living room
of the ranch-style home they had bought six months earlier
that something was definitely wrong; he knew it even be-
fore he saw his wife and the empty Old-Fashioned glass
on the end table beside the wing chair.
He had parked the sedan next to the station wagon that
Marion used to run around in and had come through the
small breezeway to the kitchen. The door to the dining
room area at the end of the living room was open and
the lights were on but there was no sound and this in it-
self was disturbing. Always before, she was waiting for
him in the kitchen by the time he had parked the car and
always, even when she did not feel well, there was a smile
and a kiss for him, a moment when she stood close when
his arms tightened about her.
Before that, in the rented house where they had spent
their first eight months of married life, there was not even
a garage and she somehow always managed to hear him
arrive and meet him at the door. Now he saw the ice
bucket and the bottle of whisky and the steak which had
been put out to defrost; the potatoes, which had been
scrubbed for baking, were still on the counter and the
oven had not yet been turned on.
“Marion?”
There was no answer as he crossed to the open door
and he called again, his voice carrying an edge that worry
and anxiety had put there. He was in the other room then,
hurrying a little until he saw her in the chair, the light
from the floor lamp burnishing her soft dark hair. Even
then there was no reaction until he stopped in front of
her.
“Oh, hello,” she said, not looking at him.


MISSION OF FEAR 13
built-in oven, he decided to ignore them. When he went
to the refrigerator to get a lemon he noticed the row of
gleaming copper pans on the pegboard at one side of the
stove. They came in graduated sizes and Marion treated
them as though they were heirlooms made of some pre-
cious metal. The knife that he usually used to cut lemon
peel was not in the rack but he had no wish to look for it
and he used the next size, cutting generous slices and
bruising them against the bottoms of the Old-Fashioned
glasses with the end of a mixing spoon before adding wa-
ter and bitters and sugar, a pinch for him, a more gener-
ous portion for her. He cracked ice, added whisky, stirred,
and still he stood there until he was sure he could face her
with his thoughts and emotions under control.
She had not moved while he was in the kitchen, and
when he had put her drink on the end table, he took the
chair which faced hers from the other side of the fire-
place. He took a cigarette from the silver box beside him,
not offering her one because she had stopped smoking
when her pregnancy was confirmed. When he had a light
he said: “Cheers, dear,” and pretended not to notice when
there was no reply.
He took a big swallow and the whisky put a welcome
warmth in his throat and the top of his stomach. He let
the silence build as he studied her, and though she still
would not look at him he saw that her cheekbones, which
to him had always added some extra beauty to her face,
were pale now, the smooth skin taut-looking, the full,
sweetly shaped mouth compressed and severe. The hazel
eyes were fastened on her glass, but he could see the long
black lashes, unblinking now and fixed by some inner
struggle that was tormenting her. She was wearing a flan-
nel skirt and cashmere sweater set, and it came to him
now that she did not look four months pregnant.
She denied this when he had mentioned the subject
before. She said her clothes were beginning to feel too
tight but he could only be sure at night when, under the


14 MISSION OF FEAR
gentleness of his hand, he could feel the rounded firmness
beneath the satiny skin of her belly that grew so gradu-
ally from week to week. He had told her that she must
tell him when the first signs of life came, so he could feel
it for himself, and she had promised him that she
would. . . .
He pulled his thoughts back to the moment and a sick-
ness began to grow inside him as he tried to make his
voice hearty.
“Have a tough day, baby?”
“You could call it that.”
“Any morning sickness after I left?”
“Has Junior been behaving?”
“Junior's been fine,” she said in the same dull tones.
“Unfortunately—” She stopped here; then, as though be-
coming aware of the glass in her hand for the first time,
she lifted it and he could see her throat move as she took
two quick swallows. She put the glass down on the end
table and the sound of it was loud in the otherwise quiet
room. But she was looking at him now, her chin up, the
stiffness still in her face, her eyes enormous. He saw her
lips quiver once and then she said harshly: “Unfortu-
nately for Junior, he's going to be a bastard.”
He heard the phrase distinctly but he did not believe
his ears, and for that first shocking instant he was more
distressed by the word itself than by the inference it con-
veyed. The effect was more punishing than a physical
blow because it struck deep inside him and he had as yet
no time to consider her meaning or speculate about the
reasons for her outburst. For one of the first things that
had attracted him to her was a look of breeding that he
had found authentic, and in their fourteen months of mar-
ried life the closest Marion had ever come to profanity
was three or four determined damns, and then only under
extreme provocation.
True, in the past couple of months there had been small


MISSION OF FEAR 15
emotional upheavals, but he understood that these were
due to her condition and he made the proper allowances.
He knew that she felt queasy at times, that morning sick-
ness bothered her now and then. There were occasional
tears that seemed to have no logical explanation, but if
she was sometimes a bit difficult she could also be con-
trite; when the outbursts were over, the proof of her feel-
ing of guilt was often demonstrated by a passion that sur-
prised him. All these thoughts came to him as he stared at
her, and before he could demonstrate or reply she at-
tacked him again.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“Well, say something. Or do you want me to repeat it?”
It came to him then that she was trying to tell him some-
thing that he was in no condition mentally or emotionally
to accept. This was no outburst brought about by some in-
stability of the mind. He knew somehow that she was
close to hysteria and such knowledge chilled him and put
a further strain on nerves already ragged. He wanted to
come out of the chair and shake her, to shout at her to
stop this nonsense, but some inner warning signal made
him sit still and demand an explanation as soberly as he
could.
“Not now or any other time,” he said, an edge in his
tone. “Just give a simple explanation of what you're talk-
ing about—if you can.”
The cold, no-nonsense quality of the words had their
effect, and he saw her labored breath as she fought for
some self-control. He watched it, the slow gathering of
that control, and her voice, when it came, was as distant
as his own.
“A child whose parents are not married is illegitimate.
If you prefer that word, let's use it. All I'm trying to say is
that our baby will be illegitimate.”
“What?” He felt the back of his neck prickle as he sat


16 MISSION OF FEAR
up, and suddenly his scalp was tight. “What the devil are
you talking about? You must be—”
“But I’m not,” she said, interrupting. “I found out today
that we're not married, at least not legally.”
“Marion!”
“No.” She gestured impatiently with one hand. “Let me
finish, please. It's really very simple. Ted is still alive.”
He knew what she meant then but he could not accept
the statement. His mind and senses rebelled and he fought
against belief, even though he knew that for her there
could be but one Ted. He himself had never seen the man
—Marion had been widowed for six months when he first
met her—but he knew that for a period of three years she
had been Mrs. Ted Corbin.
“I don't believe it,” he said, aware of the inadequacy of
his words but unable to find others.
“I didn't want to believe it either but it's true. I saw his
picture—”
A sob that was a convulsive choking sound cut through
the sentence and he saw her face crumble. Tears spilled
from her eyes. When she could no longer face him she
bowed her head and covered her mouth and eyes with her
hands. The sight of all this torment and helplessness
chewed his insides and he came to his feet with a muffled
curse. Two long strides took him to her chair and he went
to one knee and leaned close.
In his effort to comfort her he took her hands and pulled
them gently down and she did not resist. He started to
slide an arm around her shoulders and draw her close,
and suddenly he could feel her stiffen. When he tried to
persist she drew back. Her head came up, and though her
eyes were still wet, they were wide open now and there
was a look in them he had never seen before. Then, as
the astonishment grew in him, she put her hands against
his chest and pushed.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Marion!”


MISSION OF FEAR 19
Again she ran out of breath and this time she stopped.
She continued to look right at him but it seemed to him
that she did not really see him and after another moment
he stood up, the glass still in his hand.
“I take it he came back this afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“With proof?”
“He showed me a snapshot of Ted.”
“It could have been taken a long time ago.”
“That's what I told him but I knew it wasn’t so. Ted's
alive.”
There were a lot of things he wanted to say then but he
knew they could wait. He saw that his wife's drink had
scarcely been touched, and now, as he stopped beside her
chair, he took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and
passed it to her.
“Blow your nose.” He waited until she took the hand-
kerchief. “And work on that drink a little, will you?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Pretend it's medicine. We've got some talking to do,
he said. “I want to hear more about this proof Adler has.
I want to know just what happened this afternoon.”
He moved through the dining room area to the kitchen
door and stopped to glance back at her. He said he was
going to make another drink and while he was doing it she
could try to remember exactly what had been said.
>>
3
JOHN HAYDEN did not make a fresh Old-Fashioned but
simply added ice and whisky to the dregs of the first one.
He gave the mixture a quick and violent stir. When he
had tossed the spoon aside he did not lift the glass but


2O MISSION OF FEAR
stood staring with unseeing eyes at the darkness outside
the windows while he tried to ease the tension inside him
and quiet his trembling nerves.
He held one hand out palm down and watched his
fingers shake. When he could not still them he clenched
his fist and shifted his glance. Again he noticed the steak,
and because he knew it would not be cooked tonight, he
put it back into the refrigerator and tossed the potatoes
into the vegetable bin. The diversion helped and his
breathing was all right now but there was some thinking
to be done and it came to him that this was the time to
do it.
He had to think logically, reasonably, sensibly, and he
was afraid he could not do so while sitting opposite Mar-
ion and watching the naked display of emotions on her
sensitive face. To see and understand her distress was to
undermine his own self-control and involve him emotion-
ally as well, and this would only further erode his own
resolve to find the truth as soon as possible.
To set the pattern he directed his mind deliberately to
the accident which had taken Ted Corbin's life more than
two years ago. At the time the name meant nothing to
him and he had not yet met Marion, but the accident was
a front-page story, not only because of the lives lost, but
because the mid-air disintegration of the aircraft was so
similar to an accident that had happened some months
before.
He had left New York and was working for Brandt Radio
and Electronics Company at the time and later, when he
met Marion, he remembered the accounts he had read.
At first there was some talk of sabotage because the de-
struction of the aircraft was complete and parts of it, as
well as bodies and parts of bodies, had been scattered
over a wide area of the farm land on which they fell. Later,
the experts were able to determine that the disaster was
caused not by sabotage but by some structural failure


MISSION OF FEAR 21
which, combined with the air pressure at thirty-two thou-
sand feet, had produced the explosive effect.
He learned other details while he was courting Marion.
She had already been widowed for six months when he
met her at a party in Greenwich, and it was another six
months before they were married. The accident had not
been mentioned since, but he remembered now that Ted
Corbin had gone to Illinois, ostensibly on business but
actually to look for a new job. He had gone aboard this
particular flight at Capitol City one evening, and about
an hour out, somewhere over Indiana, tragedy had struck
the plane, its crew, and its passengers. -
Because of the violence of the accident, identification
had been difficult in many instances; in some it had been
impossible. As a result the remains of certain passengers
known to have been aboard the aircraft had been buried
in a common grave. Ted Corbin was one of these. He had
been an orphan who had no living relatives, and Marion,
in no condition to consider the grisly evidence, had taken
the advice of friends and approved the arrangement.
There had been some insurance involved—a small life
policy that Corbin had carried for some time, plus a
seventy-five-thousand-dollar trip policy he had bought in
the airport. The fact that the insurance company had paid
this claim seemed proof enough that Ted Corbin did in-
deed die aboard that aircraft. It was this fact that now
came to bolster Hayden's contention that Corbin was dead
and that Sam Adler's scheme, whatever it was, could not
be based on fact. Such thoughts helped as he picked up
his glass and started for the living room.
Knowing nothing at all about the proof his wife had
spoken about, he understood that she was convinced that
Sam Adler had told the truth. He was willing to let mat-
ters stand that way for the present because it seemed more
important to reassure her about the baby and make her
understand that her fears were exaggerated, that the con-


22 MISSION OF FEAR
clusion she had reached was subject to sensible revision.
Once he had explained things to her, he could go on to
the details of her talk with Adler and see just what had
to be done.
“You spoke about proof,” he said as he sat down, “but
let's skip that for now.” He put his glass aside and fash-
ioned a smile for her. “Come on, baby, take another sip
of your drink.”
He waited, pleased and encouraged when she took a
small and dutiful swallow.
“Okay,” he said. “Now, before you tell me just what
happened this afternoon, let's get one thing straight.” He
paused again, his dark eyes intent. “Junior is not going to
be illegitimate except in a very technical sense and prob-
ably not even that.”
“But if Ted is alive—”
“Please! Let me finish. If he is alive, and I’m not buying
that yet, you have plenty of grounds for a quick and quiet
divorce that no one around here has to know about. You
can do that in Nevada or Alabama or Mexico. We can be
remarried just as quietly. So if we can do that, how can
the baby be illegitimate?”
“Are you sure?” she said, hope touching her glance for
the first time.
He was not at all sure and knew little about such laws,
but he also knew there would be some way out and he
lied convincingly.
“Certainly I’m sure. So let's forget about that angle and
talk about this guy Adler. He says Ted Corbin is alive and
I say he isn't. I wasn't there at the time, but you and Roger
Denham went out west after the accident. You know the
facts; you told them to me. Corbin wired you that he
would be on that flight. The airline people said he was
checked aboard, didn't they?”
“Yes.”
“They found his trench coat and figured this had been
hanging in the tail compartment, which explained why it


MISSION OF FEAR 23
wasn't burned. You identified that trench coat. The name
tape you had sewn in it was still there. The baggage check
they gave him when he handed in his ticket was in the
pocket. They found his suitcase. Part of it was charred but
there was enough still intact for you to identify his toilet
kit and a pair of his shoes.”
“Yes, but—”
“Furthermore,” he went on, not to be interrupted, “the
insurance companies never pay off until they are con-
vinced the claim is justified. So let's get back to Adler.”
He sat up, aware that he had her attention now, that
all traces of hysteria had gone. “He came here yesterday
afternoon and talked to you. He came back this afternoon
and you let him in.”
“I had to. I had to find out the truth, didn't I? I'd
thought about nothing else for twenty-four hours. I was
scared but I tried not to show it. I told him the same
things you've just told me and he just nodded, and smiled
in that sly way of his, and showed me the snapshot. It
was Ted.”
“How do you know it hadn't been taken a long time
ago?”
“I just know. He had coveralls on with some insignia on
the chest. I could see a little of the background and it
looked to me as if he was working in a filling station. It
certainly hadn't been taken while we were married and I
know he couldn't have looked like that before that. He
looked older, and a little leaner, and he was bareheaded,
and tanned—”
“There could be some other explanation,” Hayden said.
“One little snapshot isn't enough.”
“He also showed me some fingerprints.”
“What?” He peered at her. “What fingerprints?”
“He had a picture of the fingerprints of one hand, a
photograph. He said they were Ted's fingerprints.”
The statement jarred Hayden and his earlier uncertainty


MISSION OF FEAR 27
Hayden. Because of this friendship, Denham had helped
in setting up the present corporate plan for the Brandt
Company when Hayden took over, and he was, in fact,
the company attorney.
Remembering these things now, he realized that while
Marion had turned to the lawyer on some impulse born of
desperation, he, John Hayden, was probably going to need
a lot of this same kind of help before this matter was
settled. He did not like the way she had confided in Den-
ham before she talked to him, but he could not quarrel
with her now. It was natural enough that his feelings be
hurt, but that was no longer the primary consideration.
“What did Roger say?” he asked.
“About the same things you did. He didn't believe it at
first. He asked if Adler had left the photograph and the
print of the fingerprints and I told him no. He didn't come
right out and say so, but I think he felt the same way you
did about paying for Adler's silence. He said I was to tell
you the whole story and not let you rush up to The Shady
Maple and deal with Adler yourself.”
“Did he say why?”
“Well—” She gestured emptily and dropped her glance.
“He said you were a rather well-adjusted person and not
particularly aggressive but that men like you, when they
had the provocation and lost their heads, could be pretty
violent.”
“A philosopher too, hunh?”
“Please, John.”
“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. “Okay, I'll see him.”
She came to her feet then and for the first time there
was a small smile on her mouth and a look of relief in her
eyes.
“He said he'd wait in his office for your call and that
he could meet you at his place after dinner if you still
wanted to talk to him.” She smoothed out her skirt and
twisted the cardigan back into place. “You call him and
I’ll see about dinner.”


28 MISSION OF FEAR
Hayden said he would make the call but she could forget
about dinner. He told her what he had done with the
steak and the potatoes. He said he wasn't hungry any
more; he doubted if she was either, and why not just heat
up a can of soup and make a little salad?
4
ROGER DENHAM lived in an old Cape Cod cottage
that he had bought some years earlier and remodeled.
Originally there was only the gray-shingled shell and a
tree-studded, hedged-in lot, but this in itself had a charm
all its own, and he had preserved most of the original
features when he put in the plumbing, the heating plant,
and electricity. He had good taste and he had furnished
the house himself, mostly with antiques, so that each
room had a comfortable, lived-in look.
As a confirmed bachelor he did more or less as he
pleased. There was a cleaning woman who came mornings
to get his breakfast and straighten up the place. He ate
dinner out most of the time and did his entertaining at one
of his two clubs. On rare occasions when he gave a dinner
party he had a couple come in and take complete charge
of all arrangements. Now, at eight o'clock, he answered
John Hayden's knock and ushered him into the low,
beamed-ceilinged living room, with its hooked rugs and
paneled walls, and waved him to the slip-covered divan.
“Before you say anything, John,” he said, “I hope you
weren't annoyed at Marion for phoning me and explaining
the situation before she talked to you.”
“I may have been at the time,” Hayden said, “but I'm
not annoyed now. It's too late for that.”
“Good. You're her husband. You're the one she loves.


MISSION OF FEAR 29
But I've known her longer than you have. We've been
friends since we were children and she needed to talk to
someone who was not emotionally involved. She felt she
had to have some sound objective advice and frankly I’m
glad she told me. It looks as if you're both in trouble and
I hope I can be of some help.”
He had moved over to the fireplace as he spoke and
now he turned, his back against the glowing embers, his
hands clasped behind him. Standing there in his slacks
and a shetland jacket, he made a trim, athletic-looking
figure, an inch or so under six feet but with good shoulders
and slim hips. His hair was sandy and cut short to help
disguise the fact that it was thinning somewhat, his eyes
were gray, and the thin-rimmed glasses helped to give his
lean face an ascetic, austere expression. His upper lip was
long and not given to useless smiling, and although he was
at all times polite and well mannered, there was seldom
any outward display of warmth or compassion. Hayden
had wondered in the past whether this was due to the
fact that Denham had been orphaned early and brought
up strictly by his grandparents, or whether this was some-
thing that applied only to him and was a personal reac-
tion brought about by the knowledge that while Denham
had been a long-time friend of Marion's, it was he, Hay-
den, she had married.
It was also possible, he knew, that his opinion of Den-
ham was somewhat unfair. There had been times in the
past when the thought of that long-time relationship had
brought moments of jealousy. When Marion sensed this,
she not only reassured him but laughed at him. Roger, she
said, had been more like a brother than a lover. The fact
that he was rather handsome, brilliant, well-brought-up,
and comfortably fixed had nothing to do with it. Some men,
she said, regardless of their attributes, simply did not
attract some girls physically. For her, Roger was one of
those.
She liked him and admired him, but his attempts to


MISSION OF FEAR 31
take, say, ten thousand dollars and get clear while he can.”
Hayden thought it over and did not like the conclusion
that came to him. He said he had never run into black-
mail before, but from what he had read, and what he had
heard, he had an idea that it would be difficult to stop
paying once he had started.
“What assurance would I have that Adler wouldn't hit
me again next year or the year after?”
“You wouldn't have any, except his word or the threat
of arrest.”
“There'd be no guarantee.”
“None. And there's also another angle that you may not
have considered. If Corbin is alive he disappeared de-
liberately through some odd coincidence that had to do
with that fatal flight from Capitol City. We don’t have to
speculate about that now; the point is that it would not
be difficult for Corbin to keep track of Marion if he wanted
to. For all we know, he could be behind this blackmail,
with Adler nothing more than a messenger boy or col-
lector.”
This thought was a new one to Hayden and he found
it doubly discouraging. He found it hard to accept too, but
he could not argue with the possibility Denham suggested.
“If that's how it happens to be, I doubt if Corbin would
be satisfied with one payment.”
“So do I. That's something for you and Marion to decide
for yourselves, but I guess you know there's only one other
alternative.”
“You mean bring the whole thing out into the open.”
“Exactly. Prefer charges against Adler, have him ar-
rested; let the authorities put the pressure on him. They
could make him produce Corbin if he's alive, and you'd
have to work it out from there. There's no fraud involved
on that insurance payment, either by you or by Marion,
and if you put your cards on the table—”
“I guess they'd want their money back, wouldn't they?”


32 MISSION OF FEAR
“Probably. But, even so, there's an area for discussion.
Could you raise seventy-five thousand dollars?”
“No.”
Denham ran fingers through his thinning hair and
moved sideways so that he could lean his shoulders against
the mantelpiece. He took off his glasses, frowning as he
held them up to the light. As he began to polish the lenses
with his handkerchief he said:
“Let me review your corporate setup and see if I’ve
got it right. You came to work for Brandt because he was
getting old and wanted someone to take over the opera-
tion. You brought in this bright young genius from M.I.T.
to improve the product and do your research. You got
this other youngster in to handle the sales end. Before you
really got operating under the new setup, Brandt died.
His estate wanted to get out from under and they gave
you the opportunity to take over the business. Am I right
so far?”
“Yes.”
“Marion gave you the seventy-five thousand from the
insurance money that I had invested for her. Your engi-
neer and your salesman raised some money on their own
and you made a small public offering of stock. So the way
things stand now, you own roughly thirty per cent of the
shares, your two partners own fifteen per cent each and
the public holds the other forty per cent. Now how much
could you raise—?”
“To get the whole seventy-five thousand,” Hayden cut
in, “I’d have to sell out. By pledging my shares I probably
could get thirty-five or forty thousand from the bank. Cer-
tainly not more than that, the way things stand.”
“It might be enough to start with.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, in the first place, that insurance money was paid
to Marion. She gave it to you. That stock is not jointly
owned, is it?”
“No, it's in my name.”


MISSION OF FEAR 33
“So how’s the insurance company going to get seventy-
five thousand dollars out of Marion when she doesn’t have
it?” He lifted one hand to forestall comment and contin-
ued: “What I’m trying to say is that this could be a matter
for negotiation or the courts. We could force the insurance
people to sue and there would probably be a judgment of
some kind. You understand I’m simply guessing at this
point because I'm not up on the laws that cover such
CaSeS.
He put on his glasses and replaced the handkerchief.
“But offhand I'd say that in such a situation the insurance
people would be willing to negotiate. In other words, they
might well be agreeable to a settlement of somewhat less
than the original amount. They could most certainly get a
judgment, but since in a way it would be like finding
money in the street, they'd probably make some kind of a
reasonable settlement rather than have the thing drag
through the courts.”
“I could pay them part of it,” Hayden said, “if they
would take notes for the balance and let me pay it off
over a period of two or three years.”
“That's a possibility,” Denham said, “but the thing you
have to decide now is how you're going to play the hand.”
“Suppose the insurance people wouldn't settle?” Hay-
den said, persisting. “Suppose there was some way they
could force me to pay up in full?”
Denham pushed away from the mantelpiece. He took a
breath and shrugged. “I’m afraid that would be tough on
you; Marion too. But let's not cross that bridge yet. . . .
Where are you going?” he asked as Hayden came to his
feet.
Hayden took a moment before he replied. For the anger
was stirring in him again, and it helped somewhat to com-
bat the feeling of dejection and hopelessness that had
been working on him for the past couple of hours. He
found himself hating this man he had not yet seen but


34 MISSION OF FEAR
who had come so suddenly to threaten his marriage, his
happiness, and his business.
“I’m going to see Adler,” he said bluntly. “I’m going to
find out what the score is and if he gives me too much
trouble ITl probably break his damn neck.”
“Well, don't.” Denham uttered a small dry laugh to show
that he understood Hayden was only kidding. “If you
decide you have to get tough with him, let me handle it.
I’ve had more experience in these things, and if I have to
threaten him I can make it stick. So keep your hands in
your pockets. Find out all you can. Then stall. Tell him
you need more time. Go home and take a couple of sleep-
ing pills and get a good night's rest. Get in touch with me
tomorrow and we'll make some plans.”
He had been walking to the door with Hayden as he
spoke, and when he opened it he uttered a final word of
caution.
“No rough stuff, okay?” When there was no reply he
added: “I’m sorry I can't offer you a drink but you know I
seldom have it around unless I’m throwing a party.”
Hayden said it did not matter. He said he was going
to stop at the tavern and have a couple of quick brandies
to settle his nerves. After that he'd see what Sam Adler had
to say.
The front of The Shady Maple Motel was well lighted
at this hour and the sign that said Vacancy was still
beckoning to travelers who needed a place to sleep. John
Hayden was never quite sure why he decided to park
beyond the entrance, but something prompted him to let
the car roll past, and he finally came to a stop under an
ancient and towering elm tree that cast black shadows
upon the street.
When he had turned off his lights and cut the motor,
he walked back, keeping to the same side of the street
and seeing again the cars that had been parked in the
quadrangle. In contrast to the lighted windows which


MISSION OF FEAR 35
were shaded by drawn Venetian blinds, the parking area
had a darkened and deserted look, but the office glowed
brightly and he thought he saw someone at the desk
through a crack in the shade as he started across the street
toward the tavern.
Jerry was still presiding and several of the regulars were
perched on stools watching something on the television
set, which was placed high in one corner of the room.
Later he was to remember that he did not see Doris Lamar,
but at the moment he paid no attention to anything at
all in the room except the empty space at the near end of
the bar. Although Hayden seldom came there in the eve-
ning, Jerry's broad muscular face showed no surprise at
seeing him and he made no comment when Hayden asked
for a double brandy, with water on the side.
“How much, Jerry?” he asked when the drink was
served.
“That will be a dollar and a half, Mr. Hayden.”
Hayden counted out the money and Jerry went away.
He studied the small snifter glass, which was now nearly
full. He stood that way for a while, unmindful of those
about him or the dialogue from the television set, recalling
again Roger Denham's advice and concentrating on keep-
ing a tight grip on his emotions. He was not, as Denham
had told Marion, an aggressive man by nature; yet he
knew he was going to have trouble keeping his hands in
his pockets, as Denham had advised. Without ever having
met Adler, he already hated the man and he knew that
to talk sensibly and with calculation in his present condi-
tion would be difficult.
That was why he needed the brandy. That was why he
did not savor its bouquet and enjoy it as a connoisseur
would. He sipped and sipped again. He took a swallow of
water. He got a cigarette going. He held out one hand,
palm down, as he had done in his kitchen earlier and was
pleased to see that the extended fingers were steady. Then,
the impatience beginning to ride him, he swallowed the


36 MISSION OF FEAR
last of the brandy, followed it with a gulp of water, and
walked out into the night.
The wide main street was empty as he crossed it. After
the friendly warmth of the tavern the night seemed raw,
the wind coming in gusts that swayed the glowing motel
sign and brought forth protesting metallic sounds. Sedans
and station wagons gleamed darkly in the reflected light
from the occupied units and, recalling that Doris Lamar
had said Sam Adler had room twelve, he angled past the
office and started down the center of the quadrangle. It
was then that he saw the woman.
At no time did he get a good look at her. He saw her
but vaguely as she moved on the cement walk that con-
nected the units in the left-hand building, but she van-
ished almost instantly and he thought she had come out to
get something from one of the cars. He slowed his steps
slightly because he did not want to frighten her. He
stopped a moment to peer ahead of him and when he did
not see her again he wondered where she had gone.
The motel had been built in two facing and parallel
sections, and the parking area was partly open at the far
end. Between the end units was space for two cars and
beyond this was a scraggly hedge which separated the
property from the vacant lot facing the next street. There
was only one car here now, and although he had heard
nothing to indicate that a car door had been opened or
closed, he realized the wind might have muffled the
sound. He also knew that what the woman did—if in fact
it was a woman—was none of his business. His business
was with Sam Adler and he cut between two parked cars,
angling to the connecting sidewalk so he could examine
the unit numbers. By then he knew that Sam Adler had
the last room on the right, the one with the car parked
beside it, a small, new-looking sedan with New York
license plates.
The blinds had been slanted in the room beyond to give
it privacy, but lights were on and he found satisfaction in


5
JOHN HAYDEN was not aware of time as he stood tense
and immobile, breath held and his heart beginning to
pound. The recorded playing of some dance band came
softly from the radio in a syncopated beat, and with his
feet still anchored by the shock of his discovery, he swiv-
eled his head and glanced slowly about the room.
It was, he saw at once, the sort of unit known as an
efficiency. Without actually tabulating its contents, he
was aware that the furniture was constructed of some
blond wood and in a style that was more modern than
traditional. The two beds, which were placed at right
angles along two walls, had slipcovers and pillows to make
them look like couches until they were ready for use.
Opposite the partly opened bathroom door was a cubicle
with a built-in dresser and some coat hangers on a metal
rod, and the end of the room directly ahead of him con-
tained a shallow kitchenette. Here there were cabinets
and cupboards, a sink, a counter, an enameled unit that
contained a small icebox and an even smaller electric
range on top. From where he stood he could see two
glasses and a bottle of gin, nearly empty now, bottles of
soda, the pulpy halves of lemons from which the juice
had been squeezed.
His unconscious inspection completed, he brought his
glance back to the man on the floor and now he moved
reluctantly toward him. The torso had been turned so that
it rested partly on one side, and as he leaned down he
saw the reason for the wide, dark stain that glistened
moistly on the white shirt.
Because Adler's back was away from him and not far
from the wall it lay partly in shadow but he could see


MISSION OF FEAR 39
the wooden knife handle protruding from the ribs just to
the left of the spine. The shape of that handle suggested
that it was a kitchen knife and he thought it had probably
come from the unit at the end of the room.
He remembered the description that had been given
him by Doris Lamar and knew it fitted the sharp-featured
face that now looked slack and gray and lifeless. The
sleek, black hair needed cutting. There was a dark smudge
of beard along the angle of one jaw and the nose, in profile,
had a broad and flattened look. The hand that he finally
reached for seemed surprisingly warm and limp, and he
tried to concentrate now as he sought a pulse beat that
IneVer Came.
He straightened slowly then, traces of shock still min-
gling with the confusion in his mind. He could feel the
dampness in his palms and his breath came shallowly
as he tried to put his thoughts in order. It took a while to
relate Adler's death to his own problems, and his first
reaction was one of relief as he understood that the man
no longer posed a threat to his happiness. The thought
shamed him even as it came to him, but it did not last
long. For he remembered other details now, and that fleet-
ing sense of relief gave way at once to a fear that was
real, genuine, and greatly disturbing.
This fear did not spring from any thought that he would
be suspected or charged with murder, and he wasted no
time speculating on the reason for Sam Adler's death.
The fear he felt came from remembered details that Mar-
ion had told him earlier. Adler had shown her a photo-
graph of her first husband; he had shown her a second
photograph of fingerprints that he insisted belonged to
Ted Corbin. Therefore these photographs had to be on the
body or somewhere in this room.
Under other circumstances there would have been no
hesitation on Hayden's part. His life had been well or-
dered and he had an inbred respect for the law that came
from a proper background. The thing to do was to call the


MISSION OF FEAR 41
Adler had shown Marion two photographs. They must
therefore be somewhere in the room now. Without them
the police could find no link between Adler and the past.
A likely place to keep them would be a man's wallet, and
while he shrank from any contact with the lifeless figure he
started toward it, only to stop when he saw the sport
coat draped over the back of a chair.
He tried the outside pockets first but found only a pack
of cigarettes and paper matches and two sticks of gum.
But the inner pockets revealed a coat-type wallet of worn
pigskin and he quickly found the two glossy prints in the
center fold. He saw that they were about three inches by
four, one showing the prints of four fingers of a right
hand, the other a well-focused snapshot of a bareheaded
man in coveralls. He took a moment to study this one and
realize that his wife's impression had been correct. The
background did indeed suggest a filling station and there
was some insignia on the breast pocket of the coveralls
the man wore.
When he had first begun to call on Marion there had
been a cabinet photograph of her first husband in her
apartment. This had disappeared after their engagement,
but he was as convinced now as she had been that this
was an unposed snapshot of Ted Corbin. That he seemed
older-looking and leaner than the remembered man in the
other photograph seemed to bear out Adler's contention
that the picture had been taken recently.
A quick inspection of the inner pocket of the wallet
revealed no other pictures, but he did find a Social Secu-
rity card and two driver's licenses. One had been issued
in New York State and gave a Flushing address. When he
saw that this was an old license he turned to the other,
which gave a Conti Street address in Mobile, Alabama. He
copied this address in a small notebook before he replaced
the wallet, and now a new and urgent thought came to
him that was at once discouraging.
If there were photographic prints there had to be nega-


44 MISSION OF FEAR
heat in the radiator and he stayed where he was as his
mind raced on, disturbed and strangely frightened by his
discovery and the knowledge that Marion had used the
car, and recently.
But how recently? And for what purpose?
He tried to tell himself that this was not unusual, that
there was some simple and innocent explanation. A trip
to the drugstore for a prescription or some toiletry or a
late newspaper. This, he knew, had happened before, but
even as he acknowledged the possibility he remembered
again the woman he had seen so briefly at the motel, the
distinctive odor of perfume in the lighted bathroom. To
arrest such unwanted imagery he glanced at his watch
and was surprised to see that it was still only ten minutes
after nine.
This, he told himself as he pulled down the overhead
door and turned toward the breezeway, was all to the
good, and as he crossed the area to the darkened kitchen
he outlined the tentative timetable which began with his
prompt arrival at Roger Denham's place at eight o'clock.
He had been there no more than a half hour, if that.
Another ten minutes, say eight-forty, had brought him to
Jerry's Tavern. Five minutes with his brandy would put
him at Sam Adler's door at eight-forty-five or a minute
later. Since it was about a ten-minute drive from the tav-
ern here, he must have been at the motel no more than
twelve or fourteen minutes.
And he not only had the two pictures; he had not been
seen. So what should he do about Marion? Ask her where
she'd been or pretend he did not know she had been gone?
This, he knew at once, would be best, and he was de-
termined to stick with the decision as he entered the
kitchen and locked the door behind him.


MISSION OF FEAR 47
sensible girl. She always had been. The fact that her preg-
nancy had given her some moments of emotional turbu-
lence could not possibly have brought her to the point of
violence. This is what he told himself and this is what he
believed, and yet some obscure segment of his brain that
he could not control persisted in asserting itself.
He could not forget the knife that had been thrust into
Sam Adler's back. It was, he felt sure, a kitchen knife of
some sort, and the obvious assumption was that it had
come from the kitchenette in Adler's room. But he could
not dismiss the thought that Adler had been stabbed in
the back. It was hard for him to understand why a man
would use this method unless the killing was premeditated.
But to a woman a kitchen knife was a familiar object.
Driven by fear or desperation or a moment of temporary
insanity, a woman wanting to strike back and finding such
a knife handy might use it.
He lost track of time as he sat there brooding, his beer
forgotten and growing flat in the glass. In an effort to
curb his imagination and to submerge his present doubts
and fears, he forced his mind back into the past while he
considered the girl he had married, not just as he knew
her since they had been together, but before that, before
Ted Corbin.
She had been brought up in Westchester in a family
that was socially acceptable and soundly rooted. As Mar-
ion Haskell there was enough money for a good finishing
school and a college education, even though the Haskells
had never been wealthy. Her father worked in Wall Street
and his speculations were not always too wise, so that
when a heart attack took him a month or so before Marion
was to graduate from Vassar, there was not a great deal
left except the house, two small insurance policies payable
to her and her brother, and a large one that went to her
mother, who, for the past few years, had been living with
her son in Texas.
Marion had gone to work for an advertising agency in


48 MISSION OF FEAR
New York immediately after graduation. She had been
sharing an apartment with another girl when she met Ted
Corbin, who was a friend of a friend of her roommate's.
Corbin was working as a paper salesman at the time, and
the factors that caused the marriage to founder after three
years were the very ones that attracted Marion to him in
the first place.
That Corbin was a big, good-looking, and easygoing
man was at once in his favor, but what intrigued her most
was the fact that he was so different from the young men
she had gone out with in the past. Mostly these were Ivy
League youths whose standards, conduct, and ambitions
were so similar to her own. The pattern was familiar to
her and she enjoyed being with them; the affairs that she
had with one or another from time to time were in a minor
key, but always the language they shared was the same.
Since Ted Corbin had not been trained to fit the pat-
tern, he presented an approach that Marion found both
different and exciting. For Corbin had been born and
brought up in a small Pennsylvania mining town, and if
his intelligence quotient was perhaps less than some, he
had other skills, one of which was the ability to play a
hard and aggressive type of football that was much in
demand. This got him into a school in South Carolina, and
by the time he had graduated he had gained some promi-
nence in his field. He had lasted two years in the profes-
sional league, and when he realized he would never be a
first-string regular, he had taken a job with a southern
paper company, which eventually brought him to New
York.
The fact that he was not adept or skilled in social inter-
course did not seem important to Marion, even though she
was aware of this. She liked his breeziness, his easy man-
ners, his offhand ways; it was only much later that she
discovered these ways were a little crude, a little too
coarse for her taste. For he was, basically, an outdoor
man. He liked to hunt and fish and go to the fights or the


MISSION OF FEAR 49
ball game. He had not read a book since he left college
and she discovered that he had no intention of ever read-
ing another. His taste in newspapers was limited to the
tabloids or the sporting pages. His friends were not her
friends, and even though he tried at times, the lack of
communication eventually made him sullen and distant.
Friction developed early in the marriage but they tried
in their own ways to combat it. But it was harder for Cor-
bin because there was little depth to his thinking and he
did not have the basic equipment to adjust to new things.
Discouraged by his failure to make the marriage go, he
had sought comfort in earlier friends. He drank too much
and had difficulty in holding a job. There had been three
jobs in three years, and he was on his way to see about a
fourth when tragedy struck the aircraft. Even before that,
they both knew that their marriage was finished. They
had practically agreed on a separation and Marion had
started to look for another job in the advertising field. . . .
The sound that cut through Hayden's thoughts and
made him jump in the chair so startled him that for the
moment he did not know whether it came from the tele-
phone or the front door. It took him another few seconds
to break the spell of nervous tension that gripped him, to
glance at his watch, to understand that he had been sit-
ting here for nearly two hours. For it was now a few min-
utes after eleven, and as the sound was repeated and he
came to his feet, he understood that whoever had rung the
doorbell had not come here on a social call. He moved
quickly then, the trepidation growing in him as his pulse
quickened.
He did not know the two men who faced him as he
opened the door, but he saw that one was tall and lean-
looking in his trench coat, the other somewhat shorter
and more heavily built. It was the tall one who made the
introduction.
“Mr. Hayden?”
“That's right.”


50 MISSION OF FEAR
“I’m Lieutenant Garvey of the State Police. . . . This
is County Detective Ball from the State's Attorney's
office.”
Hayden's acknowledgment was a mumbled “Hello,” and
although he had already considered the possibility of such
a call, he was glad the light was at his back. For in those
first moments he could feel his features stiffen as the blood
drained from his face. He had the impression that the
shadowed eyes beneath the hat brims were intent upon
his reactions and he concentrated on making his voice
sound reasonably surprised but not disconcerted.
“What can I do for you?”
“We’re sorry to bother you at this hour,” Garvey said,
“but we need some information and we thought you might
help us. May we come in?”
“Certainly.” Hayden stepped back and waved them to-
ward the living room. “In there. Take off your coats.”
They removed their hats and unbuttoned their coats
but did not take them off. They sat down on the divan and
he could see now that Garvey was in his late thirties, a
confident-looking man with a prominent jaw, deep-set
gray eyes, and short brown hair. Ball was older and more
round in the face. His head was nearly bald on top and
Hayden was at once aware of the dark eyes which were
steady, watchful, and inquisitive.
“I was just having a beer before I went to bed,” he said,
and took a swallow of the stale brew to prove it. “Can I
offer you anything?”
“No thanks,” they said.
“We'll try not to keep you up,” Garvey said. “But we'd
like to find out what you know about a man named Adler.”


7
JOHN HAYDEN took another slow and deliberate swal-
low of the beer and reached for a cigarette. He knew then
that he was as ready as he ever would be for the questions
and it pleased him to see that the flame from the table
lighter was steady when he held it up. He could still feel
his pulse but it was no longer racing, and he frowned de-
liberately at the end of the cigarette before he replied.
“Adler?” he said on a note of puzzlement.
“You don't know him?” Ball asked.
“I don't think so. At least I don't remember anyone by
that name.”
“He was staying at The Shady Maple Motel.”
Hayden frowned again for their benefit. “What about
him? Is he in some kind of trouble?”
“Not any more.”
“Someone stuck a knife in his back,” Garvey said. “Ac-
cording to the medical examiner he probably died some-
where between eight and nine o'clock tonight.”
Hayden heard them out and then, nothing showing in
his face, he rose and moved over to close the door to the
inner hall.
“My wife went to bed early,” he said. “She's four months
pregnant and I’d like her to get her rest.” He came back
and sat down. He looked right at them. “I don't know
anyone named Adler,” he said, “but I'm curious to know
why you came here at all.”
“We’ve been making a lot of inquiries, Mr. Hayden,”
Ball said. “From things we’ve heard we got the impression
that you did know Adler.”
“To the best of my knowledge I never laid eyes on the
Iman.


52 MISSION OF FEAR
“George Freeman—he's managing The Shady Maple—”
Garvey began.
“I know him.”
*—found the body around nine-thirty, or so he says. He
couldn't tell us much about Adler except that he was a
stranger who registered yesterday afternoon.”
“We started to check on him,” Ball said. “We put some
men on the main street to see what we could find. You
know Lee Cramer at the filling station, don't you?”
“Know him well.”
“He remembered Adler. He had some conversation with
him yesterday afternoon and Adler asked if he knew you.
He asked where you lived and Cramer told him. Now why
would Adler do that if he didn't intend to get in touch
with you?”
“Cramer told me about that conversation,” Hayden
said and was pleased that his voice sounded so steady and
unruffled. “He described the man but he didn't mention
any name.”
Garvey, who had been examining a small, leather-
covered notebook, looked up. “We made some inquiries at
Jerry's Tavern,” he said. “The way we get it you stopped
in there twice tonight.”
“That's right.”
“You had some conversation with the waitress there—
Doris Lamar—”
“That was around a quarter of six.”
“Mind telling us the substance of that conversation?”
“It was mostly about her and George Freeman.”
“Did she tell you that a man named Sam Adler had been
making some inquiries about you?”
Hayden hesitated but not for long.
“Yes, now that I stop to think of it. She said she and
George had had an argument about something. Adler
made a play for her the night before and she decided to
put Freeman in his place. They went dancing later at the
Log Cabin and Freeman came in and took a swing at


MISSION OF FEAR 53
Adler and Adler beat him to the punch. When I saw Free-
man he was wearing dark glasses. He looked as if he had a
shiner.”
“He did,” Ball said. “It was a beaut.”
“So Adler asked Lee Cramer if he knew you and where
you lived,” Garvey continued. “Cramer told him. Tonight
Doris Lamar told you the same thing. But you still say
you don't know Adler?”
“That's right.”
“He didn't come here to see you?”
“He did not.”
“And you have no idea what he wanted?”
“No.”
“Where were you this evening?” Ball asked.
Hayden suddenly found it difficult to meet the unremit-
ting steadiness of the county detective's dark gaze. The
uneasiness was growing in him now and for some reason
his thoughts moved off on a tangent and he found him-
self comparing these two with the detectives he had seen
on television and in the movies. He had never been ques-
tioned by a policeman about anything, but the detectives
he had seen on the screen were hard-nosed, tough-talking
characters who threw their weight around and wore down
suspects by intimidation and threats. In contrast, these
two men spoke quietly and in matter-of-fact tones. They
were polite, and at the moment well mannered, but he
understood that they would be relentless in their pursuit
of any information they thought pertinent.
He thought about the two photographs he had in his
pocket and was thankful that they could not know about
them. There had been moments of misgivings when he
left the motel room, but he was glad now that he had
acted the way he did. They might pin him down on this
or that, but without those pictures which linked him and
Marion with the past there was no motive—unless they
somehow located the original negatives.


54 MISSION OF FEAR
“I had an appointment with my attorney at eight
o'clock.”
“Who would that be?” Garvey asked.
“Roger Denham,” Hayden said and mentioned the
address.
“You went to his house?”
“That's right.”
“When did you leave?”
“I’d say around eight-thirty.”
“Then what?”
“I stopped at Jerry's Tavern.”
“For a drink?” Ball asked in his customary even tones.
“Naturally.”
“What did you order?”
“A double brandy and water,” Hayden said, and even
as he spoke he knew that the announcement would bring
forth additional comment.
“Was that the usual thing for you at that time of the
evening?” Garvey asked.
“No. I felt like a double brandy and I ordered it. I drank
it and drove home.”
"Jerry said that when you left you started across the
street toward the motel,” Ball said.
"Sure,” Hayden said, “because my car was parked on
that side of the street.”
“You got home about when?”
“Nine, or a little after.”
Ball leaned back and exchanged glances with the lieu-
tenant. Apparently this was sufficient for a silent meeting
of the minds because when he continued he seemed to
speak for both of them.
“We'd like very much to speak to your wife for a few
minutes, Mr. Hayden,” he said. “I know it may seem to
you like an imposition and I appreciate her condition, but
in a murder case it's important that we find out as much
as we can and as quickly as we can. Perhaps if you ex-
plained—”


56 MISSION OF FEAR
and it came to him then that the look of shock and fear in
her eyes was concerned not with the two officers but with
She knows that I was going to see Adler, he thought.
She's wondering if I killed him and how can I tell her I
didn't P
“Stabbed?” she said in a tone that matched the look on
her face. “How awful.”
She looked at the two men on the divan. She looked
back at Hayden. The paleness was still in her cheeks but
her eyes had narrowed slightly and were no longer un-
guarded. She frowned, and he knew this was deliberate.
He was grateful for the intelligence and resiliency that en-
abled her to regain her composure and her wits so quickly.
Her voice sounded just right when she continued.
“But I don't understand,” she said. “Surely”—she looked
at Garvey and then at Ball—“you don't think we know
anything about it.”
“We’re just checking now, Mrs. Hayden,” Ball said.
“We know he arrived in town yesterday afternoon and we
know he asked some questions about your husband.” He
went on to repeat the information he had given to Hayden.
He took time to let her digest what he had said before he
continued. “What about you, Mrs. Hayden?”
“Me?”
“Did you know Adler?” He hesitated and when she did
not reply he said: “Doesn’t it seem a little odd that this
man should come into town and ask where the Haydens
live and then not bother to look them up?”
He apparently expected no answer and Garvey took
over. “In cases like these we sometimes get a break,” he
said. “Like tonight for instance. In trying to get a line on
Adler and find out what he was doing here we talked to a
lot of people. We spent some time at Jerry's Tavern and
there was a fellow at the bar who overheard what we were
saying to Jerry and the waitress.”
“His name is James,” Ball said. “He runs a television


MISSION OF FEAR 57
repair shop and he had to make a call on your road this
afternoon. As a matter of fact it was at the Lamsons’.” He
took time to direct his steady gaze at Marion and then at
Hayden.
That gave Hayden time enough to brace himself be-
cause he knew what was coming. He did not know the
details but he knew that the Lamsons lived no more than
sixty or seventy yards down the road and he understood
that Ball would not take this line of questioning unless he
already knew enough to prove his point, whatever it was.
There was nothing to do but sit there and wait for the
detective to continue and presently he did.
“This fellow James asked about Adler. He wanted to
know what he looked like and what kind of a car he drove.
The reason for his curiosity was that when he had finished
his service call and was putting the ladder on his truck he
noticed this sedan with the New York license plates.”
He paused, as though waiting for some reaction before
he said: “Before he drove off he noticed this man come
out of your house and get into the car. He described the
man and the description fitted Adler. We took him over
and let him look at the body. He says that's the man he
saw this afternoon.”
Again Hayden could only wait and hope. Because he
was afraid to watch his wife's face he reached for another
cigarette and fumbled with the light. He wanted desper-
ately to help her, but as he tried to think of something to
say she proved she needed no help.
“Oh—is that the man you're talking about?” she said
with just the right emphasis. “Yes. He was here this
afternoon.”
Garvey said: “Ahh—”
Ball said: “What did he want?”
“He was a book salesman.”
The reply seemed to stop them for a second. They took
time to peer at her before they exchanged quick glances.
“What kind of books, Mrs. Hayden?” Ball asked.


58 MISSION OF FEAR
“Some children's encyclopedia.”
“He just happened to stop here?”
“Not exactly. He said a friend—he wouldn't give any
name—told him we might be interested in such a set.”
“Did he show you the set?”
“He was hardly here long enough for that. I told him we
weren't interested.”
“That's funny,” Garvey said.
“What's funny?” Hayden said, proud of his wife's re-
sponse and hoping to take the pressure off of her.
“Book salesmen usually carry books,” Garvey said. “A
lot of them have sample bindings. The idea is that when
they hook you for a set they try to sell you the most ex-
pensive binding they can. But you didn't see any books,
did you?”
“No.”
“Or any sample bindings?”
“No.”
“There were no books in Adler's room,” Ball said, mak-
ing the sentence sound like an accusation. “No samples of
any kind. There were no books and no bindings in his car
either. . . . Maybe he showed you some literature about
that set of books,” he added, “like some circulars or
folders.”
Hayden cut in because he could not keep silent any
longer. Marion's composure had been steadfast and mag-
nificent, but he could see the strain showing in her face
and he was not sure how long she could maintain her self-
control in the face of such persistent questioning.
“Look, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s late. I’ve told you about
my wife's condition. We’ve tried to co-operate with you—”
“We appreciate that,” Ball said.
“A man named Adler was stabbed to death,” Hayden
continued, his words quick and aggressive now. “You seem
to think we know something about it. I’ve told you I don't
know the man. You heard what my wife said. It seems to
me you might make more progress concentrating on some-
one who had a motive for murder.”


MISSION OF FEAR 59
“If you mean Freeman,” Garvey said, “we intend to.
But we also have to find out all we can about Adler and
the sooner the better.”
“Bear with us for another minute or two,” Ball said. “A
couple of questions and we'll take a recess until tomorrow.
We're curious about a phone call Adler made.” He paused,
as though wanting to be sure they understood him.
“The rooms at The Shady Maple have telephones,” he
said, “but calls have to be made through the office. At
around eight-fifteen a call came from Adler's room. He
asked Freeman for a number. Freeman wrote it down and
dialed. Now, according to him, he makes a point of never
listening in on a conversation once the connection is
made, so this time he waited just long enough to hear the
number answer before he cut out. This call was com-
pleted. A woman answered. We checked the number. It's
listed in your name, Mr. Hayden.”
He paused again to give Marion his attention and
Hayden was afraid to look at her. For it seemed now that
this was the answer to the warm radiator on the station
wagon. Adler had phoned her and Marion had apparently
gone to see him, and now the truth would come out. . . .
“What did he want, Mrs. Hayden?” Ball continued.
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“There was no such call.”
“But Freeman—”
“I don't know Mr. Freeman, but I'm afraid he was mis-
taken about this number.”
She was looking right at Ball when she answered and
her chin was up. At that moment she had command of
her emotions and Hayden was both surprised and pleased
by her defiance. He also knew that the two officers did not
believe her. Their expressions said so. As their glances
met, Garvey gave a faint shrug and Ball tried once more.
“You’re sure of this?” he asked.
“Quite sure.”


60 MISSION OF FEAR
They stood up and started to button their coats and
Garvey said: “You were here all evening, Mrs. Hayden?”
“That's right.”
“What time did your husband leave?”
“Well"—she frowned to show that she was considering
the question—“he had an appointment at eight.”
“With Mr. Denham?”
She hesitated just long enough to give Hayden a quick
glance before she said: “Yes. I suppose it was about ten
or twelve minutes of eight when he left.”
“And what time did he come back?”
“I’m not quite sure.”
“Oh?”
“You see, I haven't been feeling too well. I went to bed
shortly after John left.”
“You didn't hear him come in then?”
“I sort of heard him. I mean I was about half asleep
and half awake when I heard his car come into the garage.
I didn't turn on the light then or look at the clock.”
She stood as she finished and straightened the robe. She
gave them a polite nod and said she hoped they would
excuse her. When she turned away, Hayden started for
the front door and the two officers followed. As they
stepped out into the night they thanked him again for his
co-operation. They said they would be in touch with him
tomorrow and it was possible that the State's Attorney
might want to question him and his wife again.
8
BY THE TIME John Hayden came back to the living
room the hall door was closed and he thought Marion had
gone to bed, but when he stepped from the kitchen where


MISSION OF FEAR 61
he had gone to rinse out the beer glass she was waiting
for him. He saw, as he stopped in front of her, that the
look of composure and aloofness she had maintained for
so long had dissolved into one of concern and helpless-
ness. The hazel eyes seemed close to tears as they searched
his face, and reaction made her voice unsteady as she put
up her arms and said:
“Hold me. Hold me tight, please.”
He drew her swiftly to him, grateful for the chance, his
palms hard against the small of her back as her arms en-
circled his neck. He could feel the softness of her body,
the full length of it. He could feel her tremble before she
relaxed, and the fragrance of her hair was in the back of
his throat as her head snuggled against his jaw. She kept
it there and spoke against the side of his neck.
“Remember before you left when I told you not to
touch me?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn't help it. I love you, darling. I know I’m being
unreasonable, but if Ted is alive—oh, I don't know how to
explain it—”
“Don’t try.”
“You do understand?”
He was not sure that he did. He knew that it had some-
thing to do with this thought in the back of her mind that
questioned the legality of their marriage and robbed them
of the right to live as husband and wife. He did not agree
but he could not argue the point now, because her close-
ness and the pressure of her body wakened old desires
and brought new tensions. He had to swallow before he
could speak but he lied convincingly.
“Sure,” he said. “Just don’t worry about it. We'll work
it out.”
The words seemed to comfort her. She uttered a small,
muffled sob and caught her breath, and then her arms re-
laxed and he knew the moment had passed. He let her go


MISSION OF FEAR 63
these and knew I had to look. I found them in his wallet.”
“Did—did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
He slipped the pictures back into his pocket and hoped
what he said was true. For he remembered again the
woman he had seen so vaguely in the motel quadrangle.
She could have seen him, as he saw her. He did not know
if she would remember or whether she would be able to
describe him. In all that darkness it was even possible
that she had not seen him at all. Then, as his mind went
on, he knew that there was something else he had to
know. He felt certain that she had lied to the two police
officers, but it seemed now that it was important to un-
derstand to what extent she had lied.
“What about the phone call?” he asked.
“Phone call?”
“Adler did call, didn't he?”
The lashes dipped to obscure her eyes as she hesitated.
She seemed to notice the exposed leg and took time to
cover it.
“Yes,” she said finally, and then her head came up and
once more she met his gaze head-on. “But they can't
prove it. How can they? This man Freeman can say he
dialed this number and I can say he didn't, or at least that
I didn't hear it. It's just his word against mine.”
This, he knew, was true but it was not enough for him,
not now. Quietly, and with no overtones of censure in his
voice, he said: “What did he want, baby?”
The unsettling effect of his question was at once ap-
parent. Again she lowered her glance. She picked a piece
of lint off the robe and smoothed out the fabric with her
fingertips.
“It’s sort of hard to explain,” she said finally.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure I can make you understand.”
“Try.”
“Well, he was one of those men that seemed to think


64 MISSION OF FEAR
that all he had to do was make a pass at a woman and she
would fall into his arms. I told you what he looked like.
He was not bad-looking, actually. You could tell he
thought he was pretty smooth. He was very glib and self-
assured and much too familiar. At least he tried to be.”
“This was this afternoon?”
“Yes. Even when he was telling me what he wanted,
when he knew how upset I must be by what he said, he
was a little suggestive. He went out of his way to let
me know he thought I was something special and men like
that are usually hard to discourage.”
She lifted one shoulder in an empty shrug and said:
“He called me a few minutes after you had left. He said
he wanted to see me. I told him he must be out of his
mind. I said you would probably stop and see him later
but he said that didn't matter. He said there was no rea-
son why I couldn't stop by for a friendly drink. He said he
didn't want to be unreasonable and it would be easier if
we could talk things over in a friendly way.”
“What did you say?”
“I hung up on him.”
She paused, watching him now to see if he believed her,
and this time he was the one who had to avert his glance.
It was a convincing performance, and if he had not been
aware of certain facts he might have believed her. As it
was, his heart sank and a feeling of hopelessness began to
undermine his thoughts. He knew now that she was lying,
but some inner impulse he did not understand prevented
him from saying so. He dared not accuse her now. He
could not tell her that he had felt the radiator of the
station wagon.
He believed that Adler had made that call. He believed
that she had answered it. The station wagon had been
used between the time he left and returned. If she had
not gone to see Adler, then where had she gone? If the
trip had been an innocent one, why had she not admitted
it?
There had been a woman in the darkened quadrangle


MISSION OF FEAR 65
and that woman could have come from Adler's room. The
smell of perfume in the bathroom testified to the fact that
a woman had been there for a minute or two and pos-
sibly longer. Furthermore Adler had been stabbed in the
back by a kitchen knife, a woman's weapon if there ever
was one. The combination of such thoughts was so unac-
ceptable that he tried to dismiss them by telling himself
that even if Marion had gone to see Adler for some reason
he could not understand, she never would have turned to
murder. She could have been worked up to the point of
desperation and probably was; she never would have gone
there otherwise. Her condition had brought occasional
moments of emotional instability, but murder was some-
thing else. He shook his head to dispel such thoughts, not
knowing that he did so. Apparently she saw the movement.
“What's the matter?” she asked anxiously. “Don’t you
believe me?”
“Certainly I believe you,” he said, an edge in his voice
he had not intended.
“The way you acted I wasn't so sure.”
“And do you believe me?”
“If you mean that he was dead when you found him,
of course I do.” She frowned then as a new thought came
to disturb her. “Do you think Roger will tell them?”
The digression confused him momentarily and he had to
concentrate to remember his call on the lawyer and what
he had said. Denham, alone, knew that he intended to
have it out with Sam Adler, and if the police questioned
him, and they probably would since he had already told
them of his appointment— The conclusion that came to
him served only to add to his uncertainty and discourage-
ment, but he answered as truthfully as he could.
“Probably.”
“Perhaps if we asked him—”
“No.” Hayden shook his head. “We’re not going to ask
Denham to lie for me. Being the kind of proper guy he is,
I’m not sure he would anyway.”
“That's not fair.”


66 MISSION OF FEAR
“Okay, I'm unfair.” He stood up. “But I’m not going to
worry about that now. If I have to admit that I went to
the motel I will, but no one can prove I actually went into
the room. Let's leave it at that for tonight, hunh? Let's
cross that bridge when we get to it. Will you do something
for me?”
She gave him a quick, suspicious glance before she
said: “What?”
“Take a sleeping pill and get some rest. We both need
it. Would you like something first? Shall I make some
coffee?”
“It would only keep me awake.”
“How about some orange juice or a glass of milk?”
“All right.” She came slowly to her feet, a sag in her
shoulders now and defeat written in the soft lines of her
face. “Milk, I guess.”
“And a cooky?”
“No cooky.”
“I’ll bring it in to you,” he said and turned away.
In the kitchen he poured two glasses of milk and found
a couple of cookies for himself. He took his time and made
sure the kitchen was in order. He tried the back door
again and then went into the living room to turn off the
lights. She was in bed when he entered the room, the cov-
ers well up under her chin. He put her glass of milk on the
bedside table and looked down at her, trying not to let the
worry he felt show in his face.
He went over to the closet and got his pajamas and
robe and slippers. He piled them on his arm and put a
clean shirt on top of them. Then, not caring what she
thought about the legality of their marriage, he went to
her and stooped down. He saw again the torment in her
eyes before she made that slight turn of her head. He
brushed the soft cool cheek with his lips, and as he
straightened she reached out and caught his arm. She
gave it a hard spasmodic squeeze and then turned quickly
on her side, her back toward him.


9
WEDNESDAY was a long hard day for John Hayden.
The March weather continued raw and windy, and the
sky, which was overcast and unpromising when he went
to work, remained that way. He got his own breakfast as
he did on those mornings when Marion did not feel well,
leaving the percolator attached, so that the coffee would
be hot when she wanted it. The bedroom door had re-
mained closed as he had left it the night before, and be-
cause the thoughts he had taken to bed still remained
insidiously in his mind he was glad he did not have to
face her so early in the morning.
He made his usual telephone call around noon, but the
conversation was polite, stilted, and conventional. There
was no reference to their problems and he told her he
would be home early. Two conferences with out-of-town
clients helped divert his thoughts, but he could not con-
centrate on the routine of the business day. This was
partly due to telephone calls that never came. Each time
his buzzer sounded and his secretary spoke he expected
some word from the police or the State's Attorney or Roger
Denham. As the day dragged on, he felt a mounting irri-
tation that was directed not only at his own dilemma but
at those who ignored him.
But he did some constructive thinking and it had as its
focus George Freeman and Doris Lamar. For it occurred
to him with increasing frequency that little had been said
the night before about Freeman by Lieutenant Garvey
and Detective Ball.
Last night when he had discovered the body there had
been no thought in his mind as to who might have done
the killing. He had been too concerned about his personal


MISSION OF FEAR 71
“I doubt it,” she said flatly. “I doubt if George would
have guts enough to kill anyone.”
“How much guts does it take to stab a man in the back?”
She considered the question before she said: “I see what
you mean. But I don’t believe it.”
Hayden rose and reached for a cigarette. He went over
to offer the woman one and waited while she put the little
brush back into the nail-polish bottle. She blew on the
fingers of the hand she had just painted and took the cig-
arette with the other. When she leaned forward to accept
a light he could see the dark roots in the blond hair. The
front of the kimono had opened slightly and he saw that
she had a slip on underneath but no stockings.
“It’s Adler that worries me,” he said and decided to dem-
onstrate what he meant. He had no intention of telling
her the truth but he needed all the help he could get and
he was prepared to confide in her up to a point in order
to see what sort of reaction he could get. “The police came
to see us last night too.”
“You mean you and your wife? But why?”
“I thought you might know. Adler came into town a
couple of days ago and asked a lot of questions about
me. The police found it out and they wanted to know why
he was so interested. I told them I never saw the man but
I can't seem to get the idea across.”
He had been moving idly about the room as he spoke,
and now, stopping at the bedroom door, he glanced in
and saw the two suitcases which stood against the wall
beyond the double bed. For some reason they seemed
strangely out of place, and because he found himself won-
dering if they had any particular significance he spoke of
them now.
“Were you going somewhere, Doris?”
He was aware that she was looking at him. And she must
have known what had prompted the question because
there was no suggestion of reluctance in her reply.
“I may have been.”


72 MISSION OF FEAR
“With Adler?”
“Does it make any difference?” she said, still watching
him. “I’m not going now and that's for sure.”
He came back and sat down on the couch. The green
eyes were regarding him openly, but he could not tell
whether the small gleam he saw in them came from spec-
ulation or amusement.
“Are you surprised?” she said. “I mean that Sam Adler
could make a proposition I would accept? If you are, don't
be. Let me give you the case history of Doris Lamar in
capsule form.”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her knees.
When she saw the exposed length of calf and thigh she
flipped the kimono expertly to cover them. She sucked
smoke into her lungs, blew it out, and watched it evaporate
above her. Without make-up her face seemed younger
somehow, but the lines of weariness remained at the cor-
ners of her mouth even though it twisted now into a half-
smile.
“The name is really Doris Lasowitz and I grew up, if
you could call it that, in a small town in West Virginia.
Seven kids. A hard-working, worn-out mother, a father
who never seemed able to earn quite enough money to
take care of his own thirst and the food we needed. I was
in my last year of high school when I got a chance to get
out and I took it. I ran away with a boy who was three
years older than I was. We got married.”
She made a small, throaty sound in deprecation of the
mental picture she had drawn and her mouth twisted.
“Some marriage. It lasted a year. At seventeen I was a
bride and at eighteen-and-a-half I was a pregnant widow.
My husband was killed by a cop in Pennsylvania when
he tried to hold up a liquor store, and I suppose I got a
break in a way because I wasn't with him. If I had been
sitting in the car just then I probably would have done a
few years in the penitentiary.”
She put out her cigarette and continued in the same sar-
donic tone. “I tried marriage again at twenty-three, this


MISSION OF FEAR 73
time to a musician of all people. This one lasted three
years, and while I got the divorce, the reason we couldn't
work it out was probably more my fault than his. You see
there were a lot of things wrong with Doris Lamar. I guess
I never learned that in order to get anything worthwhile
you have to give out. No one had bothered to teach me the
fundamentals. I was lazy, selfish, greedy, and always look-
ing for the easy way. When I discovered there wasn't any
easy way there was nothing to do but keep working. I
didn't have enough education to be much of a success in
an office, so what was I? Waitress, barmaid, shill, hostess.
You name it, Mr. Hayden.
“I’ll be thirty-one my next birthday. I have a twelve-
year-old son who's been living with foster parents in
upstate New York for a long time. No charity, you un-
derstand. I've been sending a monthly check and that's
another reason why I never seem to get a stake. But this
winter I did some thinking because, except for George,
there wasn't much else to do in a place like this. I started
going to school in Bridgeport four mornings a week. Eng-
lish and typing. That was the extent of my ambition, and
those bus trips were a real drag. I dropped out a month or
so ago when I saw how George felt about me and guessed
what he had in mind.”
“What about Adler?” He paused and watched the half-
smile fade. “You weren't in love with him, were you?”
“No.” -
“Then there must have been some money involved.”
“There was.”
“How much?” he said, still probing.
“He said he had a deal on that would bring him a mini-
mum of ten thousand dollars and probably twenty. When
he collected he was going to take off for Florida and he
wanted me to go with him.” She stopped, glanced at her
wrist watch, and then jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to
dress,” she said. “You can talk from the doorway if you
want to.”
She went into the bedroom and he sat for a minute or


74 MISSION OF FEAR
two, seeing her toss the kimono onto the bed as she stepped
out of sight. He could hear a closet door open and the
clatter of metal coat hangers. When she reappeared
again she had on a simple black dress, which was her cos-
tume at Jerry's Tavern, and now she sat down on the edge
of the bed and drew on her stockings. There was no hint
of self-consciousness in the act and her movements were
swift and practiced. When she stood again and shook her
dress down he started toward the doorway. She was sit-
ting on a bench and facing a rickety-looking vanity as
he leaned against the doorframe. She began to work on
her face and he said: -
“Did Adler say where he was going to get this money?”
“No, but—I’m only guessing about this—I got the idea
that maybe you had something to do with it.”
“You would have gone with him?”
“I think so. I’ve known a lot of men like Sam Adler. I
could have handled him all right. Maybe to someone like
you this doesn't make much sense. Maybe you think I
should have stayed here and married George Freeman,
and maybe you're right. The way things turned out I’m
sure you're right, but I saw this chance to get my hand on
some money and maybe a new start in Florida. Adler didn't
talk me into anything; I talked myself into it. George is
forty years old but he acts like a kid about a lot of things—”
“You could probably change that.”
She looked up at him then and the lipstick she had been
working with remained poised in mid-air. “Do you really
think so?”
Hayden said he did, then added: “Adler asked you a lot
of questions about me, didn't he?”
“Well, a few anyway.”
“He asked you if you knew me, and where I lived, and
what I was doing, and how was I making out.”
“That's right.”
“He gave you the idea that he expected to make some
deal with me but he didn't tell you what it was.”


MISSION OF FEAR 75
“No.”
“Did he mention my wife?”
“I don’t think so.”
As he considered her reply he had an idea that he had
learned all he was going to learn about this particular
subject, so he mentioned the other thing that had been
bothering him.
“You weren't at Jerry's when I went in there for a drink
around a quarter of nine, were you?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“I’ve told the police a half a dozen times, so I might as
well tell you,” she said dryly. “I had a splitting headache.
I get them every so often and I have some prescription
pills a doctor gave me. Last night I forgot them and I
stood it as long as I could, and then I asked Jerry if I
could come over here and get them. He said sure and I
came. I was gone maybe twenty-five minutes or so.”
She stood up as she finished, collected the soiled tis-
sues, and dropped them into the wastebasket. She exam-
ined herself in the mirror and gave a final pat to her blond
hair and then, as though all this had been nothing more
than a polite social conversation, she changed the subject.
“Could you give me a lift to the tavern, please? I'd
rather be a few minutes early than walk.”
This told Hayden that he had gone about as far as he
could. He said he would be glad to give her a ride, and not
until they were in the car and he had started the motor did
he make his final proposition. He did not believe he had
heard all the truth. This was a woman who had learned a
lot about life and was experienced in its ways. She had
learned to be devious as a matter of self-protection, but
she could not be expected to involve herself in unreward-
ing situations, particularly when they might involve her
personally. On the other hand she had proved that she
could be tempted by money, and it was with this thought
in mind that he made his proposition.


76 MISSION OF FEAR
“Sam Adler made you a proposition which you accepted
because you thought it was going to pay off. Now I'll make
one. I think you know more about this murder than you'll
admit—”
“Now, wait a minute,” she said, resentment showing for
the first time in her voice.
“Hear me out,” Hayden said. “If you’ve told all you
know I can't very well make a proposition, but if you can
help me find out who killed Adler I’d be willing to pay
you for your help.”
“You mean some kind of a deal just between you and
me?”
“Yes.”
“Like a reward?”
“Something like that.”
“Have you got any special figure in mind?”
“I was thinking of something between one and five thou-
sand dollars, depending on how much good your help does.
You could keep it in mind.”
“I will. I can tell you now I don't know who killed Sam,
but if I think of anything that seems important I’ll let you
know.”
Hayden wanted to tell her that she didn't have to know
who killed Adler. All she had to do was come up with
something that would clear Marion and, if possible, him-
self. Since he could not put such thoughts into words he
simply told her to keep thinking.
I ()
DRIVING HOME after dropping Doris Lamar at the tav-
ern, John Hayden reviewed what had been said and what
he had accomplished. The results, as he saw them, were
discouraging.


MISSION OF FEAR 77
The admission that Adler had come here to collect a
large sum of money and that she might have been willing
to leave town with him in the hope of getting some of
that money only confirmed what he already knew. He did
not think she was telling the whole truth and he had
wanted to put more pressure on her, to speak of the woman
he had seen in the darkened quadrangle and to accuse her
of being that woman. Yet, even as the thought had come
to him, he knew that he could not carry out the threat be-
cause to do so would be to admit that he had also been
there at the time.
The thought continued to disturb him, and when he
turned his car into the driveway and saw the three cars
parked in front of the house he found a new source of con-
cern. For the plain black sedan with its buggy-whip an-
tenna told him this was probably an unmarked police car.
The convertible, he knew, belonged to Roger Denham. The
third car, a two-toned sedan, was not familiar and he
wondered about it as he walked through the breezeway
and kitchen to the living room.
His first impression was that the room was crowded,
and his glance moved to his wife, who was sitting in her
accustomed chair at one side of the fireplace. He saw at
once that the high-cheekboned face was composed but the
hazel eyes were veiled and he could not read them as he
leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He was aware
that the five men in the room had come to their feet, and
when he understood that Marion did not seem unduly dis-
turbed, he turned to face them, his resentment mounting.
He was about to give voice to it when Roger Denham
spoke up to interrupt him.
“John—this is Fred Erickson, the State's Attorney.” He
indicated the stocky, square-faced man in his middle for-
ties who had a crew-cut and dark-rimmed glasses. “And
Paul Simpson.” He nodded to a younger man who had
been sitting off to one side, a slender, black-haired fellow
who was casually clad in flannel slacks and a checked


78 MISSION OF FEAR
sport jacket that was a little on the loud side. “Mr. Simp-
son is with the Allied Insurance Company.”
Hayden made no attempt to shake hands nor did the
others. He looked at Denham with his conservative but ex-
pensive-looking business suit, at the lean, competent fig-
ure of Lieutenant Garvey, at the round, impassive, and
steady-eyed face of County Detective Ball.
“Well,” he said, with no trace of cordiality, “since
you're here you might as well sit down. I don't know what
you have in mind, but it seems to me that instead of com-
ing here and ganging up on my wife you could have
waited—”
Marion cut in before he could finish. “That's not the
way it happened, darling,” she said. “When I talked to
you this noon you said you'd be home early. Roger called
and said these men would like to talk to us and I told him
it would be all right. I thought you'd be here before they
Came.
“We thought it would be more convenient for both of
you,” Erickson added, “to talk here instead of in my
office.”
The simple explanation should have mollified Hayden
but his initial annoyance remained and his voice was still
Curt.
“Okay, so what do you want from us?”
Before Erickson could reply, Simpson spoke up. “I’m
here on my own, Mr. Hayden. If you don't mind my wait-
ing I'd like to talk to you a few minutes when these gen-
tlemen have finished.”
Hayden made no reply. He was still watching the
State's Attorney, who studied him for a silent moment be-
fore he said: “We’ve had some information that leads us
to believe that Mrs. Hayden's first husband may still be
alive.”
So that's how it is, Hayden thought bitterly.
He was not yet prepared to grapple with the problem,
and the top of his mind suggested an answer and he


MISSION OF FEAR 79
grabbed it. Aside from Adler only he, Marion, and Den-
ham knew of Adler's contention that Ted Corbin was still
alive. He was positive that Marion would never speak of
this knowledge to anyone. That left Denham, and in the
momentary silence that followed the State's Attorney's re-
mark, his sudden dislike for the lawyer was a corrosive
force that influenced his thinking. Little things that had
bothered him before, over the past year or so, came quickly
to mind and he tabulated them swiftly.
Denham, it seemed, had never liked him. Denham, with
his top social background and inherited money and his
fine education. The bespectacled eyes that met his seemed
calm and unconcerned, and he was reminded again of
Denham's ascetic looks and manner of living, his absti-
nence, the credo of physical fitness, with strenuous squash
in the winter and even more strenuous tennis in the
Summer.
In fairness, he had to admit that Denham was no panty-
waist. He had proved that in Korea when he was a member
of a Ranger unit. He had been decorated for bravery be-
cause of something he had done while leading a night
patrol, and this was something Hayden could not mini-
mize even now. But Denham had been a suitor of sorts, an
unsuccessful one where Marion was concerned. He had
not liked Ted Corbin; he did not like John Hayden, and
this was his way of paying them back and . . .
He heard the State's Attorney clear his throat, and as he
shifted his gaze and saw what the man had in his hand he
could only stare while a feeling of shame came over him
and he understood how unfair he had been in his thoughts
of Denham. For he saw now that Erickson had a small
photograph in his hand. Even from where he sat, and with-
out moving closer, he seemed to understand that this was
a copy of the one he now had in his pocket. Denham had
not given the show away, but he still could not imagine
how Erickson could have got such a picture, and he sat
silently until the explanation came.


MISSION OF FEAR 81
“Ted Corbin was killed in a plane crash more than two
years ago,” he said. “There was no doubt about his death
at the time and I don't think there's any doubt now. The
fact that Mr. Simpson's company paid off the insurance
claim should be proof enough.”
“I’m aware of that,” Erickson said calmly, “but stranger
things than that have happened. You understand I'm mak-
ing no accusation, nor am I asking for a definite statement
from you at this time. But I'd like to draw you a hypo-
thetical picture that seems to me to have some merit.”
“Before you do,” Hayden said, “tell me a little about
George Freeman. Freeman had a very good motive for
murder—you must know about that—and he also had the
opportunity. I suppose you questioned him?”
“Until two o'clock last night,” Ball said.
“And for three hours again this morning,” Garvey
added.
“Does he have an alibi.”
“No,” Erickson said. “He maintains that he was in the
motel office from shortly after seven until he found Adler
at around nine-thirty.”
“Did he just happen to find him?”
“He admits he was jealous. He was afraid Doris Lamar
might be thinking about running off with Adler. He'd been
brooding the night before and all that day, and he finally
decided to go down to Adler's room and have it out with
him. He got no answer when he knocked but the lights
were on and he could hear the radio playing and Adler's
rented car was there. When he could get no reply to his
knock he was too upset to give up, so he used his passkey
and unlocked the door. He found Adler on the floor and
called the State Police. . . . Now if you don't mind, Mr.
Hayden,” he added, “let me get back to my hypothesis.”
He paused to be sure there would be no interruption
and said: “Adler, who was a known gambler and confi-
dence man, comes to Morrisville the day before yesterday.
He makes inquiries at the gas station and Jerry's Tavern


82 MISSION OF FEAR
about John Hayden. He wants to know where you live,
what you do, and how you're doing. Why?”
“It’s your hypothesis,” Hayden said coldly.
“On the basis of these two pictures which came from
Mobile, it suggests that your wife's first husband is still
alive. Otherwise there would be no point in Adler coming
here since he had nothing to sell. We know that he did
come to this house and he did talk to your wife. She main-
tains that he represented himself as a book salesman and
yet there was no physical evidence on Adler's person, the
motel room, or his car to support any such contention.
Book salesmen simply don't go around without samples,
or at least without some advertising literature describing
the books.”
Marion stirred in her chair and Hayden was a little
amazed that she could make her rebuttal sound so calm
and disinterested. “I saw no books and no literature,” she
said. “I only know what he said.”
“Freeman says that Adler made a call to this number,”
Erickson continued. “You deny you received such a call.”
He turned his attention to Hayden. “You went to Mr. Den-
ham's house at eight o'clock for a meeting of some kind.
Mr. Denham, as your attorney, has refused to discuss the
substance of your conversation and he cannot be forced
to do so at this time. He says you left around eight-thirty
and that he understood you were going to stop at the tav-
ern and get a drink before you went home.”
Hayden gave Denham another good mark for his loyalty
and circumspection as he said: “And that's exactly what
I did.”
“You were seen to leave the tavern and walk in the di-
rection of the motel but you say your car was parked there.
You got in and drove directly here.”
“That's right.”
“My hypothesis suggests another possibility. It indicates
that Adler came to Morrisville with blackmail on his mind.
He came to see Mrs. Hayden, not to sell books but to offer


MISSION OF FEAR 83
proof that her first husband was still alive. Since we know
that there were two negatives and two prints in his Mo-
bile apartment it seems reasonable to assume that he
brought an extra set of prints with him to substantiate his
claim.”
He hesitated, his gaze moving from Hayden to Marion
and back again. “It’s useless to speculate at this point as
to how Adler knew that Mr. Corbin escaped that fatal
plane crash, but the only logical assumption is that he
never boarded that plane. If Adler knew this much, he
could also know that the insurance companies paid sev-
enty-five thousand dollars to your wife on the death claim.
He wanted some of that money and he was willing to keep
silent for a price.
“Following this assumption, I suggest that you went to
see Mr. Denham to get his advice. Whatever the outcome
of that discussion, you went to the tavern and from there
to room twelve in The Shady Maple Motel. You either
entered that room and had an argument which resulted in
Adler's death or you went in and found him already dead.”
“You said the door was locked.”
“Either way,” Erickson said, as though he had not heard,
“you found the two photographs Adler had brought and
destroyed them. Had it not been for the alertness of the
Mobile police, there would not be the slightest reason for
us to assume that your wife's first husband was still alive.”
“It’s a good hypothesis,” Hayden said, “but it doesn't
happen to be true.”
“Very well.” Erickson rose and the movement brought
Garvey and Ball to their feet. “When we get word from
Washington tomorrow about those fingerprints we'll start
looking for Ted Corbin. Because of his connection with
that fatal plane crash we may get some help from the FBI.”
He glanced at the insurance man who had been listening
to all this attentively. “I have an idea Mr. Simpson's com-
pany will utilize their resources as well.”
“They sure will, sir,” Simpson said.


84 MISSION OF FEAR
Hayden watched the trio put on their coats and pick
up their hats. He knew he was expected to say something
but nothing came to mind. This silence seemed to increase
the State's Attorney's frustration and his mouth was tight
and his eyes grim as he delivered his final statement.
“We will need a statement from you as soon as we hear
from Washington. A formal statement, Mr. Hayden. One
that you will be expected to sign and which may be used
against you.”
Hayden nodded. He said that he would do whatever
Roger Denham told him to do and started for the front
door. When he opened it the three filed out without fur-
ther comment.
Back in the living room Denham and Simpson were on
their feet and Denham said: “You’ve probably had your
fill of questions for one afternoon, John, but I think you
ought to hear what Mr. Simpson has to say.”
“I haven't any hypothesis, Mr. Hayden,” Simpson
said, “but I have to make an assumption.”
“That Ted Corbin is alive?”
Simpson nodded and gestured with one hand. “Natu-
rally nothing can be done until we have the facts, but if
it happens that we do locate Corbin, my company will ex-
pect to be reimbursed for the payment made to your wife.”
“In full?”
Simpson's brows lifted. “How do you mean?”
“That seventy-five thousand was paid to my wife in
good faith and she accepted it in good faith. She later
turned that money over to me and I put it into my busi-
ness. Suppose I couldn't raise that amount all at once?”
“We could probably get a judgment.”
“That would be something for Mr. Denham to handle,”
Hayden said. “But let me ask you a question.” He offered
a small, humorless smile. “A hypothetical one again. Sup-
pose that someone came to you and offered to prove that
Corbin was alive. Suppose they offered to produce him for
a price. To get a chance at recovering your seventy-five


86 MISSION OF FEAR
“What's that?” Hayden said.
“I think Corbin is probably alive, and once the various
law-enforcement agencies start looking for him, they'll find
him. It will just be a question of time. That's what makes
it bad. It could happen quickly. It might take years.”
“Meanwhile,” Marion said with undisguised bitterness,
“we just go along as usual and pretend everything is all
right.”
“You do the best you can,” Denham said as he started
for the door, “and hope the police can find out who killed
Adler. The sooner the better.”
II
JOHN HAYDEN stood in the partly open door until the
taillights on Denham's car vanished down the road, and
when he came back to the living room Marion was still
standing. He could see that reaction had begun to relieve
the tension which had been with her for so long, and
this, he told himself, was a good sign. There was a little
color in her cheeks now, and when she repeated the ques-
tion she had asked Denham, her voice no longer sounded
so disconsolate.
“Well,” she said, “at least they've gone. But what do we
do now?”
“Get a drink.”
“All right. I’ll get the ice.”
He slid his arm around her waist as they went into the
kitchen. He stopped her for a moment before she turned
toward the refrigerator. He said he was proud of her.
“You were wonderful.”
“Was I, John?” She glanced up at him, the hazel eyes
softly shining. “I tried awfully hard. But so were you, the


MISSION OF FEAR 87
way you talked to that State's Attorney. He didn't like it
though, did he? . . . I think I'll have a Scotch and soda.”
He made the drinks and they sat down in the kitchen
alcove. When he had a cigarette going he took out the
photograph of Ted Corbin, his mind busy now with an
idea that until then had been nothing more than a vague
and nebulous possibility. His frown deepened as the
seconds passed, and presently she covered his hand with
hers to claim his attention.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Him.” He touched the picture.
“What about him?”
“I’m going to look for him.”
“For Ted? Where?”
“In Mobile. That's where Adler made his headquarters.
I think it's the best place to start.”
He could tell that she thought the suggestion was far-
fetched. A frown made little bunches in the smooth brow
and her eyes were puzzled as they inspected him. But she
did not belittle the thought and her reply was rational
and intelligent.
“How big is Mobile?”
“I don't know. I've never been there. As a guess I'd say
a couple hundred thousand.”
“And won't the Mobile police be looking for Ted?”
“I should think so.”
“And the insurance people?”
“Sure.”
“Then what makes you think you could find him, even
assuming that he's there, before they do?”
“Maybe I can't but I think it's worth a try. See that?”
He pointed at the photograph and her eyes followed his
finger as he indicated the insignia on the coveralls Ted
Corbin wore. “See that insignia? Suppose I can get this
picture blown up—”
“Blown up?”
“I can get it copied. I can have an enlargement made


88 MISSION OF FEAR
from the new negative. I think there's a good chance that
we may be able to read the words on that insignia.”
“It's possible, isn't it? If this picture was taken fairly
recently, and according to Adler it was, Corbin must be
working in some filling station. If he's in that area, I’ve
got an idea I can locate it. If I can do that, I can find him.”
She did not ask him how but the frown was still there
and her eyes were thoughtful now. “And what would you
do if you did find him, John?”
“Do? I'd try and talk him into coming back with me.”
“Why should he?”
“I don't see that he has much choice. If he doesn't want
to do it that way, all I have to do is pick up the telephone
and call the Mobile police.”
She was still watching him intently but concern had
now replaced the thoughtfulness in her eyes and this was
reflected in the cadence of her voice.
“You mean you'd go now?”
“Tonight, if I can get out.”
“But—what about the police? I mean the State's At-
torney and those two detectives? They'll think you've run
away. Won't that make it look as if you were guilty?”
“Of stabbing Adler?”
“Well—yes.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but I intend to leave word where I’ve
gone and why—after I’ve gone. . . . Come on, drink up.”
She obeyed him and then, digressing, said: “I haven't
done anything about dinner.”
“We'll eat out. I’ll find a place where we're not known.
All you have to do is put on a coat and you'll be ready. I'll
call Johnson and see—”
“Who's Johnson?”
“A photographer. He does most of our work down at the
plant—you know, for advertising folders. He's got a studio
in South Norwalk, and if I can reach him I think he'll
make a copy of this print and then make the sort of en-


MISSION OF FEAR 89
largement I want. If I’m right and that picture can be
blown up so that we can read what's on that insignia I’m
going to Mobile.
“But first I’m going into the study and get that portable
typewriter of mine and write a note to State's Attorney
Erickson with a carbon to Roger Denham. I'll simply tell
them that I'm not running away. I'll point out that I have
an idea I can locate Corbin, that whether I do or whether
I don't, I'll be back in a couple of days. Let them think
what they want. I can mail those letters special delivery.
I can drive to New York, leave the car in a garage, and
get a taxi to the airport and—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won't.”
“I don't mean to Mobile. But why can't I drive you into
town?”
“No.”
“But I want to. Please, John. It will be much simpler that
way and then you won't have to worry about the car. . . .
You go ahead,” she added quickly as though to forestall
further argument. “You call your man Johnson and I'll
get your typewriter ready and some paper and carbon.”
Hayden had no trouble getting Johnson to take the
after-hours assignment. He had a small studio in back of
his house and Marion waited in the station wagon while
the work was being done. It did not take long because
Johnson made his enlargement from the wet negative on
which he had copied the original snapshot. Hayden left
this negative with the photographer, and when he came
back to the car he had the original print and a second one
that had been cropped to show only the upper part of
Corbin's coveralls. The insignia which had been sewn there
was fuzzy but readable and showed a star with the word
Quinn above it and Cannon below.
They stopped in town to mail the two letters Hayden
had written and they had dinner at a small restaurant not


MISSION OF FEAR 93
know what he was like. He could be arrogant and insulting
and impossible. I thought if I was there when you came,
at least there wouldn't be any violence.”
“All right,” he said, accepting the explanation and trying
to bring some order to his thoughts. “I’m not criticizing.
I'm not blaming you. I just want to find out what hap-
pened.”
“Nothing happened,” she said, her voice forlorn. “I
wasn't there long enough. I knew the minute I walked in
that it had been a mistake to come.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing much. He offered me a drink. He said that
women always liked Tom Collinses and he was about to
make one. He started to squeeze a lemon—”
Hayden interrupted as a new thought came to him. “Did
you see him cut that lemon?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he get the knife?”
“I think he took it from a cabinet drawer.”
“What did he do with it after he finished?”
“Well, I guess he put it back.”
“All right,” he said, not wanting her to think too much
about his questions. “He offered you a drink. Then what?”
“I told him I didn't want one. He came over to help me
off with my coat. I told him I'd leave it on, but he must
have thought I wanted to be coaxed. . . . Oh, why do I
have to explain all the details?” she cried, a break in her
voice. “I simply couldn't stand him. I knew I’d been a fool
to come at all. I pushed him away and got out of there as
fast as I could.”
“That's all?”
“I think it's more than enough.”
“Okay, okay. It's over now. You went there because you
thought you could be of some help to me. When you
realized it was a bad idea you got out. Now did anyone
see you?”
“Not that I know of.”


96 MISSION OF FEAR
She seemed, for the moment, to have forgotten her com-
punctions about the legality of their marriage, and as she
pressed her cheek hard against his her words fell softly
in his ear.
“Good-by, my darling. I wish I was staying with you
tonight.”
“Yeah,” he said, so surprised and moved by her reaction
that his voice came out husky. He had to swallow to clear
his throat before he could repeat the word. “Yeah. Me too
. . . Drive carefully,” he said and stepped back as she put
the car in gear and angled out into the moving traffic
Stream.
I2
FLIGHT 303 out of Newark departed on time on Thurs-
day morning and made its scheduled stop at Atlanta
shortly after noon. The trip was high, smooth, and sur-
prisingly quiet, and John Hayden, who had brought two
morning papers aboard with him, had occupied himself
with a careful reading of both of them. Nowhere could he
find any reference to a follow-up story on Sam Adler's
death, and he felt sure that if a search was to be made
for him, it had not started the night before.
Lunch was served as soon as the aircraft was again air-
borne, and by the time he had finished—he had a window
seat now on the starboard side—he could tell that the pilot
had already begun to lose altitude in his approach to
Mobile. The land beneath the wingtip seemed gently roll-
ing now, with cultivated areas interspersed with stands of
pine. For the past few minutes they had flown over one
river after another, each seemingly flowing southward
toward the gulf or bay, but he was hazy about his geog-


MISSION OF FEAR 97
raphy in that area and he could only identify those which
were shown on the airline map—the Alabama first, the
Tensaw, the Mobile.
The position of the sun and his long-forgotten Boy Scout
training told him that they were flying more west than
southwest now. He thought they were down to probably
four or five thousand feet when the pilot banked gently
and the starboard wing lifted. When they were again in
level flight they were lower and the direction had been
reversed and he understood that they were about to ap-
proach Bates Field from the west. He could see no signs of
the city, but the flaps were down now and they came down
over the low plateau to touch the concrete runway with
a moderate bump and a small squeal of rubber as the tires
took their weight.
The sky was bright and cloudless as he walked toward
the small but modern-looking terminal building, and the
sun brought a welcome warmth to the air. He thought the
temperature was in the middle seventies, perhaps more,
and as he waited at the baggage counter he slipped off his
topcoat and draped it over his arm.
There were fifteen or twenty passengers in all and it did
not take long to claim his overnight bag. This required no
porter and he went past the glass doors to the interior,
scanning the waiting room, the newsstand and souvenir
shop, the air-conditioned restaurant. There were two car-
rental agencies on opposite sides of the hall, one with some
newly arrived customers and one without. Since he had
no preference he headed for the latter and stated his needs.
“Yes, sir,” the agent said. “May I see your driver's license
and some identification? Do you want to handle this with
a credit card?”
Hayden, who had been listed on the passenger manifest
as John Hastings, Hartford, Connecticut, produced two
credit cards and the agent took his pick. Hayden said that
a small sedan would do, that he probably would not need
it for more than a couple of days. A form was filled out,


98 MISSION OF FEAR
the rates explained, and while Hayden signed it the agent
picked up the telephone and spoke briefly. When he hung
up he glanced again at the application form, removed the
carbons, and gave Hayden a copy.
“Thank you, Mr. Hayden,” he said. “Now all you have to
do is drive.”
“Do you happen to have any kind of map of the city?”
The man said he had. He said it was not too detailed
but it would give Hayden the main streets and the prin-
cipal points of interest. He reached under the counter,
handed over the map, and pointed toward the opposite
end of the terminal.
“If you just wait out there at the ramp your car will be
right along.”
Hayden saw the small green sedan coming as he stopped
outside under the covered driveway, and as he waited a
young Negro negotiated the curve with a flourish, stopped
smoothly, and jumped out to get the bags.
“Put them in the rear deck, sir?”
“The back seat will do.” -
“Right.” The youth got rid of the bags, took the topcoat,
folded it neatly. “There you are, sir.”
“How do I get out of here?” Hayden said and reached
for a coin.
“To Mobile? Just follow that.” He pointed to a road that
ran along the plateau between two high wire fences. “You
come to the end, you turn left.”
“How far?”
“Maybe ten miles, straight in.”
When Hayden turned left at the intersection on the
perimeter of the field he found himself on a narrow, two-
lane highway that stretched straight ahead over gently
rolling country. Tall pine trees bordered the road here,
and beyond were fields and an occasional house. Traffic
was moderate, but as he continued, filling stations began
to appear with increasing frequency. Roadside stands and
small stores soon gave way to larger ones. Traffic increased
and the rolling terrain made passing more difficult as the


MISSION OF FEAR 1O1
He was perspiring freely when he finished and the back
of his throat was dry. But his fabrication had sounded
reasonable enough to his ears, and he felt a moment of
exultation when the man said he would see what he could
find. With that he crossed his fingers both mentally and
physically and in the end his effort was rewarded.
“Mr. Hastings? There's no station in the city listed under
those two names but there is one in Fairview.”
“Fairview?”
“It’s across the bay.”
“I think it's worth a try,” Hayden said. “How do I get
there?”
“Where are you now?”
“In a motel on Government Street.”
“That makes it easy. Stay right on Government. It'll
take you through the Bankhead Tunnel and bring you out
on the causeway. Bear right and follow the signs. Our
station is right on Route 98 as you get into Fairview. I
hope it's the one you want.”
Hayden thanked the man and hung up, his spirits high
and a sense of satisfaction taking charge of him that was
hard to control. He clapped his hands absently and rubbed
the palms. He uttered a happy curse, and when he caught
sight of himself in the mirror he saw that his angular face
had been warped into one huge grin. Taking only enough
time to wash his hands and face and comb his hair, he
charged out of the room, pocketing his key and slamming
the door behind him.
I3
THE RIDE to Fairview took no more than a half hour and
in his frame of mind he found it enjoyable. The traffic
down Government Street and through the tunnel did not


MISSION OF FEAR 103
it was and crossed diagonally to it. It did not seem likely
that Corbin would still use the same name, but because he
intended to overlook no possibilities, he stepped into the
booth and consulted the telephone directory. When he
found no Corbin listed either in Fairview or in the small
nearby villages he knew that he would have to take his
chances with the man in the doorway.
The man watched him approach, his dark gaze observ-
ant but noncommittal. He made no move to get out of the
doorway until Hayden stopped in front of him and said:
“Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon, sir,” came the reply in a voice that was deep
and thick with accent.
“Do you have a cigarette machine?”
“In here.” The man jerked his thumb and stepped aside.
“What do you put in?” Hayden asked, pleased to see
that the insignia on the coveralls was identical with the
one in the snapshot.
“Thirty cents for regulars.”
Hayden looked for change and found he did not have
the proper coins. He offered a dollar bill and the man
punched the cash register, making change without com-
ment. Hayden made his selection, dropped his coins, and
pushed the release. The machine rattled and churned
and a pack of cigarettes slid down on the shelf. By the
time he had extracted one and put a light to it he knew
that he might as well face up to his problem and get on
with it. He found the snapshot, glanced at it. When he
saw that he had the man's attention he passed it over.
“I think that was taken here,” he said.
The man examined the picture, then turned it over as
if he expected to find something on the back. When he
was sure there was nothing to be seen he returned it, his
weathered face impassive, the eyes inscrutable.
“Could be.”
“Do you know him?”
“I might.”


106 MISSION OF FEAR
the original premise had been right: Corbin was alive.
Corbin was here. With a proper show of patience he felt
that all he had to do was wait long enough and Corbin
would turn up.
But such idleness rankled. To combat it he let his
thoughts move on until a new possibility suggested it-
self. Then, delaying no longer, he started the motor, drove
around the block, and headed back toward Mobile.
For there was another man involved. Sam Adler had
lived in Mobile and he remembered the Conti Street ad-
dress he had copied down from the driving license that
first night. Just what he might learn by having a look at
Adler's local quarters he did not know, but as long as there
was a chance that Cannon could be involved in the black-
mail attempt there was also the possibility that he might
learn something that would help shorten his search. He
had no plans, nor did he bother to speculate. He would first
locate the proper address, and after that he would see what
developed.
He was in no hurry now, and the sun was almost down
as he came out on the causeway and headed directly into
its golden rays. Traffic was heavy on the other side of the
highway as the city workers hurried home, but there was
no congestion in his direction, and he had a chance to note
the dry docks and shipyards on his left and the two freight-
ers tied up at the Municipal Docks on his right beyond the
Mobile River. Sunlight burnished two tall smokestacks in
the distance. Their great height and the gray-white smoke
that came from them to melt into the sky suggested that
they might mark paper factories that had been built here
to take advantage of the timber and the shipping facilities.
Then he was turning off the causeway and paying his
quarter and rolling through the relatively short and con-
venient tunnel that brought him into the heart of the city.
Once again on Government Street, he took the first right
turn he could, aware from an earlier glance at the map that
Conti Street was the next intersection, a one-way street


108 MISSION OF FEAR
capping the top of the broom handle and his chin propped
on his hands.
“The cops already shook it down pretty good. You ain't
another one, are you?”
Hayden shook his head and tried to look bored. “Insur-
ance,” he said, accepting the first thought that came to
him. “Just wanted to check some things.” He crackled the
ten-dollar bill suggestively between his thumb and index
finger. “You got a key?”
The gesture got the man's attention. A dirty-nailed hand
reached out to snatch the bill and palm it.
“Help yourself,” he said and then he laughed, a cackling
triumphant sound. “Door ain't locked.”
It was nearly dark on the sidewalk now and it was even
darker inside until Hayden came in range of the electric
ceiling light on the second-floor landing. When he reached
it he doubled back toward the front of the building and
came to this door on the left. Habit made him knock and
he paused for several seconds until he realized the gesture
had been unnecessary.
He opened the door and left it that way, so that the
reflected light from the hall gave him a look at the shad-
owy interior. When he saw the lamp on the table directly
ahead, he reached for it, and the instant he turned the
switch he was aware of some faint warmth under the
shade.
The knowledge that someone was here, or had been a
few minutes earlier, stirred up a quick excitement and
put new pressure on his nerve ends. A slow inspection of
the disordered living room gave him the impression that
this was a fitting habitat for the picture his mind had con-
jured up of Sam Adler. Even when new, the furniture
could have had neither charm nor distinction, but after
his first glance his interest centered on the suitcase which
lay on the floor opposite the oblong table where he stood.
He could see that the catches had not been fastened and
wondered why. Then, his glance noting the empty but


MISSION OF FEAR 109
darkened inner hallway, he considered the two closed
doors, one apparently leading to an adjoining room, the
other one just inside the hall door, which still stood open.
He went to this now, feeling some tension in his back
and neck but no alarm. As he closed it he remembered a
phrase he had used as a kid: “Come out, come out, where
ever you are.” This was what he had in mind now but he
phrased it differently.
“Come on out,” he called, his voice sounding loud in the
quiet room. “Come on,” he said again, a little surprised at
his new-found boldness. “I don't want to have to drag
you.
The second command brought results. He heard a door-
knob turn, the click of a latch. As he glanced around, a
door opened and a woman emerged from the adjoining
bedroom. She did not advance but stood in the opening,
and in those first moments she seemed enough like Doris
Lamar to be her sister.
The tinted blond hair looked much the same and so did
her over-all appearance. From that distance, and in the
half-light of the room, the resemblance seemed remark-
able, but it was, he knew at once, only an impression and
a product of his imagination. For this woman was a little
older, a little thinner, a little shabbier somehow. The eyes
seemed dark and suspicious in the pointed face, and now
when she spoke her voice sounded harsh and direct.
“Who are you?”
“I was about to ask the same question,” Hayden said.
“If you have to have a name, John will do.”
“What do you want?”
“I came to have a look around. How about you?”
“I’ve got a right to be here.”
“You wouldn't be Mrs. Adler, would you?”
“No, I'm not Mrs. Adler,” she said, biting off the words.
“But I stayed here sometimes. Sam was away a lot. He let
me use the place.”
She came slowly forward then in a nondescript blue


11O MISSION OF FEAR
print dress, apparently no longer worried about him, and
now, in the circle of the light, he knew that she had never
been as attractive as Doris Lamar. There may have been at
one time a superficial prettiness about her face, but it
looked tired, worn, and discouraged now, the dark brown
eyes mirroring disillusionment and defeat.
“The name is Flo,” she said flatly. “You a friend of
Sam's?” she added with some suspicion.
“No,” Hayden said, “but I know what happened to him.”
“So do I. The cops rousted me around a bit yesterday
and I know Sam's not coming back.”
“Is that why you were packing the suitcase?”
“Why shouldn't I? I’ve got some things here. So did Sam.
If I don't take 'em, who will? The rent's paid till the first
of the month and the janitor said I could stay here and
why not?”
Hayden was about to agree with her but he had no
chance. Even as he opened his mouth he saw her glance
dart beyond him and then widen instantly. He understood
at once that she was staring at the hall door, and some-
thing in her manner so disturbed him that he spun quickly
to face the new threat she had seen.
It may have been the abrupt violence of his move that
brought the reaction from the man who had so silently
opened the door and stood upon the threshold. It may
have been a simple act of self-defense that had been
motivated by some new suspicion. Whatever the reason,
the man's hand had moved as Hayden completed his turn,
and now he found himself staring into the muzzle of a
revolver that looked very large and very threatening. Only
when he could bring his eyes up to inspect the tanned,
good-looking face did recognition come to him; only then
did he understand that he had found Ted Corbin at last.


14
IN THOSE first silent seconds when no one moved and no
one could find anything to say, Hayden offered silent
thanks for the luck, coincidence, or good fortune that had
finally paid off for his gamble and his persistence. He did
not know what would happen now, but he felt a confi-
dence that had not been there before, and he understood
at once why Marion had been attracted to Corbin.
He seemed now to realize that Hayden presented no
great threat and he let the gun swing down. He reached
behind him to close the door, a big man, standing a good
six feet two and weighing two-twenty or so, most of it
bone and muscle. His blond hair was thick and worn fairly
short, his mouth was wide, the jaw solidly shaped. His
nose was a little off line, as though bent permanently in
some football combat long ago, but the eyes were blue and
well spaced and the tan gave him a look of strength and
vitality. Waiting there in slacks, sport shirt, and flannel
jacket, he had a puzzled look until Hayden spoke.
“Hello, Corbin.”
The big man did not do very well with the question.
The eyes widened slowly and the mouth opened. For five
seconds he simply stared and beneath the tan the muscles
were suddenly slack. Then recovery came and he had
himself in hand. The eyes wrinkled at the corners as a slow
smile that had little warmth but was effective because of
his white and even teeth took over.
“Corbin?” he said as though finding the word unfamil-
iar. “Un-unh. Cannon's the name,” he added, a trace of
southern accent coming through. “Ted Cannon.”
“Marion used to have a good picture of you,” Hayden
said. “I saw it many times.”


MISSION OF FEAR 115
“I don't know exactly. I've been away. I saw this piece
in the paper. I thought I'd take a look at the apartment,
just in case.”
“Maybe you were looking for these.”
Hayden took out the photographs he had originally
taken from Adler's wallet and spread them on the table.
It seemed to him then that Corbin knew a lot about Adler,
just as Adler must have known much about Corbin. How
all this had come about was something he hoped to find
out in time, but it could wait. He indicated the two pic-
tureS.
“He came to Marion with these. He asked for twenty
thousand dollars.”
Corbin looked at the pictures, the frown still there, the
concern still showing in the tanned face. “The miserable
little bastard,” he said softly and then listened as Hayden
explained why he had the enlargement made of the in-
signia on the coveralls, and how he had come finally to
the filling station in Fairview.
“The fellow I talked with—”
“That was Joe Quinn.”
“—gave you a lot of protection. A real suspicious char-
acter.”
Corbin grunted softly. “The natives around here don't
always open up with Yankees, especially curious ones.
. . . Who killed Adler?”
“Did you know he was coming to Connecticut to collect
on what he knew?” -
For the first time there was a moment of hesitancy in
Corbin's manner. His blue gaze, which until that instant
had been direct, slid to the glass in his hand and he
drained it before he replied.
“No.” He put the glass down. “The papers said he was
stabbed.”
“In the back,” Hayden said, “with a kitchen knife.”
“The police haven’t made any arrests?”
“Not yet.”
“What do they think?”


116 MISSION OF FEAR
“They think maybe I did it, maybe even Marion.”
“You mean they know about those pictures of me?
How?”
“The Connecticut police found a Conti Street address
for Adler. The Mobile people got right on it. They found
the two prints and two negatives. They sent the snapshot
of you up by plane and they were checking the finger-
prints with Washington when I left.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want you to come back.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
Apparently the thought had not occurred to Corbin.
He looked at Hayden with one eye, and then with both.
The grin that came to warp his mouth was tight and
twisted.
“Why?”
“Because it's going to be a lot easier that way.”
“For whom?”
“For everybody.” Hayden put his elbows on the table
and leaned on them. When he continued, his tone was
direct and forceful. “The police are probably looking for
me too,” he said. “If you go back with me I can justify
this trip. What difference can it make to you? If I found
you, so will the police. It's just a question of time, and
believe me they're looking for you. Somebody's got to get
a divorce and in a hurry. Marion's worried about the baby
and so am I.”
“I could get a divorce in this state in no time,” Corbin
said. “Or Marion could duck down here and get it.”
“But there's also a little matter of seventy-five thousand
dollars in insurance.”
“Yeah,” Corbin said and this time the grin, while re-
luctant, was genuine. “But I didn't get it. I had amnesia.
Marion collected in good faith—”
“It has to be paid back.”
“I can't help you much there. . . . How about you?”


118 MISSION OF FEAR
he said, “and try to explain the series of stupid incidents
that kept me from getting on the plane that night in Capi-
tol City. It's a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” Hayden said.
“And it's in two parts. The first concerns me. The second
has to do with Adler. It'll show you what a conniving little
bastard he was and how he got things ready to collect on
what he knew.”
He waved a hand as an invitation to pour a drink but
Hayden said he'd wait. Corbin nodded and took time to
light a cigarette. When he had inhaled, his gaze moved
to the opposite wall and a small frown began to work on
the tanned, handsome face.
“I guess it starts with Marion and me,” he said. “I mean
the fact that our marriage hadn't worked out and was
about to bust up. I don't know how much she told you
about me—where I was brought up and where I went to
school and what I was doing when she met me.”
He paused while Hayden related the few things Marion
had told him. He nodded absently.
“That's about right,” he said. “I liked football and I
played a couple of years of the pro game but I couldn't
quite cut it. I mean, I could see I’d never be a first-string
regular, but I always liked to hunt and fish, and those were
things Marion had no interest in whatsoever. Oh, I guess
we were in love all right when we were married, but, after
six months or so, everything seemed to start going down-
hill and it was probably a lot more my fault than it was
hers.
“I mean, we just weren't interested in the same things.
It was hard to talk to each other. She liked to read; I didn't.
She liked to go to the theater, sometimes to a concert. She
liked music—Dixie, the classics, anything that was good.
I just couldn't seem to get with that sort of stuff, but I
think it was the friends we had that made things worse.
A man and woman just can't get along by themselves.
They have to have friends and outside contacts and
mutual interests, don't they?


MISSION OF FEAR 121
all that fresh money in my pocket and bought a new one.
“I didn't have too much time and the sleeves had to be
lengthened about an inch but that salesman wanted the
sale. I told him I couldn't wait, that I had things to do. He
said he could send it to the airport but I thought of some-
thing else. I said if he'd have it wrapped up and ready,
I'd have my taxi come by that way and pick it up. I told
him if it wasn't ready for me by the front door there'd be
no sale and he promised it would be there. . . . It was,”
he said, and took another swallow of his drink.
“So I rode out to the airport and got a quick double
bourbon and water. I was feeling pretty good then and I’d
never taken any flight insurance before, but I got to think-
ing that now that I had some real money this would be
the time the damn plane would crash, so I stopped and
got this policy for Marion. I’d already wired her I’d be on
that flight, so I went over to the counter, handed over my
suitcase and ticket.”
He grunted softly again, an introspective sound. “The
fellow stapled the baggage check to that part of the ticket
they give you back—you know, the carbon part. The clerk
handed me a landing pass and then I took off for the
men's room to try on my new coat. The room was empty
except for two guys who were sitting on a bench and two
sadder-looking characters you never saw. One was on the
small side, with an old felt hat and a topcoat on. The other
fellow was nearly as tall as I am but not as big around.
He wore a wrinkled suit with a sweater on underneath it
but no coat.
“What I didn't know was that they were pals and were
actually together. Because they weren't sitting that way.
I mean, the tall guy was hunched over reading a news-
paper; the little guy was sitting by himself at the other
side of the room, slumped back, his hat over his eyes like
he was half asleep. I probably gave him a quick look when
I walked in but I never really saw his face.
“I undid the package and chucked the paper into a


MISSION OF FEAR 123
do any good. It was my own damn fault, and I knew that
skinny guy was sitting there in my seat, that he not only
would get a free ride to New York but probably claim my
suitcase.
“I was so damn mad I didn't even go back to the counter
and tell them what had happened. I wasn't even sure I
could make them believe it or prove what I said. I just
stood there and watched the plane take off and then I
went back to the bar, not thinking that I ought to call
Marion and tell her I missed the flight. I tied on a pretty
good one for the next hour or so and then I walked out of
the terminal and across the road to this motel, paid for a
room, and went to bed to sleep it off.”
He stood up, the tanned face grave as remembered
thoughts came back to haunt him.
“If I’d hung around the airport a few more minutes I’d
have known about the crash. But I didn't. I got the word
from a newspaper I bought when I went into the motel
restaurant for breakfast the next morning, and I guess for
a while after that I was in a state of shock. I still wake
up scared some nights when I think of it. You can't believe
what a thing like that can do to you.”
He walked the length of the room and came back. “I
should have been dead but I wasn't. I kept thinking of
that plane and how I'd seen it take off and the crazy twist
of luck that kept me off it. I couldn't get it out of my mind.
I read my name on the list of victims. I knew that Marion
already had the word that she was a widow.”
He stopped pacing to look at Hayden. “The idea that
there was my chance to make the break that was long
overdue didn't come all at once. It grew a thought at a
time as that feeling of shock and unreality began to wear
off. I didn't have any plan then. I only knew that here was
a chance I’d never get again to start a new life not only
for myself but for Marion. There was no love for us any
more, no future together. She wouldn't grieve much. She'd
already had the shock of knowing I was gone for good, and


MISSION OF FEAR 125
could not quarrel with it. It held, somehow, a ring of
truth, and he found he could accept the incredible twist
of fate that had saved Corbin's life on that January night
more than two years ago. There was much he did not
understand about what had happened since that time, but
even now he found it difficult to blame Corbin for what
he had done.
He had thought earlier that he understood Marion's
original attraction to the man. He was of the same opinion
now. For while Corbin was obviously no mental giant, he
had, in addition to his good looks, a charm that was
forthright and basically friendly. The motives which in-
fluenced his disappearance were simple and uncompli-
cated. He was willing now to face the music without fuss
and, on balance, Hayden could not help but like him. This
thought helped to bolster his own confidence, and as his
mind went on, he rose and started aimlessly about the
room.
The light was still on in the adjoining bedroom and he
stopped in the doorway to glance inside. That was how he
happened to see the suitcase which stood at the foot of
the double bed. There was nothing unusual about the case.
It was a brown canvas-covered bag, man-sized, light-
weight, and medium-priced by the look of it. If he had
not so recently made a flight from New York he might not
have wondered about the baggage tag which still hung
from the handle.
He knew it was the passenger's half of the baggage
check that the attendant had not bothered to remove when
the suitcase was reclaimed. He also recalled that Corbin
had been away. The suspicious character in the filling
station had said something about Corbin and a trip North.
This knowledge prompted Hayden to move inside and step
closer to the suitcase, but it was simple curiosity rather
than suspicion that made him examine the tag.
Not understanding yet the implications of his discovery,
he simply read the large block letters imprinted on the
thin white cardboard. The abbreviations told him at once


128 MISSION OF FEAR
member I went from the motel over to the air terminal and
found out what I could about the crash. I was still sort of
in shock and I bought myself a bottle in a liquor store
there and I sucked on it from time to time. Maybe what
I got out of that bottle gave me the courage I needed. I
got a bus into town and I had this fifteen hundred bucks
in my pocket and I knew that was all I was going to have
until I got down here and got a job. I found out I could
get a bus that afternoon that would take me here by way
of New Orleans, so I got myself a seat. But, what the hell,
you don't want details.”
He again glanced about the room to see if he had for-
gotten anything.
“I picked the name Cannon—don't ask me why—and I
used it that afternoon. I’ve been using it ever since. I got
a room in a small hotel and started looking for work. I
couldn't use my Social Security card or driver's license or
anything like that, so when I got a chance to go to work
for this filling station at sixty bucks a week I told the
guy I never had had a Social Security card. I told him
I'd always worked on a farm, but he needed help and he
wasn't too fussy. I got a new card and eventually a new
driver's license.
“After I’d been around awhile,” he said, “I got to like
Fairview and I finally got the job with Quinn. I hung onto
my dough, and when the next fall came around I did
pretty good betting on the football games again. I rented
this place and got me a small boat, and before long I found
out that Quinn had a very attractive kid sister.”
“Connie?” Hayden asked.
“Connie,” Corbin said, and the smile in his eyes told
Hayden how the big man felt about the girl. “Quinn and I
got along and I saved my dough and now I've got a third
interest in that filling station. I thought I was all set. I had
it made. The past was kicked and then that son-of-a-bitch
Adler turned up.”
“He must have known all the time,” Hayden said, having


MISSION OF FEAR 133
until it rang again. This time Corbin strode over and swept
the instrument off its rack.
“Yeah?” He listened then and Hayden could see the
quick frown and the growing uncertainty in the blue eyes.
“You sure? . . . Yeah . . . Right . . . Thanks, pal, I'll
be in touch when I can.”
He hung up and reached for the suitcase in the same
continuous movement. The frown was still there on the
tanned good-looking face but the eyes were thoughtful
now and there was a thin, mirthless smile on the mouth.
“My partner,” he said. “A Mobile cop, a sheriff's deputy,
and an insurance man are looking for me. Let's go.”
Hayden had to move fast to get out of Corbin's way
and then they were crossing the living room and turning
out lights and coming finally to the screened porch. As
they went down the steps Hayden said:
“How much time have we got?”
“Enough. Quinn had to give them an address, so he
told them I lived on North Oak Street. This is South.
Follow me in your car,” he said.
Hayden did not argue. He tailed Corbin's sedan until
Corbin parked it out behind the filling station, approach-
ing from the side street. Corbin transferred his suitcase to
the back seat of Hayden's rented car and climbed in be-
side him. He said if the word was out he might be picked
up in his own car, but with a rented car there should be
no trouble.
I 7
TED CORBIN made a good suggestion as they came out
of the tunnel into downtown Mobile. The half-hour drive
from Fairview had been uneventful and silent, but now


134 MISSION OF FEAR
Corbin stirred in his corner of the seat and Hayden could
feel the shadowed gaze inspecting him.
“Did you rent this car in your own name?”
“I had to,” Hayden said. “Had to use my credit card.”
“Well, we know they’re looking for me. From what you
say there could be a fugitive warrant out for you.”
“There probably is.”
“I don't know about flights out of here at this time of
night. I do know that an airport is one of the first places
a cop would check, and now that I’ve decided to go back
I'd rather make the trip with you than with the law.”
“What have you got in mind?”
“New Orleans. They've probably got twenty times as
many flights a day out of there as they have out of here
and it's a hell of a lot bigger terminal. We can stop and
pick up your bag at the motel and keep moving.”
“How far?”
“Maybe three hours.”
“Okay,” Hayden said, “just keep me on the right road.”
“Stay on 90—all the way.”
At the motel Hayden did not bother to turn off the motor
while he went to his room and got his hat and coat and
bag he had not yet unpacked. When he started up again,
Corbin settled back in his seat and Hayden gave his atten-
tion to the traffic lights on Government Street. He took no
chances, then or later, and with the city behind him and
the divided highway joining finally to make a two-way
road, he got comfortable and settled down to his work.
The highway signs told him that the state speed laws were
sixty miles per hour in daylight and fifty at night, so he
split the difference.
For a while the countryside was as he remembered it
from his morning drive from the airport except that it was
flatter here and more level. The headlights picked out
oaks and pines, with here and there a pecan orchard.
Later there was a marshy area for a few miles and pres-
ently a sign announced the city limits of Pascagoula. He


136 MISSION OF FEAR
“Sixty, I guess.”
“That's all I’m doing.”
“Hold it that way. If we get picked up now we're dead.”
The driver behind touched the siren again briefly as
Corbin finished. The lights were huge now in the rear-
view mirror, so close that Hayden had to concentrate to
keep a steady course. An instant later there was a quick
wssshhing sound and then there was nothing but the fad-
ing throb of the sedan's motor and twin taillights that
were quickly reduced to pinpoints before a slight curve
blotted them from sight.
Hayden felt his heartbeat start to slow down and the
back of his throat was dry. He swallowed, hearing Corbin's
soft curse. He let out his breath and made an effort to
steady his nerves, a new exultancy working on him now
that they were safe.
“What the hell was that?” he asked. “The guy must have
been going ninety.”
“I don't know,” Corbin said. “All I know is I’m glad he
kept going.”
The road had been straight for a long time and they had
gone over three small concrete bridges spaced two or three
miles apart. Now, coming around the curve, they saw in
the distance the larger bridge. Beyond it were flares, and
as they drew close Hayden saw that it was a swing bridge
with three spans. He would have slowed down here any-
way, but the flares in the distance made him even more
cautious. He was doing no more than thirty when he saw
the uniformed man with a flashlight making sweeping
gestures that ordered him to keep to the left.
By that time he saw the car on its side in the ditch and
the white-painted wrecker. There were two highway patrol
cars parked on the shoulder; another car with its front
end bashed in had slewed around perpendicular to the
road.
“So that's why he was in such a hurry,” Corbin said
with unmistakable relief. “Keep going.”
“I am,” Hayden said and was very careful indeed until
t


MISSION OF FEAR 139
cigarettes, offering a five-dollar bill and asking for as many
quarters as the clerk could spare.
For he knew now that he had to talk to Marion. He had
to know how she was and what had happened; he had to
tell her about Corbin. It was, he knew, a hell of an hour
for a man to call his wife, especially a pregnant one—the
difference in time meant that it was after three o'clock in
Connecticut—but he had to let her know that things were
going to be all right. He wanted to do it at once, but
the thought of Corbin took him through the doors and
across the parking area. He saw again the sign of the
Hilton Motel he had noticed earlier and decided this
would be the place to spend the night. . . .
The thought dissolved as he came to a stop beside the
sedan. Without actually moving he could feel his nerves
recoil as he glanced quickly about and the first thrust of
panic hit him. He knew then that he had the right car,
just as he knew both seats were empty. Not understanding
this, not daring to speculate, he stood where he was,
shocked and incredulous, and this was long enough for the
seed of suspicion he had felt earlier to send out new roots.
He started to curse as the anger grew swiftly inside him,
but even as he felt the impact of his discovery he heard
the soft whistle that came from one side.
He spun about at the sound, peering into the shadows
until he found the pale outline of a face. It took shape as
Corbin moved down from behind another car, and sud-
denly he felt all weak inside as relief provided a swift and
certain antidote to his fears. When he was sure he expelled
his breath and his voice was rough and uneven.
“What the hell have you been doing?”
“Ducking a cop,” Corbin said calmly. “Just to make
sure.” He pointed. “I saw him start down the line of cars,
heading this way. I thought he was casing them. I didn't
want to take a chance. I got out and ducked.”
Hayden took another breath as he regained his com-
posure. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I guess he was looking for his own car. He


140 MISSION OF FEAR
walked on by just before you came, got into this Ford,
and drove off. . . . What did you find out?”
Hayden told him, and while the suspicion that had be-
come rooted in his mind still remained, he could find no
fault with Corbin's defensive measures. It was the same
way with him. Until the last couple of days the law and
its enforcers had been necessary adjuncts to society, de-
signed to keep people in line. His own experience had been
limited to a warning for a traffic violation. Now he not
only was a prime suspect in a murder case but he had been
forced to consider such things as bigamy and fraud. It
was no wonder that he felt continually jumpy and on
edge, and he was a little amazed that he could still carry
on and do the things that had to be done. Even Corbin,
whose character suggested that he was not an unduly
imaginative man, felt the pressure, but now it was Hayden
who had to do the thinking and take charge. He was at
once aware of this as the big man said:
“Do we check in at that motel?”
“We can't sit up all night in the terminal.”
“That's what I mean. Do you want to drive over there
and leave the car?”
“We’ve got this far with it,” Hayden said. “Let’s leave
it right here.” He glanced over at the loading area and
saw the three taxis parked there. “Get your bag and take
a cab,” he said. “Register for both of us. I’m traveling as
John Hastings—and tell the clerk I’ll be along in a few
minutes.”
Corbin did not argue. He pulled his suitcase off the
back seat and started through the cars without a word.
Hayden stayed where he was until he saw the other get
into the taxi and drive off; then he got his own things,
rolled up the windows, and put the ignition key over the
sunvisor, reminding himself that he must telephone the
rental company before he boarded the plane in the morn-
ing.
It was cool enough now to wear the topcoat, and when


142 MISSION OF FEAR
shock of his surprise he could not accept it. “How can they
think that?”
“They say it belongs to that set we have in the kitchen.
. . . They could be right,” she added, her voice rough
with emotion. “One of ours is missing. I can't find it any-
where.”
She said other things along the same line, but he was
too stunned to absorb them until she said: “And there's
something else, John. That girl at the tavern, Doris
Lamar—”
“What about her?”
“She came to see me this evening. She said she knew
something that would help us.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“She says if I tell the police she'll deny everything. She
—she wants money,” she added. “She doesn't know who
killed Adler but she says she can help us.”
“All right.” He stopped and made a desperate effort to
evaluate what he had heard. He did not understand how
this could be nor know just what to say but he wanted to
offer some words of comfort and encouragement until he
could get home. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her she'd have to wait until you came home.”
“Good girl,” he said.
“She warned me again not to go to the police—”
“That's all right too. Sit tight, baby. You're wonderful.
I'll call you from New York sometime tomorrow afternoon,
maybe late. Stick to your story. And call on Roger Denham
if you need him.”
“But suppose the police find you first.”
“They're not going to find me. I'll be back and so will
Corbin. We'll work things out. Now please go back to bed
and go to sleep. I’m going to do the same.”
Some odd reaction born of strain and tension and un-
certainty made her giggle softly. “I’m already in bed.”
“Then go to sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
“Try hard. . . . I love you.”


18
THE FLIGHT to New York's Idlewild Airport was a
few minutes late taking off from Moisant but lost no more
time en route to Washington. Hayden and Corbin, both
wearing dark glasses now, did not sit together and ex-
changed no words until they reclaimed their bags at the
terminal. As they stood waiting, Corbin came up to Hay-
den with a cigarette in his mouth and asked for a light.
“Do we get a car?”
“We do.”
“You or me?”
“Have you got a credit card?” Hayden watched the big
man nod. “Then you're elected. They won't be looking for
you here but they could be looking for me. I'll make a
phone call and meet you out front when you're ready.”
He moved away, heading along a corridor that would
take him to the taxi stand, and stopped at the first public
booth he came to. There was no delay in getting the call
through and Marion answered almost at once.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, John. Is Ted with you?”
“He’s renting a car. Have you been out today?”
“This morning. To do some shopping.”
“Do you think you were followed?”
“No.”
“No police cars out front or down the road?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good,” he said, and went on to tell her where to meet
them. “We'll be in a sedan with New York plates,” he
added. “If you're followed, don't stop. Go back home and
wait until I can think of something else. If not, take the
next right and pull off the road. Got it?”
“Yes, I think so. What time?”
--


144 MISSION OF FEAR
“Five o'clock . . .
Luck stayed with them as they crossed the bridge
and came sedately up the Hutchinson River Parkway and
onto the Merritt. Corbin obeyed all speed laws and they
turned north in the fading light of the bleak March day.
This was a blacktop road and winding, and when they
came finally to the intersection Hayden had specified, he
saw the station wagon parked on the shoulder of the road
just ahead.
Corbin drew in front of it and stopped. He looked at
Hayden. “What does a guy say at a time like this?” he
asked.
“You’ll think of something. Come on.”
They got out and walked back. Hayden opened the
door and slid over on the seat and Marion's arms went
around his neck to give him a quick, spasmodic hug before
she kissed him. She let go reluctantly as Corbin climbed
in beside Hayden, her hazel eyes softly curious and a little
shy as she inspected the big man who had once been her
husband.
“Hello, Marion,” he said, and offered his hand. “I
thought I could stay lost for good. I thought I was doing
you a favor. I’m sorry it didn't work out that way.”
She took his hand, held it momentarily, released it.
“I’m sure you did,” she said. “You were never cruel or
mean or spiteful.”
“Just stupid,” Corbin said wryly.
“Not that either. I’m awfully glad you came back.”
“I owed you that much. But that's not all of it. I have a
girl in Alabama,” he said, an odd huskiness in his voice.
“I was going to marry her. I made a new life as Ted Can-
non. I thought it would be all right. It would have been if
it hadn't been for—”
He stopped here and they all knew what he meant.
“Maybe you still can,” Marion said quietly.
“Yeah.”
Hayden believed what he had heard, but there was a


146 MISSION OF FEAR
headache and asked for time off to go home and get some
special pills she had.”
“But she didn't go home,” Hayden said, remembering
what the woman had told him when he had called at her
cottage.
“She started over to see Adler. She thinks it was about
twenty-five minutes after eight or maybe eight-thirty.
She had just started through that parking space in the
center of the motel when she saw Adler's door open. She
stopped and stepped behind a car. She saw me come out
and hurry past her on my way to get back to where I had
parked the station wagon.”
“Ahh—” Hayden said.
“What?”
It took him a moment to reply because he had to be
careful not only of what he said but how he sounded. His
first thought, which was one of overwhelming relief, was
mixed with other emotions more difficult to analyze. He
had at no time believed that Marion could have killed
Adler, but she had lied to him and the business of the
knife that she had told him the night before had been
burrowing insidiously in the back of his mind ever since.
Now, taking a small breath and concentrating on keeping
his voice steady, he said:
“I mean, that's wonderful. She went in to see Adler after
you'd gone and he was alive. That's perfect. How long
was she there?”
“She says it was only a few minutes. Adler started to
make a drink. He squeezed a lemon and was looking
around for some sugar when they heard this knock at the
door. Adler didn't know who it was. He said he wasn't
expecting anyone, but Doris thought George Freeman
might have seen her and had come there to make trouble.
So Adler told her to step into the bathroom and close the
door. He said if it was Freeman, he'd get rid of him in a
hurry.”
She stopped to moisten her lips and her eyes were wide


MISSION OF FEAR 147
and fixed as they met his own. She seemed not to be trying
to build suspense with her hesitation but only searching
for words; finally they came.
“That was when it happened,” she said. “While she was
still in the bathroom.”
Again the silence came and this time Hayden broke it.
“How long was she there?”
“She’s not sure.”
“Didn't she hear anything?”
"Just some voices that she couldn't understand or even
identify. She didn't hear anyone raise his voice or cry out.
She didn't hear the sound of anything falling. All she
remembers is that suddenly there weren't any voices any
more and she waited another minute or two and finally
inched the bathroom door open to take a look. First she
thought the room was empty, so she came out and then
she saw him.”
She continued quickly, relating the things that Doris
Lamar had told her and trying to re-create the feeling
of shock and horror and fear that had come to the woman.
“When she realized he was dead she got out,” she said.
“She didn't stop to think whether it was the wise thing to
do. She says she was too panicky to think, that she acted
on the spur of the moment, and the only thing she had in
mind was to get away from there as quick as she could.
She came out and shut the door and started for the street
and then she saw this man walking past the office and
coming her way.”
“Yes,” Hayden said as he remembered the moment and
the impression that had come to him that night. There had
been a woman, but he had never seen her or known what
had happened to her. “It was me, wasn't it?”
“Yes. She says she hid behind a car and watched you
go into the room. The minute the door closed she ran.
. . . Don't you see, darling?” she said, a break in her voice
that she could not control. “If Adler was dead before you
Came—


148 MISSION OF FEAR
He took her arm and squeezed it hard. He said he knew
what she meant. Ted Corbin, who had been silent and
still during the past minutes, shifted his weight on the
seat and cleared his throat.
“You mean this dame knew about this all the time and
wouldn't tell the police? What the hell kind of a dame
is that?” he demanded of no one in particular. “She knows
neither of you did it and yet she'd let you stand trial for
murder—”
“No, Ted,” Marion cut in, leaning forward slightly, so
she could see him better. “She said if we were actually
arrested and indicted she would tell the truth. . . . Oh,
she wasn't proud of what she was doing,” she added. “She
said she wanted to get out of here and she had to have
some money. She said she knew she would be in for a
hard time with the police for not having told them the
truth before, and now she thought she ought to get some-
thing for the trouble the police would give her.”
Because he knew a little about Doris Lamar, Hayden
could understand the situation and accept the motives
which had prompted the girl's odd behavior. She could
not make up her mind to settle down with George Free-
man. There had been a chance to break out with Sam
Adler and somebody had taken care of that too. He felt
no resentment toward her for having kept her knowledge
to herself; what was important was that her co-operation
could be had, and now he straightened, his mind made up.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll take it from here.”
A glance at his watch told him it was a quarter of six.
That meant he would have to go to Jerry's Tavern to find
Doris, but he did not think it would be difficult to get her
outside long enough to tell her how he felt. He mentioned
this aloud as he started to lay his plans, and Marion con-
tradicted him.
“She won't be at the tavern,” she said. “She told me last
night that she quit yesterday.”
“That's all the better,” Hayden said. “I can talk to her at


MISSION OF FEAR 149
her place.” He looked at Corbin. “Do they know you at
the motel?”
“No.”
“I’d like to use the rented car if you don't mind.”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Marion can drop you off at the motel and you can
register and stay in your room until I get in touch with
you. It shouldn't be too long.”
Once in the rented car, Hayden moved circuitously by
back roads until he came to the highway approaching the
village from the south. Starting about five miles out of town
he made inquiries at three filling stations and each time he
drew a blank. This brought him finally to Lee Cramer's
place, and as he pulled to a stop beside the gasoline pumps
he was reminded again of that night four days earlier.
It was the same kind of day, windy and raw, and dusk
was settling fast. Lee Cramer looked just the same as he
hustled from the shelter of his cubelike office. The chief
difference was that Cramer did not recognize the car, and
when he was close enough to see who was driving it he
seemed to falter and his gaze was both puzzled and cu-
rious. The expression suggested that he might well know
the authorities were looking for Hayden, but that did not
stop his friendly greeting.
“Evening, Mr. Hayden . . . New car?”
“A rented one, Lee,” Hayden said. “But I don't need any
gas. I’m looking for some information and I thought maybe
you could help me.”
“I can try.”
“I’m trying to check on a man that came into town
Tuesday night.”
“Tuesday?” Lee nodded. “That would be the night the
fellow was murdered down at the motel.”
“That's right. And this man would be a stranger. He
might have stopped to ask the same questions Adler did
the night before. I checked at three stations down the


150 MISSION OF FEAR
road but no one remembers him and I thought you might.
A big man, tall, well built, good-looking, with a tan
and maybe a touch of southern accent.”
Cramer frowned as he considered the question. He
looked up at the sky and then at Hayden. He shook his
head.
“I can't place him, Mr. Hayden. He didn't stop here,
at least not while I was on.”
“When do you go off?”
“Around six-thirty usually. My son-in-law—he works in
Bridgeport—takes over for me most evenings.”
Hayden had to swallow his disappointment but, so long
as there was a chance, he could not quit. “Could you call
him, Lee? Would he be home now?”
“He should be,” Cramer said. “I’ll find out.”
He hurried off to disappear in the office and Hayden
slumped down in the seat and tried to be patient. He
needed further corroboration for the idea that had been
forming in the back of his mind for the past twenty-four
hours, and the expression on Lee Cramer's blocky face
when he hurried out of the office gave him new hope.
“That was a good hunch, Mr. Hayden.”
“He remembers him?”
“Just like you described him. He pulled in and asked if
this was the way to The Shady Maple. He also asked if
Frank knew you. Frank said not very well but he knew who
you were.”
“Does he remember what time it was?”
“He says he thinks it was around eight-thirty but he
can’t be real sure.”
Hayden thanked him. He said he would explain later
why the information was important. Then he was acceler-
ating back onto the highway, his confidence mounting as
the new and essential part of the mental pattern fell into
place. He drove swiftly but with care, and in his mind was
the comforting thought that all he needed was a little more
time. Give him that and he would be ready for the police


152 MISSION OF FEAR
He rolled instinctively as he hit the floor. He came to his
knees, still not seeing anything. He swore aloud and tried
to lunge toward the open door as he came to his feet, but
he was moving blindly and fell again as an overturned
chair tripped him.
He knew as he finally regained his balance that who-
ever had attacked him had gone. The night air was in his
face as he felt his way to the door and he closed it, hear-
ing nothing outside, knowing that the man had left the
way he had come—by foot from the street beyond the
wooded area at the rear.
Only then was he really conscious of the quiet sur-
rounding him. Only then was he able to think of Doris
Lamar, and he was suddenly so scared and empty inside
that he called out to her. He called again, his voice rising,
then fumbled frantically along the wall until he found the
electric switch.
He blinked against the sudden brightness, and then he
saw her, and now the fear was real and paralyzing. She
lay crumpled near the center of the room, skirts high and
twisted, her face turned away. But even then, unable yet
to think or even to move, he could see the stocking knotted
about her neck and the dark stain that discolored the
bright yellow hair.
I9
THE FEAR that held John Hayden rooted to the floor in
those next awful moments was two-edged and stunning in
its impact. For it was not just the sight of the girl and the
instant understanding of what must have happened here;
it was the realization that without her there would be no


MISSION OF FEAR 153
testimony to be bought and paid for, no chance for the
truth that would clear Marion and himself to be told.
He was moving as the thought hit him, shucking off his
coat and tossing it aside, then dropping to one knee and
lifting the limp torso while he supported the back of her
head. He could feel the warmth of her body against him
and he could see now that the stocking held no knot but
had simply been twisted across her throat, apparently
from the back. He saw the blood above and in back of the
temple even though the thickness of the blond hair ob-
scured the wound itself. But it was the color of her face
that shocked him most.
There was a grayness beneath the make-up, and he
spoke her name again, not knowing that he did so. He
touched her cheek and there was warmth there, and he
found a wrist and thought he sensed a pulse beat. But she
did not seem to be breathing, and he lowered her and
turned her face-down, frantic now and driven by a des-
peration that had as its focus the determination to make
her breathe again.
Without experience, not daring to take the time to call
a doctor, he moved astride her hips and put both hands
beside the rib cage, low down, his fingers pressing and
relaxing as he shifted his weight. He found a rhythm of
sorts and hoped it was right. He counted, aware of nothing
but the warmth of her and the movement he induced.
He was not sure how long it was before he felt a stirring
beneath his fingertips. He was not even sure there was a
movement at first. He made himself keep to the rhythm
but more gently now. Then he felt the response and leaned
close, his head beside hers, and heard the faint and
labored and wonderful sound of her breathing.
His hands were sweaty and trembling as he caught a
breath of his own, and it was then that he felt the cold
draft sliding along the floor to touch his spine and make
him wonder. Before he could understand this he heard the
hoarse cry behind him and the sound of it made his scalp


MISSION OF FEAR 159
Such arguments had a reasonable sound and even Gar-
vey seemed impressed. He glanced at Malone, then back
at Hayden. For another second or two he hesitated as the
logic behind the request came through to him and a glim-
mer of something that might have been respect replaced
the doubt in his gray eyes.
“Call your lawyer,” he said. “You may need him. Tell
him to meet you at your place.”
He belted his trench coat as Hayden dialed Roger Den-
ham's number and stated his request. When he hung up,
Garvey was waiting.
“Get your coat,” he said. “I’ll pick up Corbin. Would
he be registered under that name?”
“He’s been using the name Cannon for the past couple of
years,” Hayden said. “You could try that first, but who-
ever's on the desk should remember him.”
Garvey nodded again. “I’ll get him, and Freeman if I
can find him. Malone can ride with you,” he added.
“Like you said—just in case. . . . Okay?”
20
JOHN HAYDEN had hoped that he would be able to talk
to Marion alone before Lieutenant Garvey took charge
of the investigation, but there was nothing he could do
about it now. He could see the uncertainty in the hazel
eyes when she saw Malone, and he had no choice but to
introduce the detective and tell her that Garvey was on
his way over with Ted Corbin.
By the time he had taken care of their coats and
Malone had settled himself on the divan, the doorbell
rang and he went over to admit Roger Denham. The


16o MISSION OF FEAR
lawyer's bespectacled gaze was bright and curious, but
he shook hands warmly when he stepped inside.
“I’m certainly glad to see you,” he said. “When I got
your note and found out what you intended to do I
thought it was a foolish move, but Marion tells me you
pulled it off. Where's Corbin now?”
“At the motel. Lieutenant Garvey's bringing him over—
that is, if he hasn't skipped.”
He introduced Malone and took Denham's coat, and
then he spoke of Doris Lamar. He kept his account of
what had happened as brief as he could, seeing the sur-
prise in Denham's eyes and the look of shock and incre-
dulity in his wife's face. To give her some encouragement,
he stopped beside her chair to take her hand.
“She’s still alive,” he said. “She has a chance.”
“But if—”
“Don’t think that way,” he cut in. “I’ve told the lieuten-
ant what she told you and—”
“But I don't understand. Who could have done it, John?
Who?”
He had no chance to answer the question, and for this
he was grateful because he was not ready for it. He came
quickly to his feet as the doorbell rang again, and then
Lieutenant Garvey and Ted Corbin were in the room and
it was time for Garvey to take the floor.
Once again he declined Hayden's offer to take his coat,
but he opened it and sat down, putting his hat beside the
chair.
“Detective Ball is at the hospital with the Lamar
woman,” he said. “We may hear something, we may not.
I understand one of you”—he glanced at Corbin and then
back at Hayden—“is going to tell me why Corbin disap-
peared. You're going to tell me what Adler knew about that
disappearance. But first I’d like to ask you some questions,
Mr. Hayden.”
He paused, the gray eyes steady, and something in that
look told Hayden he wasn't going to like the questions.


164 MISSION OF FEAR
removed from the big man's suitcase the night before when
Corbin had gone to see his girl for a few minutes. He gave
the tag to Garvey.
“Corbin had to stop Adler,” he said. “What was hap-
pening was his fault and he wasn't just thinking about
himself. He didn't want Marion to get hurt for something
he did if he could help it.”
Garvey inspected the tag, turned it over, and he needed
no diagram. He looked at Corbin.
“This says you flew from New York to Mobile Wednes-
day morning. That means you were probably in New
York Tuesday night.”
“I can take it a little farther than that,” Hayden said.
“I can prove he was in town Tuesday night.” He paused,
conscious of Corbin's stare, but when there was no inter-
ruption he explained how he had checked the filling
stations that afternoon and what he had learned from Lee
Cramer.
“Cramer's son-in-law remembers Corbin,” he said. “He
can identify him if necessary. So I say Adler not only made
the mistake of bragging about what he was going to do, he
also told Corbin where he was staying. Corbin asked direc-
tions to The Shady Maple. He was looking for Adler and—”
“So what?” Corbin cut in harshly, his tanned face shiny
with perspiration. “That doesn't mean I killed him.”
“When he told me how he had threatened Adler in
Fairview,” Hayden said to Garvey, “an expression he used
bothered me. I suppose it's only a matter of semantics and
it certainly isn't proof, but I remember the sentence. He
said: ‘I should have killed him then.” He paused to make
sure they understood him. “Why should he say it that
way? Why should he use the word then? Why not simply:
‘I should have killed him?”
Garvey coughed and the sound of it got their attention.
“You admit being here that night, Mr. Corbin?”
“I guess I have to,” Corbin said. “But that's all I'll admit.
Sure I stopped at the filling station and asked where The
Shady Maple was. But I didn't register. I never stepped on


MISSION OF FEAR 165
the property. I guess it was around a quarter of nine when
I parked and I was hungry. I wanted some time to think,
so I went over to the tavern and had a couple of drinks
and a sandwich. By the time I had finished the police cars
were in the street. There were a few people out there
watching and I asked somebody what had happened and
they told me.”
He swallowed visibly and said, a note of desperation in
his voice: “I hung around just long enough to find out
who had been killed. I knew how it would look if I got
caught there, so I got the hell out. I drove back to the
airport and spent the night in a motel and took the nine-
thirty plane out in the morning.”
Garvey looked at Hayden. “Did you actually talk with
Lee Cramer's son-in-law?”
“I talked with Lee,” Hayden said. “I waited while he
telephoned the son-in-law and that's what he said.”
Garvey stood up and began to belt his trench coat. He
nodded at Malone and the plainclothes man was already
reaching for his coat. He looked at Corbin, who had
leaned forward in his chair, a shocked, incredulous look
stamped on his face.
“You’d better come along with us, Mr. Corbin.”
“But I’m telling you the truth,” Corbin said.
“You’ll have a chance to prove it.”
For another second or two the big man remained where
he was. He looked at Hayden and at Marion and then, as
though it occurred to him that no one here could help him,
he stood up, his jaw set.
“All right,” he said, “but I want a lawyer.” He looked at
Denham. “How about you?”
Denham came to his feet. “This sort of thing is a little
out of my line,” he said, “but I can recommend someone.”
He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote a few lines
with an automatic pencil. He passed the slip of paper to
Corbin. “Both of these are good men,” he said. “If you have
trouble reaching them, call me.”
Corbin pocketed the piece of paper and went over to


MISSION OF FEAR 167
“I’m not blaming you for that.”
“I know you're not.” He reached out and took her hand.
“And whatever happens, don't worry about the divorce
thing. We can work something out in a hurry and—”
He stopped as the door opened and Lieutenant Garvey
came back into the room. He let go of Marion's hand and
stepped aside. And Hayden, seeing the lieutenant's frown,
felt an odd tingle of excitement that had come from no-
where and was motivated by nothing more than the ex-
pression on Garvey's face.
“That was Detective Ball from the hospital,” he said,
taking time to look at Hayden and then at Marion. “The
Lamar girl was conscious for a little while and Ball had a
stenographer with him.”
“Is she going to be all right?” Marion asked quickly.
“They're not sure about that part,” Garvey said, “but
she did tell Ball a few things. . . . You're a couple of lucky
people,” he said and the frown went away. “She cor-
roborated the story she told you. She says Adler was
alive when you left, Mrs. Hayden, and she insists that he
was dead”—he glanced at Hayden—“when she saw you step
into that motel room.”
“Does—she know who tried to kill her?” Hayden asked.
“She says no.” Garvey looked at Corbin. “Ready, Mr.
Corbin? . . . You don’t need to come to the door,” he
added to Hayden. “We know the way out.”
2I
FOR SEVERAL seconds after the outer door closed there
was nothing but silence in the room. Each seemed busy
with his own thoughts and their glances were averted. In
his own mind, Hayden was aware of his tangled ideas and


168 MISSION OF FEAR
an odd sense of frustration mingled with the relief that
had come when he knew Doris Lamar had told her story.
He also knew what he wanted to do but he was not sure
how to go about it, and when the air of depression that
hung in the room finally made itself felt he broke it
abruptly and with determination.
“I need a drink,” he said, and looked at his wife.
She nodded, took a breath with lips tight, and expelled
it forcibly. “Me too, please. . . . Roger?”
Denham went back to his chair, his smile diffident as
he considered the invitation. “You know how it is with
me but—well, all right. A weak Scotch and soda.”
Hayden wheeled and headed for the kitchen. It seemed
strangely cool as he entered, but he did not wonder about
it until he was back at the sink working on an ice tray.
When he finally became conscious of the change, he
turned slowly and noticed that the door to the breezeway
was ajar. He closed it automatically without thinking any
more about it, and went on to pour the drinks. He had
them made before his glance touched the knife rack and
stopped to focus there as he saw the one empty space.
Denham thanked him for the drink, and Hayden went
over and sat down beside his wife. He wanted to say
“Cheers” but found the word distasteful, so he merely
lifted his glass, nodded, and drank as Marion responded.
She lowered her glass and sighed again, the hazel eyes
still despairing.
“I simply can't believe it,” she said. “Maybe it's be-
cause I don’t want to believe it.”
“If you mean Corbin,” Denham said, “he looks to me as
if he could be a pretty rough character with the proper
provocation.”
“I suppose he could be. But that poor girl—”
“Did he know she had offered to give you an alibi
for a price?”
“Why”—she glanced at Hayden—“yes, I guess he did.”
She spoke of their conversation in the station wagon when


174 MISSION OF FEAR
Again Denham did not seem to hear him. There was,
somehow, a far-out look in the cold, bespectacled eyes.
They were directed at Hayden, but he was not sure they
actually saw him, and the look was suddenly disturbing.
“I misjudged you,” Denham said in the same, toneless
voice. “I fixed the door latch so you could walk in on
Adler. I thought when you did and found out what hap-
pened you'd be too shocked—maybe stupid is the word—
to do anything but call the police. That's what the average
levelheaded citizen would do. Why not you?”
“I wasn't very levelheaded at the time,” Hayden said.
“I was thinking of Marion, and myself, and Ted Corbin.
I looked for the snapshots and I found them. I might have
destroyed them and called the police then. That's what I
wanted to do—until I remembered that if there were snap-
shots there had to be negatives. When I couldn't find them
in the room—”
“That was smart,” Denham said. “And the Mobile police
did find the negatives. But that took a little time. That gave
you a chance to get down and locate Corbin.”
The disturbance which had been caused by Denham's
strange behavior had ominous side effects, and with them
came a warning Hayden could no longer ignore. It seemed
now that the sickness he had mentioned still lingered in
Denham's mind, and he suddenly wanted to be rid of the
man. He took a swallow of his drink and put the glass
down. He stood up.
“I think the police will eventually catch up with you,”
he said. “But you're a lawyer; maybe you can talk your
way out of it. Maybe it would be simpler if I called them
now and got them over here.” He started to turn away,
then stopped abruptly as Denham spoke.
“Not just yet, John.”
Still sitting erect in the chair and not hurrying, he
shifted his weight to one hip. He slid his hand down past
the raised hip and found something between the cushion
and the chair. When his hand came up it held an auto-


MISSION OF FEAR 181
instinct, desperation, whatever it was that fed the im-
pulse, made him wheel to meet this new threat. There was
no doubt in Hayden's mind now that the man intended
to shoot and apparently there was none in the minds of
the officers.
And so, stunned and powerless to interfere, he simply
watched in morbid fascination as the three shots ham-
mered in the room, and he knew instantly the results of
that exchange. Denham was an expert of sorts but so were
Garvey and Malone. They must have fired a fraction of a
second quicker because they stood in their tracks, noth-
ing changing in their faces, ready to shoot again but hold-
ing their fire.
Denham took both slugs, one high up in the arm
which seemed to recoil. The other apparently struck him
in the thigh because the leg started to collapse. He made
one final effort to bring the gun to bear but could no
longer hold it, and as it dropped from his limp fingers the
leg gave way and he fell lopsidedly to the floor.
Hayden was never sure what happened in the next three
or four minutes. He had but one thought in mind now,
and when he could move he went directly to the divan
and sat close to Marion, his arms enveloping her. She
came to him immediately, leaning her weight against him,
her face buried in the corner of his neck. He could feel
her trying to get her breath while her body was racked
by small convulsive sobs she could not control. He spoke
softly, comforting her, conscious of his own muscular
weakness as reaction released the tension that had been
punishing him.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. It's all over.”
He said other things, and he could feel the sobs stop and
her breathing grow more regular. When she was ready,
she released herself. She brushed the wetness from her
cheeks and tried to smile at him.
“I’ll behave now.”


182 MISSION OF FEAR
“You’re wonderful,” he said. “Are you sure you're all
right?”
“I am now.”
“Don’t you want to go into the bedroom and lie down
for a while?”
“I couldn't. Not now. I can’t even sit still. Isn't there
something I can do?”
“How about making some drinks?” he asked, giving
words to the first thought that came to mind.
“No.” She stood up and straightened her dress. “But I'll
make some coffee.”
“Good.” He walked part way to the kitchen door with
her. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”
When he looked about he saw that Lieutenant Garvey
was just hanging up the telephone. Malone had collected
the guns from Freeman and Denham, and he had now
hunkered down in front of Denham and was helping
straighten the wounded leg as Denham leaned back, his
shoulders against the front of the divan.
“There'll be a doctor and an ambulance here in a few
minutes,” Garvey said.
Denham watched him, his bespectacled eyes pain-
ridden and sullen. “You two are quick with your guns,” he
said morosely, “but you need practice.”
“I thought we did pretty well,” Garvey said. “We didn't
have much time. We don’t like to shoot to kill if we can
help it.” He glanced at Freeman. “How are you, Mr. Free-
man? Can you hold on?”
Freeman was sitting in a straight-backed chair, the heel
of his left hand pressed beneath the right shoulder. The
round face was no longer chalky and stiff, and his eyes
were dull and disinterested.
“I think he busted a collarbone but I'm okay. It's a damn
good thing you got here when you did. I never even shot
a gun before.”
“We’re all lucky,” Hayden said. “What brought you
back anyway?”


A NOT E A B O U T THE AUTHOR
GEORGE HARMON CoxE was born in Olean, New York,
and spent his youth there and in nearby Elmira. After a
year at Purdue and one at Cornell, he worked for five
years on newspapers in California, Florida, and New
York, and did advertising for a New England printer for
five years more. Since that time he has devoted himself
to writing—for two years with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer,
then as a free-lance, selling numerous short stories, now-
elettes, and serials to magazines as well as to motion-
picture, radio, and television producers.
He is a past president of the Mystery Writers of
America.
SEPTEMBER 1962


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