Vicki’s departure the next morning did not go well. For one thing, Mrs. Heath was suspicious when Vicki “repaired” the plane engine. “So easily?” she said—and Vicki wondered how much the woman guessed. For another thing, Lucy was fearful again this morning when Vicki hinted, “It’s such a fine, clear day. Just come for a little flight, Lucy.” One look at Lucy’s face showed she longed to leave.

Mrs. Heath said quickly to Lucy, “I’m not feeling well again this morning. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Lucy looked at the older woman almost guiltily. “Maybe someday I’ll take a ride with you, Vicki,” was the most the girl would say.

Her employer sighed. “You girls probably think me very strict, but I’d like to remind you that I’m half ill, I have important work to do. You know very well, my dear,” she said to Lucy, “that I need you.” The woman played on the girl’s pity, and Vicki saw that Lucy had not the heart to walk out openly. Also, as Lucy herself had pleaded last night, she obviously needed more time to think. There was nothing now Vicki could do except thank them both and climb into the plane.

Just before she slammed the door, Vicki called:

“I should be back in the San Francisco area by noon. Noon.”

Lucy nodded. She and Mrs. Heath walked a safe distance away from the plane, waving to her. In minutes Vicki took off.

From the air, the hidden house quickly sank out of sight. Oddly enough, she reached Novato Airport, outside San Francisco, precisely at noon.

Who was Mrs. Heath? This was what Vicki wanted to learn now. Who was this woman who had coincidentally appeared at the Hotel Alcott and out of the blue offered Lucy a job? Why was she detaining Lucy?

And who was the “Lucy Rowe” in New York? The girl who had flown into New York on Vicki’s plane, yet had not then worn the silver ring? Suddenly Vicki remembered an incident of that flight with its near-emergency landing—the lost gold charm inscribed Dorothy! It had fallen off someone’s bracelet or out of someone’s purse or pocket. Yet when the stewardess tried to return the valuable trinket, no one had claimed it. Why not? Did Dorothy not wish to identify herself? Suppose, Vicki thought in a flash of insight, that the alleged Miss L. Rowe on that flight was actually Miss Dorothy “Somebody.” In that case she wouldn’t dare claim the inscribed charm—it would publicly reveal her to be an impostor. And by now Vicki was convinced that the dark-haired “Lucy” at the Bryants’ house was in fact an impostor.

“Or am I only guessing about the charm?” Well, she could think of ways to find out when she was again in New York. This afternoon she had other points to check.

That telephone number in New York which Lucy said Mrs. Heath had called—apparently a business place—who was at the other end? Vicki tried a bold plan. She asked on her hotel phone for that New York number herself.

She heard the connection go through, heard the San Francisco operator say, “San Francisco calling,” and give the New York operator the number, then a telephone ringing three thousand miles away—ringing as clearly as if it were next door. A crisp, businesslike voice answered. “Two-three-four-five. Good afternoon.”

Vicki was disappointed. She had hoped that whoever answered would say the firm name—if there were a firm name in this case.

“Hello?” said the voice in her ear.

“Hello,” Vicki replied, and swallowed nervously. “This is Mrs. Heath calling.” There, the step was taken!

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Heath. One moment, please, and I’ll ring Mr. Dorn.”

Mr. Dorn! He and Mrs. Heath were linked! She’d never suspected it—Thurman Dorn’s voice came on.

“Hello, Mother,” he said.

Vicki nearly dropped the telephone. She was careful not to answer, not to make a sound.

“Mother? Is anything wrong? Whatever are you doing in San Francisco?” A pause. “Hello? Mother? Hello!”

Vicki held her breath. She hoped Dorn would think something had gone wrong with their telephone connection. He repeated his hellos, then buzzed his receptionist, and demanded, “What’s happened to my San Francisco call, Sally?”

“You’re still connected, Mr. Dorn.”

Now his voice sounded angry. “Mother? Is that you? Hello?”

Dorn hung up, and Vicki hung up, too. Whew! Her heart was banging away over the discovery.

In the next instant Vicki realized that by pretending to be Mrs. Heath, she had put herself in a dangerous position. Even more, she had put Lucy in danger! For Thurman Dorn could easily check by calling Mrs. Heath. Then, when she informed him that Vicki Barr had flown in as an uninvited guest at the hidden house, and that Lucy had half wanted to leave with her, Dorn would know Vicki Barr was on their trail. And Lucy might really disappear. “Oh, what have I done!” Vicki groaned.

But it was done now, and no use fretting about it. She had gained an immensely valuable piece of information, but at a high price. She had known all along that the search for Lucy was risky. One thing stood out urgently—now that she had probably aroused Dorn’s suspicions, she must get Lucy out of that hidden house and away from Mrs. Heath as soon as possible. Tomorrow, or next day at the latest. Time was of the essence. She and Lucy would need time, too, to reach the Bryants and some degree of safety. But she was scheduled for a Federal flight day after tomorrow, Sunday. Time!

Vicki at once telephoned the Federal Airlines office at San Francisco’s International Airport, and asked for her Flight Stewardess Supervisor. But Miss Middleton was in a conference which would last the rest of the afternoon, and no one else was authorized to change Vicki’s flight schedule.

“Please tell Miss Middleton,” Vicki said into the phone, “I’ll come in to see her tomorrow, at eight in the morning.” A day lost, and no help for it. A day for Dorn to use—

Mother and son! Mr. Dorn, the lawyer assigned to find Lucy, and Mrs. Heath, the employer who took Lucy away with her to the hills—they were in collusion!

“The next thing is to prove it,” Vicki realized. “Mr. and Mrs. Bryant are so delighted with their bogus granddaughter that they might never accept the true Lucy without proof.”

Proof. Facts, which were matters of record. She remembered that Dorn stayed at the St. Clair Hotel from January twelfth to twenty-first, and on February twenty-first, during his first and second visits to “search” for Lucy. Vicki called up the hotel, asked for the man who had advised her before, and inquired:

“Can you tell me, please, whether a Mrs. Elizabeth Heath was at the St. Clair Hotel around the middle of January? And again in February, around Washington’s Birthday?”

She waited, then was told:

“Yes, Mrs. Heath registered here last January twelfth and stayed two days.”

“Did she leave a forwarding address?”

“Yes, Mrs. Heath moved from here to the Hotel Alcott.”

“Was she accompanied by a Mr. Thurman Dorn when she checked in?”

“We have no record of that.... You’re welcome, Miss Barr.”

They’d arrived together in San Francisco, and had been discreet enough to register separately. Mr. Dorn must have gained some information quickly about Lucy. For two days later Mrs. Heath had moved into the Hotel Alcott where Lucy had just moved in, too. And Mrs. Heath had lost no time in striking up an acquaintance with Lucy, offered her a job, lured her away from San Francisco where anyone could find her, hid her out in the hills. The next move, Vicki saw plainly, was to lure Lucy into going abroad. A very smooth way to make Lucy disappear, so that they could put their own confederate into the Bryants’ house to inherit the Bryant fortune!

And Mr. Dorn? While his mother was busy getting Lucy out of the way, what had he been doing? Finding a suitable hide-out house, arranging to rent a car? So Mr. Dorn’s “report” to the Bryants that Lucy was on a trip, was traveling with friends, was a prearranged lie! The same lies as the glib ones the false Lucy told.

“Never mind reconstructing the details of their scheme,” Vicki told herself. “I haven’t time now. The urgent thing is to go get Lucy.”

She glanced out the window. It was dusk. She could not do much more today beyond setting up the signal.

By telephone she reached the minister’s residence but only the secretary was in. Another conference and delay! Vicki made an appointment to see Mr. Hall, or at least talk with him on the telephone, early the next morning after she’d seen her supervisor. She would know by then how much time she had to rescue Lucy.

She made one further telephone call, to a car rental agency. On a gamble, she reserved a car for either tomorrow or Sunday morning, depending on what free time Federal Airlines allowed her. It was about a three-hour drive to Pine Top—if she made an early enough start and drove fast, she could keep the noon rendezvous.

Vicki sat down to think over Lucy’s dangerous situation—and her own. She wanted very much to report what she had found to the police, and leave the responsibility for rescuing the girl to them. But she recalled Lucy’s fear that her grandparents did not really want her. Bringing Lucy to them via the police might turn her grandparents against her.

Vicki sighed. “I’d better get Lucy out of that hidden house before Mrs. Heath and Mr. Dorn think up any new plans for her.”

Early the next day, Saturday morning, rain poured down. An all-day March rain, from the Weather Bureau prediction. In the hotel room Vicki turned the radio on and heard that small aircraft were ordered grounded, most big commercial airliners continued to fly on schedule, and for drivers road conditions were fair.

“Fair is good enough to drive to Pine Top,” Vicki decided. “Providing I can get there by noon—first, providing I can get extra time off to allow for any delays or unexpected developments.” For she might not get back from Pine Top today—she might miss her scheduled nine A.M. flight tomorrow.

She bundled up and went to take the bus out to International Airport. San Francisco was wrapped in fog; it made halos of street lamps and shadows of people. Vicki barely found the bus which appeared to be floating. It crawled at a maddeningly slow pace the thirteen miles out to International Airport.

“I’ll never be able to reach Pine Top by noon,” Vicki mourned. “Not in this fog. Why, just going to the car rental place and then driving out of San Francisco could take an hour.” She’d have to go tomorrow—unless tomorrow she found herself in uniform aboard the Electra.

In the fog she groped her way to the Federal Airlines building, using the Hangar One entrance. It was a quarter to eight. Miss Middleton was already in her office. For the first time in her career as a stewardess, Vicki asked to be excused from making a scheduled flight. Miss Middleton, on learning that Vicki had urgent personal business, granted her a leave of absence of three days, to be made up later.

“Provided,” said the supervisor, “I can find a stewardess to take your place. I’ll phone you at your hotel some time after noon today.”

That settled it. No trip to Pine Top today.

Vicki went to one of the telephone booths in the corridor. She called the car rental agency and said she would want a car tomorrow, not today. Then, though it was early to disturb him, Vicki called the minister. He was at breakfast, and very glad and relieved to hear from her.

“Have you found Lucy, Miss Vicki?”

“Yes, I have.” “Good, good! Where is she?”

“At a place called Pine Top, and it isn’t good at all, Mr. Hall. I’m going to get her out of there—tomorrow, I hope—But, in order to rescue Lucy, I’ll need your help here in San Francisco.”

“Anything you say, Miss Vicki. Your tone of voice alarms me. Do you want to come to see me and talk it over?”

They discussed meeting. But since Vicki had to be back at her hotel by noon, they decided they might as well talk fully on the telephone. Vicki dropped more coins into the telephone box at the operator’s request.

“Well, Mr. Hall, Lucy is in serious trouble.” Vicki described the situation with Mrs. Heath.

“I don’t understand why this Mrs. Heath wants to detain the girl,” said the minister. “It is detention. But why? Can you tell me why?”

His voice sounded so concerned that Vicki could almost see the minister’s face, his quiet expression and perceptive eyes. Why should she not confide in him? He was Lucy’s good and old friend.

“Yes, I’ll tell you why, Mr. Hall,” Vicki said into the telephone. “It’s a long story, it goes back to Lucy’s grandparents—”

“Her grandparents! Her only surviving grandparents are the Marshall Bryants, in New York.”

“Yes. They want Lucy at last, you see. But a terrible thing has happened because of the inheritance.” Vicki told the minister the whole story of the Bryants, Thurman Dorn, and the false Lucy. Then she told him of her own search which had led her to Lucy and Mrs. Heath and the truth.

“I am appalled,” the minister said, after she had finished. “Why not go to the police at once?”

“Because it could ruin Lucy’s first meeting with her grandparents.” Vicki explained Lucy’s nervousness about meeting the Bryants, after years of being ostracized. She mentioned their abhorrence of publicity.

“Yes, I see,” the minister said reluctantly. “What alternative is there? What do you plan to do, Miss Vicki?”

She told him of her plan to return to Pine Top. She told Mr. Hall of the telephone signal Lucy was listening for, and described exactly what he must do, and gave him the telephone number of the hidden house.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, Mr. Hall, just before I start out by car for Pine Top. It’s a three-hour drive, so I’ll call you early. You’re to signal by telephone at, say, nine A.M. That will give Lucy three hours’ notice.”

“Of course I’ll do it. But, Miss Vicki! Isn’t it dangerous for you, and for Lucy, too, to attempt this escape?”

She replied that Mrs. Heath might not be watching Lucy so closely in broad daylight. On the big grounds of the Glidden place, among its many trees and bushes, Lucy with her outdoors chores could quite naturally “wander” out of sight. “If the plan doesn’t work”—Vicki caught her breath at the chance—“if anything goes wrong, Mr. Hall, then you’d better call the police.”

“How will I know your plan hasn’t succeeded?”

“When I drive back to San Francisco bringing Lucy, I’ll call you. That should be about three or three thirty. Four, at the latest. I’ll call you then. Or if there’s trouble at any point, I’ll try to phone you.”

“And if I don’t hear from you by four tomorrow I’m to call the police?”

“Yes, Mr. Hall. Thank you very, very much.”

“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s dangerous—”

“I don’t like it much myself. But it’s the best we can do.”

They left it at that, and said good-by until the next day. Vicki felt grateful that she had someone like Mr. Hall to rely on.

In the fog Vicki found the airport’s bus stop. She rode back slowly over blurred roads and bridges. When she got off the bus in downtown San Francisco, the pavement seemed bottomless under her feet. She reached her hotel, glad to be indoors where there were lights. Though it was nowhere near noon, Vicki settled down in her room to wait for the Flight Supervisor’s call.

Waiting, the day seemed the longest of her life. Vicki did everything she could think of to pass the time. She read, she sewed a little, sent down for a sandwich, visited with a stewardess next door, read some more. At four o’clock the telephone rang. It was the Flight Stewardess Supervisor to notify Vicki that her request for extra time off was granted.

Vicki went downstairs to the lobby about five o’clock. The stewardesses of several airlines who stayed at this hotel had a favorite corner, where they looked for one another and exchanged flying news. This afternoon two girls in Trans-USA’s gray uniform were sitting there, having hot tea. Vicki knew them slightly; they were Peggy Bennett and Nancy Notaro.

“Hello, you look as if you’ve just come in from a flight,” Vicki greeted them.

“And such a flight! Grueling,” said Peggy. “Come sit down, Vicki.” She said they had flown by jet nonstop from New York, a five-and-a-half-hour run, starting at one thirty New York time that afternoon.

“The most demanding passengers you ever saw,” Nancy said, as Vicki joined them. “I admit that they were interesting people. But one young man nearly drove Peg and me out of our minds. A lawyer, I think.”

“He was awfully anxious to get here,” Peggy said to excuse him. “Our Boeing 707 didn’t go fast enough to suit Mr. Dorn.”

Vicki froze. “Did you say Dorn? Do you remember his first name?”

“I think it was Thurman,” said Nancy. “Why, Vicki, what’s the matter? Aren’t you feeling well?” “N-no, I’m not. Was anyone traveling with Mr. Dorn?”

“He was alone. Vicki, you’ve turned white! Here, have some of this tea—”

“I think I’d better go to my room,” Vicki said, and excused herself.

Upstairs in her room she did some rapid figuring. Yesterday afternoon she had guardedly telephoned Dorn’s office in New York, giving her name as Mrs. Heath and then keeping silent. Today Dorn had taken the fastest plane he could board to San Francisco. His action could mean only one thing:

His suspicions were aroused by her telephone call. He probably telephoned his mother right back, learned she had not just called him—and learned about Vicki Barr’s surprise visit to the hidden house the night before. Mrs. Heath would have told him how Vicki Barr struck up a sympathetic acquaintance with Lucy. The woman had been disturbed about that; Dorn would be disturbed, too. Further, Mrs. Heath had probably told him that Vicki Barr had flown back to San Francisco earlier on the day of the faked telephone call.

So Dorn knew now that Vicki Barr was checking up on him and Mrs. Heath. He was certain enough of it to take the first plane to San Francisco, to come here and circumvent her. This was what Vicki had feared, and it had come true.

“What will Dorn do next?” Vicki wondered. “Steady, now. I mustn’t panic. Well, he’ll go to Pine Top, and take Mrs. Heath and Lucy out of there. Take them some place where I can’t find them again. This time Lucy will really disappear. And then Thurman Dorn will deal with me.”

She shivered. “Stop it,” she scolded herself. “I must try to think clearly.”

How soon, how fast, could Dorn reach Pine Top? The city was still wrapped in fog; so were its outlying highways, the radio reported. That meant Dorn could not fly or drive to Pine Top today, not with night closing in. He’d probably start out for Pine Top first thing tomorrow morning, weather permitting—just as she herself planned to do.

“Suppose I encounter Dorn on the highway while I’m driving to Pine Top?” She would have to disguise herself a little, and drive a closed car. “Or suppose he goes to Pine Top in a private plane—he’d arrive before I do. Will that ruin Lucy’s getaway, our getaway?”

At least she had one small advantage. She already had a car reserved. Dorn would encounter some delay in renting a car, or renting a private plane and the services of a pilot, since these were much in demand and often sold out in advance. Probably he would be able to hunt around and rent something, but it would take him extra time. Time!

When she went to bed, Vicki noticed that the fog had turned into a driving rain. She rose very early Sunday morning. It was still raining hard. The radio predicted an all-day downpour and reported that roads were washed out in several localities. Motorists were advised to cancel their plans and stay off the highways.

“Oh, how awful!” Vicki thought. “Another day lost! Well, I’ll go to Pine Top tomorrow—I hope.”

She immediately made two telephone calls. One was to Mr. Hall, asking him to call Pine Top tomorrow instead of today. The other was to the car rental agency, changing her reservation to the next day. Then Vicki ventured out in the rain to attend church. She lived through the rest of that Sunday somehow.

Monday morning she again was up early. The weather was clear. She dressed quietly, without waking Jean Cox, tied a scarf over her head to conceal her light hair, and took along a bulky coat and dark glasses. These things were to make her less recognizable in case she met Dorn anywhere along the way. She took a scarf, sunglasses, and sweater for Lucy. Although she was too worried to feel hungry, she fortified herself with breakfast at one of the few restaurants open that early. Here she purchased sandwiches, and had the thermos bottle she had brought along filled with coffee. Now she and Lucy need not stop for lunch, lose precious time, make themselves visible in case Dorn was out looking for them.

That is, if she herself could reach the appointed place in the road without mishap, if Lucy could keep the rendezvous, if they actually could make their getaway.

Before she reached the car rental agency, Vicki put on the coat and dark glasses.

A sedan was driven out for her, with its gas tank filled to capacity. Vicki signed the necessary papers, paid a deposit, and then went to a telephone booth. She called the minister.

“I’m leaving now, Mr. Hall. Getting an early start. You’ll phone—signal—around nine?”

“Yes, at nine. I’ll be listening for your telephone call this afternoon to learn that you and Lucy are safe. Good luck, Miss Vicki.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hall. I’ll need it.”

Out on the highway traffic was light, and she made good time. Vicki kept watch in the rear-vision mirror to see if any car was following her, but so far, so good. Of course Dorn could be heading for Pine Top on any of several alternate roads.

The drive seemed a long one. It helped that she had twice flown over this Mother Lode country; the small towns and rivers were familiar landmarks and guides. But the car was slow compared to a plane, particularly when the land grew rolling and then hilly.

At twenty minutes before noon she was driving through Pine Top, and there still was no sign of a car or a private plane coming in from the same direction as she was. Vicki headed the car up the steep, winding hill which led to the hidden house. She drove to the first sharp curve at the top of the road, found an area of trees a little off the road to provide some concealment for the car, and backed into it. Vicki turned off the ignition and waited. The birds were singing. The sun shone down on the empty road.

“What if Lucy doesn’t come?” Vicki thought. “What if she loses her nerve and doesn’t try? Or tries but can’t get out? The wooden door in the wall is kept locked—but surely somewhere she could find a place to climb over the wall.”

The minutes dragged.

“Or suppose she and Mrs. Heath have already left? Mrs. Heath had a rented car. Dorn could have phoned them to leave at once.” If only she could go close enough to the house to see and hear what was going on! Was Dorn there? Was Mrs. Heath keeping an extra close watch on Lucy?

Vicki got out of the car to stretch her legs. She wanted badly to venture around the bend in the road to see whether Lucy was coming—it was a minute or two until noon. But she stayed in the little enclosure of trees, half out of sight.

She heard a car coming up the hill. Vicki stepped behind her own car just as a black sedan whizzed by—the man driving was its only occupant. He had red hair. Thank goodness it wasn’t Dorn.

Suddenly a figure came running around the bend, hair flying. It was Lucy!

“Here I am!” Vicki hissed. “Hurry! Where’s the car?” Lucy gasped. “Get in!”

They got in, slammed the doors, Vicki turned on the ignition, and tore out of her hiding place. They streaked down the steep road.

“Are you all right, Lucy? Is anyone else at the house?”

“No. A man is coming this morning—driving—he phoned Saturday night and Sunday morning. Mrs. Heath had me pack our suitcases this morning. Hurry, Vicki! Mrs. Heath is probably looking for me by now, and she has a car!”

They sped through Pine Top and onto the open highway. Vicki saw a car coming—any car coming might be Dorn. She kept on going, at the top speed allowed.

“Lucy, there’s a scarf and sunglasses on the seat. Put them on, cover up your face and hair all you can. How’d you get out?”

“I pretended to be gardening near the wall, climbed a tree, dropped onto the top of the wall, and scrambled down on the outside.” Lucy gave a shaky laugh. “I tore my stockings. I must be a sight. I didn’t bring even a purse or sweater or anything with me. Nothing except my family documents in the pocket of my dress.”

“That’s all that matters.” The silver ring was on Lucy’s hand.

“Mr. Hall phoned twice, around nine,” Lucy said. “Mrs. Heath got awfully annoyed at the ‘telephone company testing.’ She complained to me—but I’d heard the phone signal, anyway.” Lucy let out a long sigh of relief. “Where are we going?”

“Back to San Francisco. To catch a plane to New York.”

“Think we’ll make it to San Francisco safely?”

“We have a fast car, a good chance. Sit back and try to relax, Lucy.”

They rode for many miles in silence. Both girls were tense. After a while Vicki asked Lucy to open up the sandwiches and coffee. They had a hard time swallowing any food, and lapsed into silence again. Then Lucy said:

“If and when we get to New York, do you plan to take me to my grandparents?”

“Yes, we’ll go directly to the Bryants’.”

Lucy seemed fearful.

Vicki reproved her. “Besides, unless you want to go to the police, it’s the only place where either of us will be safe.”

Vicki omitted saying: “Provided we can reach the Bryants before Dorn does.” She did not want to frighten Lucy further. And Lucy was already nervous enough about facing her grandparents.