Chapter 12

The first small cloud in Vance Hager's sky Appeared to have nothing to do with a storm. Nevertheless, it touched a nerve in his finely tuned business sensibilities and made him wonder.

His status as an almost-partner put him above the level of ordinary formalities. When he wanted to speak to anyone he dialed interoffice direct or went straight in past secretaries.

He wanted to talk to Parnell that morning, and dialed the senior partner's direct wire. Ordinarily, there would have been a click and then Parnell's crisp voice. But instead, there was "Mr. Parnell's office," in the cool tones of his secretary.

"Oh, Marge. This is Vance Hager. I called Parnell direct."

"I'm screening all Mr. Parnell's calls this morning."

"Oh, I see. Put me through, will you?"

"I'm sorry. Mr. Parnell is busy. He can't be disturbed."

"Marge! I don't want more than a minute of his precious time."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Parnell cannot be disturbed."

Vance slammed the phone down. What was the matter with that girl? Had she gone off her skull? He fumed for a while, wondering where his own secretary was. He dialed the switchboard.

"Did Vivian call in?"

"Why yes, Mr. Hager," the girl replied. "She has permission to take the day off."

"Who gave it to her?"

"Why, I supposed you did."

Vance caught himself quickly. You didn't put yourself at a disadvantage with a switchboard girl.

"Oh yes, I recall now. It slipped my mind."

He put the phone down. What in blazes had happened to Vivian, pulling a stunt like that? A secretary was accountable to her boss and to no one else. There bad certainly been some kind of a misunderstanding.

Angry, Vance picked up the phone and called Sam Wayne.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Wayne will not be in today."

Vance dialed again and discovered that Jack Hall would not be in either. That was exceptional, but not unheard of.

Vance picked up the phone again and got through to the art department. Vince Kagan answered, sad little subservient Vince who always broke an ankle with eagerness when an executive or a top-level man called.

"Vince, I'd like to see those new Penrose roughs. Will you bring them in?"

"They're not ready yet."

"Not ready! You told me yesterday they were practically finished and they'd be ready this morning."

"I had some other work to do."

Vance knew when and how to put a man in his place. "Vince, how would you like to be looking for a job this afternoon?"

"I wouldn't like that."

Everyone had gone crazy. Vince's voice was all wrong. It was close to arrogant.

"Well, get those roughs in here in ten minutes or you will be."

"I can't. I've got some work to do for Mr. Parnell."

Slamming down the phone was getting to be a way of life for Vance. He did it again, his face dark. Parnell! Who did he think he was? What kind of an act was he trying to stage? And being the sort of man who believed in meeting problems head-on, Vance got up and went down the corridor and into Parnell's office.

Parnell's secretary, a sleek, competent blonde girl, looked at him as though he'd come to collect past-due rent and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Parnell can't be disturbed."

Vance growled and walked on through into Parnell's private office. Parnell was alone. He looked up from his desk, smiled warmly, and said, "Oh, Vance. I'm glad you dropped in. There's something I want to talk to you about"

"I've got a thing on my mind too. I want to know what goes on around here. Why the exclusive bit?"

Parnell couldn't have been more surprised. "Exclusive?"

"I had to fight my way in here past your secretary."

Parnell shrugged. "She must have gotten her signals crossed. You know how secretaries are sometimes."

Something was wrong. Vance knew that now. This was not a string of amazingly coincidental blunders.

It was the freeze.

The freeze, in the upper echelons of business, is a cruel and seemingly unnecessary process. Its reasons for being are obscure, but it happens when, by some interoffice magic, the staff learns that an executive is on his way out; that baiting him is not only safe but sadistically encouraged.

"All right, let's have it," Vance said quietly.

"There's no use making a big production out of this, Vance. Neither of us believes in hedging."

"I don't anyhow."

"Then here it is. The partnership has decided that it may well be time for you to seek your fortunes else-where "

"just like that?"

"If you choose to put it in those terms-just like that."

"Would it be out of line to ask the reason?"

"Shall we say for the good of the company?"

"Let's be a little more realistic. If I go, Penrose Soap goes with me."

Parnell pursed his lips and appeared to be considering all the aspects of that possibility.

"You've anchored yourself into that deal pretty firmly, then?"

"I'm not a fool."

Parnell seemed a little sad. "I suppose there's nothing we can do about that. Accounts have been known to change agencies before. I presume they will continue to do so."

Vance groped blindly for a lead. "Do you doubt my ability to take the account with me?"

Parnell shrugged. "You're a good man, Vance. I'd be a fool to second-guess you."

I'll clear my desk."

Parnell relaxed visibly. His easy smile came back. He had won.

"Vance! Take it easy. There's no rush. Consider the place yours. I'll push the financial arrangements through. In the meantime, if there's anything I can do-any favor-I'll be hurt if you don't ask me."

Vance left....

Two minutes later, he was in Nela Varese's office.

Nela was working at her drawing board. She looked up, smiled, and went on with her work. The greeting had been neither abrupt nor overly cordial but Vance was sure he detected something off-beat.

"You've heard the news, Nela?"

"What news is that, Vance?"

"I'm being frozen out."

"That's ridiculous."

"So you're playing it cozy."

"I don't know what you mean."

"The rest of the art department does. The switchboard girl does. My ex-secretary was briefed."

"Your ex-secretary?"

"Oh, stop it! You've had the word. I'm coming to you as a friend, and I thought I could depend on you." Nela put her pencil down. "Honestly, Vance.

You're talking in circles. What happened?"

"I'm leaving the agency."

"Vance! I'm so sorry."

"Would you like to go with me?"

Nela spread her palms in appeal. "Where to, Vance? You come at me so suddenly with all this."

"I don't know, yet. But you've done great work on the Penrose Soap account and I'm going to need you."

"Frankly, Vance, I don't think I want to break in at another agency. I'm established here-"

"I see," Vance said with what might have been termed pleasant coldness. "I just felt that I should make the offer."

"You're taking Penrose with you?"

"Of course."

"Good luck to you."

"Good luck to you, Nela...."

There was a call waiting when Vance got back to his office. It was Mildred.

"Darling. I hoped I could catch you. We can ride home together."

"I didn't know you were downtown."

"But I told you. I came down to see Jean."

"You were down to see her not long ago."

"So I came down again. Vance-is anything wrong?"

"I'm a little involved this afternoon. You'd better go on home. I'll be along."

"All right, darling. Will you be late?"

"I don't know," Vance replied, not trying very hard to keep annoyance out of his voice.

"The reason I asked-you got a call before I left the house. Tad Beck wants you to call him if you get back to Warrenton before nine."

"Just like that, eh? Who does Tad Beck think he is?"

"Vance-I'm sorry. I'm only relaying the message."

"He didn't say what he wants?"

"No."

"All right. I'll see you tonight."

Vance put the phone down and took a deep breath. It was time to face the issue. He'd skirted it long enough. Time now to check and see where the power lay.

He picked up the phone.

But then he put it down again and left the office and twenty minutes later, he opened the door on Macklin Penrose's secretary.

She was a small brunette and his arrival always brought a smile of welcome to her face. It brought no smile now.

Vance carefully shaped his own smile. "The boss in?"

"I'm sorry-"

She was going to say he was busy, but Vance didn't give her a chance. "I'll announce myself," he said and repeated his earlier performance in Parnell's office.

And again he found his man alone. Again, his man said, "I'm glad you dropped in, Vance. There's something I'd like to tell you."

But there was a difference. Macklin Penrose seemed to mean it.

"Maybe you can straighten me out, Mack. There have been some strange things happening at the office."

"I heard something about it."

"Maybe you can brief me."

"That all depends. What happened?"

At this point, Vance Hager made one of the greatest efforts of his life. He smiled warmly at Macklin Penrose and shrugged with a certain sadness. The twin gestures brought out the best in his personality.

"It seems they've gone crazy at the agency. They don't want the Penrose Soap account any more."

"Did Spencer say he was dropping it?"

"No. But they're freezing me out. It's the same thing."

"Is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"I'm afraid not. We're quite happy with the agency."

"But Mack! You're my account. I've worked my heart out for you."

"You've done a fine job, but there are other considerations. Spencer got a phone call from Washington."

"From Washington! What's that got to do with me?"

"Did you ever hear of a man called Bernard Kolsky?"

"No. I can't say that I have."

"He's evidently heard of you."

"Oh, yes. The political commentator. I've seen his name of course. Who hasn't? But I never met the man."

"He has a son and wife in your community. They live on Rebel Hill, I believe."

"I think you're right. But I still don't see-"

"It really doesn't matter, I guess. The whole point is that Spencer made a decision. He thinks that for the good of the company-"

"I got that from Parnell! For the good of the agency!"

"It follows."

"Mack! You can't do this to me! We've been friends!"

"Have we?"

"I've worked hard for you."

"You've worked hard for a good salary. If you're in a spot now where you need a shoulder to cry on, why don't you try Nela Varese?"

This was what Macklin Penrose had been wanting-needing-and he let his hatred blaze out at the man he considered his betrayer.

"Nela Varese! What's she got to do with it?"

"Nothing at all, actually. Why don't you go home to your wife and kids? Maybe tomorrow will be a better day."

"Mack!"

"I'm busy, Vance. I've got work to do. Give me a ring sometime. We'll have a drink...."

Vance was sure now that the world had gone mad. He left the Penrose Soap Company and hit the first bar he came to. Three stiff drinks did not make him drunk but they blurred his mind so that the new, crazy world he'd stepped into didn't seem quite as incredible.

He tried to sleep on the train, tried in that way to heal the emotional impact of the last few hours. He; could not sleep but he managed to doze with his mind in such a state that some of the cryptic declarations of the day began to lock together. They didn't make any more sense, but at least they added up to more clear-cut questions.

Bernard Kolsky. He'd called Spencer Penrose. He had a son and a wife who lived on Rebel Hill. Mildred said Tad Beck had been trying to get in touch with him. Tad Beck lived on Rebel Hill.

Was there any connection?

He glanced at his watch. The train would get in at eight forty-in ten minutes. It was exactly on time and Vance went straight to the booth at the end of the depot and phoned Tad Beck.

"You wanted me to call you?"

"I'd like you to drop up here, Vance."

Normally, Vance would have told him what he could do with his likes, and his dislikes too, for that matter. But it had been a rough day. Vance's fighting spirit was punched out.

"Okay," he said. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Miserable wasn't quite the word for Mildred's state of mind. She'd been going through purgatory and had developed a headache that aspirin could not remedy. Her remorse had been towering and she had desperately needed the talk with Jean Bellamy. It had been a good talk and it had crystalized her resolutions. She had failed Vance. So she would go back to work.

Fortunately, he hadn't been damaged by her rash interlude. He would never know. Nor would the children, thank heaven. They really didn't need her. Perhaps they had never needed her. They would accept her departure from the close family circle as realistically as they had accepted her entrance into it.

She would not leave abruptly, she told herself. But gradually Vance would understand that the marriage was ill-advised.

Thus Mildred rationalized the situation and made compromises in exchange for a dubious peace of mind. And all the while she resolutely destroyed images of Rafe. They kept rising to glow like beautiful rainbows; the warmth, the excitement, the fragile glory of those moments.

But she had a weapon against these images-the terror of falling in love with Rafe. That must not be. That could not be.

She was preparing to move into a new and different life. This one was over.

Rafe could not, in any way, be a part of that new life.

"It is to the advantage of the community and all others concerned that this thing does not erupt into a scandal."

"What are you talking about? Are you as nuts as everybody else?"

Vance Hager had been seated opposite Tad Beck in the latter's luxurious living room. But now he sprang to his feet and faced Beck, not realizing how he would nave appeared to an objective observer-as a prisoner before a judge, as a defendant pleading with a stern accuser.

But Tad Beck was well aware of this and it gave him immense satisfaction.

"Why don't you sit down Vance?"

Beck's tone was that of a compassionate man soothing an emotionally disturbed visitor.

Vance dropped automatically into his chair. He groped for control. "All right. Tell me."

"There is much we have to ignore in a community of this type," Beck said. "We have to take reasonable attitudes geared to today's morals. But a married woman instigating an affair with an inexperienced, impressionable youth of impressive background sets up a situation that has to be dealt with."

More double talk. Vance continued to grope. What was the man saying? What was he driving at? The other day he'd referred to a situation involving Mrs. Crale. This must be the same deal.

Vance suddenly went cold as the only obvious inference came to him. Jimmie!

Was that it? Was Jimmie involved with a married woman?

"It's not true! Not a word of it. My son wouldn't be stupid enough to do a thing like that!"

"I didn't say anything about your son." Tad Beck's eyes glowed. This was food and drink to him, the ultimate in vengeance. This was the same man who had publicly insulted him, who'd shown open contempt that afternoon in front of Tom Carey and Ralph Wellington.

Now payment was being exacted. "I was referring to your wife, Vance." One shock after another all day, each piled brutally on the one before, had dulled Vance. His reactions were blurred and fuzzy.

"What about my wife?"

"In plain terms-words I shrink from using-Mrs. Hager has been carrying on an extramarital affair with a boy named Rafe Kolsky-you no doubt recall him."

"That's impossible."

"I wish it were. They rendezvous in an old deserted mansion up in the Cutoff. They have been seen entering and leaving. There are several entirely reliable witnesses. As a result of this affair, my son, in no way involved, was murderously assaulted by a man who lives in Cow Hollow. There has already been violence. There could be more. Word of the affair has already gotten around."

Vance Hager sat there stunned. It was as though he were another person, one who had been handed the key piece to a puzzle. He'd dropped that piece into place and the other mysterious pieces now meshed into an overall picture.

The call from Bernard Kolsky to Spencer Penrose ... Kolsky's motives could not be known, but they fitted a pattern. When a man of Kolsky's caliber is menaced, he strikes back with every weapon at his command.

"Who contacted Bernard Kalsky?"

"I did." Tad Beck's voice turned righteous and self-justifying. "It seemed to me Mr. Kolsky had to be given the opportunity to protect his reputation. My calling him, too, I thought, might serve a double purpose. He will probably see to it that his son leaves Rebel Hill. That will at least put an end to the affair and give gossip a chance to die out."

Vance was again on his feet. He was not the same as he had been. His face had turned pale. It was set and cold. When he spoke he moved only his lips and this, it appeared, with great effort.

"You sanctimonious hypocrite! You deliberately wrecked my life!"

"Now just a minute! I had every right to do what I did!"

"You swine!"

Vance Hager spoke as though he were seeing something loathsome for the first time.

"A man has a right to protect himself and his community."

"You're like something that just crawled out from under a rock."

"Were you doing anything to protect your standing in the community? No. Were you-"

"You destroyed my home. You ruined my children's chances!"

"You're hedging, Vance. You're alibiing yourself. If a man doesn't know what his own wife is-"

Vance Hager lunged at Beck. Murderous fingers closed over Beck's throat and clawed into the deep folds of flesh.

"Hager! You're mad-!"

Vance now spoke from between clenched teeth.

"You're not fit to live! You're a menace to every decent person on Rebel Hill!"

Beck, overwhelmed by the murderous attack, twisted away and went to the floor. Vance drove a knee into his bulging stomach, using it as leverage for the grip on Beck's throat.

His hands went deeper. Beck's arms flailed and his eyes bulged in pain and terror.

"Vance! Hager! Stop it! Stop, man!"

Beck's voice was a croak. Then, with strength born of sheer desperation, he hurled Vance off. He gasped for breath as Vance came staggering to his feet.

Beck managed to get to his knees in time to meet Vance's next lunge. But instead of throttling this tormentor, Vance smashed a fist straight into his face. Beck squalled and went over on his back. Stunned, he kicked out in blind desperation and caught Vance in the kneecap with a flailing foot.

Vance reacted to the pain. He staggered, and it was probably this reaction that kept him from being a murderer. He dropped astride Beck's vast bulk and began hitting him in the face, smashing his fists into the ugly symbol of his own destruction.

But the killer urge had been broken. With a final sob of frustration and rage, he arose from his crouch and staggered away.

Beck sat up, pawing at the blood on his face. "You murderer," he slobbered. "You killer!"

Vance Hager looked at him as though he were a piece of furniture. Then he staggered from the house-a man who had no place to go.

After Vance had gone, Tad Beck went through his bitterest hour. It had turned out wrong. He'd visualized Hager as a man who would come begging for forgiveness; a victim upon whom he could heap a full measure of revenge.

As he wiped blood from his face and lumbered toward the telephone, he wondered how he could have been so mistaken. He'd usually been such a good judge of people.

It made no difference, though. He'd see Vance in jail for assault with intent to kill.

But he did not pick up the phone. He stared at it for a full minute. Then he knew he was not going to use it. He was not going to do anything.

He was afraid to. He no longer wanted to be part of something that had gotten out of control.

He sat down heavily and tried to think. Was he vulnerable? Could Vance get back at him? He tried to analyze the situation logically, but he was not up to it at the moment.

He needed rest.

He sat there alone, searching for the fruits of vengeance in order to enjoy them. But they eluded him and after a while he got up and went to bed.