Chapter 4

It occurred to Mark as he climbed out of the Thunderbird that during his whole conversation with Dr. Sanders he'd neglected to ask about the gray-eyed man. Back in Devil's Bend, when he'd first seen him, Mark felt he was somehow connected with Peace Haven. Maybe Dr. Sanders would have gotten around to him later. Mark felt a moment of uneasiness. Perhaps he should have followed through on Sanders-searched for him-made sure he was all right. But he'd felt, and still did, that even in anger they would not have harmed the only doctor in the area.

They? Who were they? He wondered momentarily, and then turned his attention to the gray-eyed man.

"I'm Gaylord Welch," the latter said. "I am The Disciple here at Peace Haven."

The Disciple. Of course. Patience White had mentioned him. Mark extended his hand warily, but Welch ignored it. He looked coldly at Mark and came righj to the point. "As you'll discover," he said, "I don't believe in playing verbal cat and mouse or beating around the bush, Mr. Hanes.

"Nor in ordinary politeness?"

"Call it by whatever name you choose-I suggest you turn around and go back where you came from. You're putting your nose into something that doesn't concern you."

"A helpless girl waylaid and abused most certainly does concern me."

"That is the concern of the Haven."

"So long as we're being frank, I don't think the Haven is doing a very good job in that direction."

"Are you in a position to judge?"

"Perhaps-perhaps not. At any rate, I've come for an audience with your Prophet."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. However, I've been instructed to make you welcome. So you may enter and stay as long as you please."

Welch turned and moved toward the gate. Mark fell into step beside him. The bearded giant pushed the gate open and made a clumsy, thoroughly ridiculous bow as they passed him. Welch ignored the man completely.

"If The Prophet insisted that I be made welcome, why will he not see me?"

"Did I say it was The Prophet's order?"

At this point, Mark got the feeling that Welch caught himself up sharply, as if his dislike for Mark had loosened his tongue beyond the boundaries of safety. But perhaps this was only an illusion.

"This is Peace Haven," Welch said somewhat unnecessarily. "A colony of hope and good will."

The place was deserted so far as Mark could tell. From his vantage point he saw rows of neat log cabins. The walks were wide and clean and the place had been tastefully landscaped. There were neatly-clipped lawns with well-tended flower beds and decorative bushes.

The general plan was circular, the cabins facing a central plaza upon which stood several larger buildings. The one in the exact center was much different than the rest. Obviously a temple of some sort, it was white but from the distance, Mark could not tell whether it was of stone or painted wood.

"A beautiful place," Mark said.

"Thank you," Welch answered, but in a tone that he didn't give a damn whether Mark liked it or not.

"Where is everybody? The Haven looks deserted."

"The faithful are all in the dining hall," Welch said. "The evening meal. Are you hungry?"

Mark could have eaten but he decided not to accept the curt invitation. "No thank you. I don't plan to stay long. If I'm not able to see The Prophet this trip, I'll-"

"The Prophet lives in seclusion. You might as well understand that right now. He grants no audiences."

Mark sensed that Welch was spoiling for an argument; that he was trying deliberately to get under Mark's skin. Perversely, he decided not to accommodate him. Mark said, "Hmmm. I wonder if he'd respond to a supoena?"

Welch's face darkened instantly. He controlled himself with obvious efforts and said, "In every great movement there are the devil's advocates-people who fight good because of their own evil nature. At Peace Haven we are supposed to forgive. I find it difficult, but I have only good will for you."

Mark almost laughed in Welch's face but any reply he formed went unspoken because at that moment the dining hall doors opened and those termed "the faithful" by Welch, filed out. This was an entrancing sight; a stream of beautiful young women clad in gowns that stopped mid-thigh. They wore thonged sandals, their bodies were tanned a rich gold, and while some were more beautiful than others, even the meanest would have been the target of male eyes on any street in the world.

But there was no joy or happiness there, nor-as Mark sensed-any inner peace. There was instead an invisible but potent blanket of sullen resentment. The exit was orderly, the girls moved in various directions single-file. But all eyes were on a half dozen bearded men who superintended the departure from the dining hall. A man stood beside each of the diverging paths that led toward the various cabins and it seemed to Mark that the girls cringed as they passed by.

Then one of the men reached out and took a girl by the arm. He drew her out of the file and waited. Another man made a selection, then a third. When the files had passed, six girls had been selected. As the balance of the faithful moved toward the cabins, all eyes were turned in the direction of the half-dozen girls who now stood in a sullen, silent group.

One of the men, evidently a leader, spoke in tones too low for Mark to catch and four of the men went about their business, the other one accompanying the bevy of girls along with the leader.

They approached one of the central buildings in the same sullen silence. They entered and the door closed.

The whole operation was so fraught with invisible tension that Mark involuntarily expelled a breath when it was over. But if he expected to be enlightened as to the nature of the ceremony he was disappointed because Welch made no reference to it whatever. Welch turned to the right and walked rapidly and Mark had to increase his pace sharply to keep from being left behind. Striding along as though in pent-up anger, Welch turned in abruptly and opened the door to one of the cabins.

"This will be yours for as long as you want to stay."

Mark stepped inside. The place was neat as a pin, tastefully, almost gaily furnished with bright chintz curtains and comfortable looking hooked rugs on a well-waxed floor.

Obviously there was no austerity in the Peace Haven way of life. Mark almost commented on this, but instead said, "Thanks very much." He was beginning to enjoy the discomfort he was causing his guide.

Welch went to the door and pointed. "That building there is the common bath. You'll find all the facilities."

"Thanks again."

"Please stop thanking me," Welch said acidly. "If it had been left to me you wouldn't have gotten past the gate."

He left without another word. Mark checked the room again and then threw himself down on the bed to reassess the situation. To say it was weird seemed an understatement. He'd been ushered into this strange place called Peace Haven by a man who seemed to be authority but obviously took orders from someone else. The Prophet himself? Perhaps, but then why did The Prophet refuse to see him? And why would he accept a stranger and give him the run of the premises when, if he knew anything at all, he knew that stranger was at best a force of agitation and disruption?

None of it made much sense.

Mark's mind went back to the moment he first saw Patience White being attacked. Much had happened since then; much to dwarf the incident. Mark felt guilty at this thought-almost as though he were being disloyal to the girl. But he cancelled out this guilt by telling himself that until he got to the bottom of a few other things, nothing could be done to avenge the outrage on Patience White. He wondered where Patience was. He hadn't seen her in the lines of girls emerging from the dining room.

Then another angle struck him. All the girls at Peace Haven were in uniform so to speak. But Patience, at the time of the attack, had been wearing quite ordinary clothing. And if this place were what it seemed to be, would they let an inmate-if that was the correct term-wander off several miles to pick berries?

Mark's mind circled the many questions again and again. After a while he wearied of the merry-go-round and remembered that he'd been given the run of the place. Why not take advantage of it?

He went out onto the small lawn that fronted his cabin and stood there a few minutes, half expecting-no matter what Welch said-that one of the bearded men would pop up and order him back into his cabin. But none appeared.

There were girls singly and in groups moving aimlessly about, and Mark sensed himself the center of interest. He was being discussed, eyed, and giggled over until he felt a little uncomfortable. Also, a little hungry.

Wondering about his chances of getting fed, he moved across the lawns to the dining hall. The door was closed but unlocked. Mark entered and saw three long tables apparently already set for breakfast. He looked about uncertainly until a door opened and a blonde girl came out into the main hall.

She wore the short, toga-like costume of Peace Haven but looked a trifle ridiculous in the tall cook's cap she was wearing. Otherwise she left nbthing to be desired. Her legs were long and tanned and shapely. The breasts that were hidden by the loose blouse of the costume lay heavy and enticing against the white cloth.

"You didn't have dinner with the others?" she asked. "I'm afraid I got here a little late."

"If you come into the kitchen I'll get you something."

"You're very kind."

He followed her into a spotless kitchen where she set a place at a small table. "Everything is put away. Would ham and eggs be all right?"

"That would be fine," he said, and hoped they'd turn out better than the last ones he'd had at Sis Bennett's.

The girl worked expertly with her back to Mark. At one point she bent over lithely-from the hips with her knees stiff like a trained model-and the back of the thigh-length skirt came up above her posterior. Underneath she wore a pair of skin-tight panties, quite thin, and under the tautness was a revelation that Mark viewed objectively: the rich, luscious flesh of the girl's buttocks with the panties tight to the crotch, so tight and transparent that the actual flesh was revealed in all is firm, exciting warmth. The soft, blonde badge of lush woman hood formed a cushion that seemed eager to escape its prison.

Then the girl straightened and Mark felt a little guilty at being stirred. Only a short time before, he had found himself wearied and disillusioned by such things.

A few minutes later the girl brought him ham and eggs. As she bent to place them before him, the front of her blouse fell open at the low neck and he saw her smooth, tanned breasts with ample brown nipples on the seats of deeper brown. They hung so invitingly close that the smell of them was in his nostrils.

He thought the girl trembled a little as she set his plate down, but then she drew away and the moment was over. As he picked up his fork, she stood watching. Mark said, "Sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Mark Hanes."

"My name is Linda Barnes." She flushed. "I'll get your coffee.

She brought it and again stood by uncertainly. This made him nervous. He smiled at her and asked, "Won't you have a cup of coffee with me?"

As though she'd only waited to be asked, she went to the stove, poured herself a cup and sat down opposite him. She sat complete silence, staring at him.

He smiled again. "This ham is delicious."

Without returning the smile, she replied, "All the food is very good here."

"Peace Haven is a beautiful place."

"I guess it is. I was surprised when you came in. We very seldom have visitors in the daytime."

What did that indicate? The question leaped instantly into Mark's mind. But, perversely, he decided he'd been asking himself too many questions. Maybe he was becoming chronically suspicious. He said, "I wasn't really invited. I just drove up to the gate and Mr. Welch-"

The name seemed to frighten her. "The Disciple," she cut in positively.

"-The Disciple was gracious enough to welcome me. All in all, I find the place overwhelming."

"It's kept very clean," Linda Barnes said, but there was no enthusiasm in her voice.

"Have you been here long?"

"Eighteen months. I have another year."

The same prison-like response as Patience White had given him.

"Do you like it here?"

She shrugged. "It's all right."

He'd hoped to start the girl talking but he was having no success. Now he wondered what to say. "The cabin I'm in is most attractive. Finding such nicely furnished places out here in the deep woods was a real surprise."

"I saw you standing in front of your cabin. I was hoping you'd come over." She had beautiful white teeth and if it had not been for the look of sadness and resignation on her face, it would have been quite lovely.

"You flatter me."

"I was lonely. It gets lonesome in here."

"Do you have to stay here all the time?"

"I leave in two hours and go to the bath house. Then I have to go right to my room. I'm doing penance.

"You certainly don't look like a sinner to me."

"I disobeyed. The man was fat--ugly-" A look of disgust came into her eyes, succeeded immediately by one of fear. She sprang up from the table. "I have to lay napkins," she said. "I'll come back and wash your dishes when you've finished." With that she hurried out into the dining hall and Mark could hear the rustle of paper.

"The man was fat-ugly-" He certainly wasn't an alarmist for wondering about that statement. What on earth was going on in this strange forest refuge? Mark finished his meal and went out into the main hall. Liuud tJarnes was at the far end of one of the tables laying napkins.

"The ham and eggs were excellent," he called.

"You're a wonderful cook."

She went on with what she was doing as she called back.

"You can have more for breakfast if you like."

"It's a date."

He hesitated, wanting to approach her. But when she went on with her work he turned and went out into the plaza.

Darkness had fallen and all the faithful had gone inside. He stood looking at the white shape of the temple-like center building. Three windows glowed yellow, standing out because all else was dark. All except the rear windows of the dining hall. What mysteries could be solved in that white, silent building? He wondered, thought of trying to enter it under the cover of darkness and decided to wait. No use pressing his luck.

As he stood there he heard the sound of an approaching car. He stepped back into deeper shadows and after a while headlights gleamed and the car came through the gate beyond which he'd parked the Thunderbird. He watched its approach. It threaded the circular road and stopped beside a small door in the white building-a door its headlights had previously picked out.

The headlights dimmed and vanished and in the total darkness, Mark heard the shuffle of footsteps. The door opened and several human forms-he missed the actual count-slipped through in single file. Then the door closed.

Mark leaned against the wall of the dining hall and wondered what his next step should be. Earlier it had seemed that a trip to Peace Haven was not only in order but that it would solve many riddles. Perhaps it had been in order, but all he'd done was add many more questions in his own mind.

Was he at a dead end here? Maybe he should go back to Devil's Bend and find out what had happened to Dr. Sanders. As he stood there, Mark felt that he was about the most clumsy and inept investigator since the art of investigation began. He'd started out in a fine froth of indignation-an outraged knights storming around to correct a great evil. Now here he was standing in the dark in the heart of the enemy's camp being ignored. He wasn't bothering or endangering any entrenched evil interests. Nobody was afraid of him. He was being treated with contempt.

This made him mad, but he didn't know exactly what to do about it. He felt suddenly like opening his mouth and yelling, "Just what the hell is going on around here?" But that was silly. So he went back to his cabin, dropped down on the bed and scowled at the ceiling. Tomorrow. That was it, wait until tomorrow and then insist on seeing The Prophet. If they believed in non-violence they certainly wouldn't clobber him. Ihey might throw him out of the place on his ear but he wasn't getting anywhere anyhow.

With this determination in mind, he dozed....

... To awaken later with a sudden feeling of Where am I and what's going on?

He recalled where he was, but nothing was going on. The dead silence was not even broken by the booming of frogs nor the chirping of crickets. He'd heard that on certain nights, when conditions are just right, this phenomenon of utter silence occurs. He got off the bed, yawned, and undressed. He realized he'd been without a bath for some time. The dirt on his legs-dust picked up while he lay unconscious-rolled off his skin under the pressure of his palms. He wondered if he could find the bathhouse in the dark, decided to try. Slipping on his shorts and shoes, he went out into the night.

The bathhouse wasn't hard to find. Its long, squat shape loomed before him. He found the door, opened it and fumbled for the light switch just inside, feeling that in all sanity there had to be one.

But he found instead a soft hand that touched his arm and then drew him inside.

"Don't turn on the light. Please, Mr. Hanes, or an acolyte will come and make me go to my cabin."

"Linda Barnes!"

"Yes. I'd just turned out the light and opened the door when your door opened. I was hoping you'd come here."

"Filthy," Mark muttered in confusion. "Needed a bath."

"I don't care. J don't care at all!"

It was an odd remark, but odder still was the tension in the girl's voice. And far more startling was the manner in which she took his hand and laid it palm down against her breast; pressed it against her breast until the nipple stiffened and rose to kiss his fingers.

"Just a moment-"

"Please, mister! Please! I'm hungry-hungry--can't you feel it? I've been doing penance for such a long time. I need a man! Please!"

She was on her knees with her arms clutched around his legs. She pressed her face and mouth into his body and he felt the hot breath she poured out against his skin, felt the quick intake of breath as she drew him into her nostrils.

'Please, mister!"

Never before had Mark heard a girl beg a man to take her. Even in his wildest sessions with Candy there had been nothing like this. .

"I'll do anything you wish-anything? I want you! Just take me, let this awful fire run out of me!"

"Linda, for heaven's sake-!"

He put his hands under her arms and raised her to her feet, but she pushed her head forward and her hut tongue slid up his body as he raised her. Good God.' He'd fled halfway across the country to escape ono nymphomaniac, and run smack into another!

Her body'was against him now, her breasts hard on nis, her hips grinding and pushing her belly against his loins. Her mouth found his, forced it open and her tongue drove in to find a response from his own.

And there was response. A stone man would have responded, and for all his sex weariness Mark was not a stone man. He drew her to him even harder. He held her face hard against his with one hand while he slid the other down her back and onto the exciting bulge of her buttocks.

Desire welled in him. The lower hand pressed in and then pushed sharply-perhaps in deep-seated protest that women could not let him alone, perhaps with a subconscious desire to punish her while wanting her, wanting her most fiercely by now.

A quickly smothered yelp of pain was his reward. Then, as though afraid she would drive him away, Linda Barnes pressed the soft, lush glory of her womanhood even harder against him. Her tongue, playing frantically in ms ear, withdrew and she whispered; its an right! Do it again! Harder-deeper if you want to! I don't mind. It feels good! Only please love me!"

He picked her up in his arms and she whispered, "No! Let me lead you. There's a rubber pad over here."

So he put her down and she led him to the right until his feet touched the pad. Then she pressed him down and as he came to his knees she swung lithely around, pulled him on top of her. "You're wonderful! You're beautiful!" she exclaimed in a choked whisper. "You beautiful, beautiful man!"

Thoroughly aroused now, Mark wanted to see the beauty he held in his arms. He'd never cared for love in the dark. But as he half-rose, the girl pulled him back. Seemingly aware of what he had in mind she whispered, "No! Please don't! I'll die of shame if I have to look at you. In the dark I can be this way, but in the light-I'd-I'd die!"

"All right, darling," he said in a choked whisper of his own. "All right." Again he took her into his arms.

But she slipped away. "Not yet-please-not yet." She pressed him down on his back and turned her hot, wet body. He felt the touch of her ravening tongue and shivered at the contact, at the shameless, mad need for his flesh. He shivered again, put his mouth upon her body and they lay for a while, quivering, their arms wrapped tight around each other. Somehow, Mark found an affinity with Linda Barnes' need. He understood the pain and shame this wanton act, this begging, had cost her. He realized he was not dealing with a whore, a tramp, that here was a sweet, sensitive girl in the grip of forces too great for her to control.

And he rose to the need. He kissed her very gently. "You're lovely," he said.

She snuggled into his arms like a grateful kitten. For a moment or two her own lips were soft and gentle too. Then she pressed her mouth against his ear and whispered, "I love you. I love you very much. I'll prove how much I love you."

He was decent enough and understanding enough to take these words at their true value, interpreting them in the terms they really represented. "I love you, too, my darling."

With a contented little laugh she turned again into a wanton, and with the justification and permission of that tender moment they took each other like two sex-crazed animals.

Again Linda Barnes' hungry mouth explored his body shamelessly. Deep went her tongue and her fingers, bringing him a pain that was not pain. He replied in kind and felt her body cringe and writhe from the punishment of love.

Then, almost angrily, he threw her on her back, pulled her legs cruelly apart and lowered his weight upon her. He was not gentle now. He was so rough that she cried out in pain against the palm of the hand he pressed over her mouth. Then her cry was transformed into a mumur of words!

"Oh, yes-yes! Now! Now! Oh, now-yes-yes-yes!"

Again the cry and the wild wrenching of her body until nerve and flesh could stand it no longer, nature took pity on them and burned away the core of desire in a flame of pure mutual ecstasy.

And it was over....

Linda Barnes lay in Mark's arms and cried softly. He was hardly aware of her tears for a while, they seemed a part of the exquisitely perfect whole-the pattern of fragile perfection they had just completed.

But now he turned her face in the darkness "Hold it. Take it easy, darling. It wasn't that bad was it?"

"Please don't call me darling," she sobbed.

"Of course not. If you don't want me to."

"It's not that. The word should mean something. It should" not be cheapened by-by this."

"Will you stop it?" he said gently.

"You think I'm a tramp. You think I'm-wanton."

He stilled his urge to laugh. "I don't think anything of the kind." tier hand gently brushed his cheek. "You're wonderful."

"nave it your way, but I'm also very curious. I want to ask you some questions. That is, if you think it's sate. I don't want to Keep you here too long."

She seemed to recall where she-was and he felt her Doay become tense. "The acolyte. He will come. They win punish me."

"men you'd better slip out. You can certainly get past mm in the dark."

She got up and moved away from him and he knew she was gatnering her clothing. Then she returned and her hand tound nis. "Will you come with me?"

"Would it be safe?"

"Safer than here. I don't think the acolyte would enter my cabin. It's against the rules. He'll only flash his light, and we can hear him coming and you could hide...."

They crossed the dark lawns hand in hand. Mark was struck by the unreality of the situation; walking naked, hand in hand, with a naked girl. Unreal!

But the cabin was real enough. And the bed Linda Barnes led him to. They stretched out on its length and Linda Barnes snuggled up to him contentedly, like a child, without passion. "Stay with me-please-for a while."

He was certainly going to stay until he got some answers. Devoutly hoping she had them, he said, "How did you get here, Linda?"

"I stole some money."

"You were in financial trouble?"

"No. If you mean was I framed, I wasn't. I didn't have a sick; mother or a crippled brother or anything like that. I just wanted some pretty clothes and I worked in place where I handled money and I thought I could get away with it."

""I didn't mean to pry."

"You aren't prying. You asked me and I told you. My boss hied a complaint, there was a trial and I got three years."

"Was it a first offense?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd think the sentence was pretty harsh."

"I had it coming, I guess. Anyhow, then The Disciple turned up. He-"

"Welch, that is?"

"Yes."

Mark was struck by the fact that both Patience White and Linda Barnes had been conditioned to speak in terms and titles synonomous with the religious aspects of Peace Haven. Was this a forced conditioning, he wondered? Or did they actually have a basic respect for the cult?

"He turned up from somewhere and talked to me in the judge's private office with the judge there. He told me about Peace Haven, and how nice it was, and what it would do for me. The judge said he would put me on probation if I signed an agreement to stay here for as long as I'd be in jail."

He was very conscious of the warmth and desirability of the body lying so close to his own. One of his hands was on Linda's thigh, and the other on her breast. The breast was placid and soft but he knew that with a little urging, Linda would again respond. He was careful to do nothing in this direction. In fact he would have gotten up and put space between them, but he sensed that the intimacy would be broken and thus their ability to communicate might cut off.

"How has it been, here?" he asked.

"It's a terrible place," she said simply.

He decided to arbitrarily challenge this. "Why, it's a beautiful place. The cabins are neat and modern. You said yourself that the food was good. How could it possibly be as terrible as you say?"

"That's the way they want it to look. Rumors of what it's really like get out and investigators come. They see it the way you do and feel the same way. So there's never any real investigation."

"All right. Exactly what makes it so awful?"

"The girls have-to entertain men. They have to do what men ask them to. Otherwise, they're punished. The girls have to pose for pictures, too. Filthy, dirty stuff."

"Does Welch know about this?"

"How could he help knowing? He runs the place." . "What about The Prophet? I'm sure he wouldn't tolerate-"

"Nobody ever sees The Prophet. I'm not sure there actually is one."

"You've never seen him?"

"Nobody has seen him. At least none of the girls I've ever talked to."

"Who are the men the girls have to entertain?"

"Big shots. Politicians-judges-men like that."

The ramifications of evil hidden behind the neat lawns and cabins of Peace Haven broadened in Mark's mind. "Were you actually faced with a situation in which you refused to have sex relations with a man-did it become a face-to-face matter, or were you asked to do so?"

Mark felt a tensing of the soft body in his arms. "They pushed me into a room and there he was-a fat, hideous man. He grabbed me and I screamed. Nobody came, though, and I fought him off. He threw me on the bed and hurt me terribly. He wanted me to do-something, and he tried to force me but I bit him and ran out of the room. They sent me back to my cabin and then told me I had to do penance."

"Who told you this-Welch?"

"No. The Disciple never speaks to any of us personally. The acolytes relay his messages."

It seemed an odd contrast to Mark that Linda Barnes could be so avid for sex in one situation and fight it so violently in another. But he didn't give the thought much attention. He said; "When I was driving out here the first time, I happened along when three men-hillbillies, from their appearance-were attacking a girl. Do you know Patience White?"

"Yes. But I haven't seen her for a couple of days."

"The three men raped her near a place called Blue Hollow Bluff a few miles from here. She was afraid to say anything and I talked to the Sheriff in Devil's Bend. He would do nothing."

"I haven't heard anything about that. But then I wouldn't hear. I think though, that she might have been sent there."

"Sent there!"

"Yes. The men you saw were probably Kelps. They hate Peace Haven."

"Why?"

"I don't know, they just do. And they're strong enough to make trouble. I think The Disciple buys them off."

"If Patience White was sent to them, it was a weird way to pay blackmail. Why didn't they come here like your judges and politicians."

"I think maybe they're too smart for that. They're afraid of a trick. I know some of the politicians had their pictures taken with the girls."

Blackmail? No doubt about it, a new reason for Peace Haven's invulnerability had come to the surface.

Quickly, Mark recapped his new-found knowledge. Taking what he'd learned as fact, Patience White had been sent to the Kelps as an offering-to stave off harrassment. The girls of Peace Haven were virtually prisoners; they were used as prostitutes and forced to pose for pornography. The cache in the cave was thus linked to the place. While the Disciple Gaylord Welch was definitely in evidence, the Prophet John Basford was pretty much of a phantom. Obviously there was or had been such a person because Dr. Sanders had his background. But did he still exist? And if so, why did he remain completely isolated?

All in all Mark sensed an unknown personality in the mysterious picture, an unknown master who deliberately remained hidden behind the scenes. Welch took orders from this person or these persons, but did so sullenly and resentfully. That meant he was held in line by fear. Therefore, the person was powerful. Mark ticked off names. Sheriff Tate? Fred Kelp? Dr. Sanders?

None of them seemed to fit the role.

He wondered about the pornography. He was unfamiliar with the commercial value of such stuff, but common sense told him there must have been a great deal of money in it if smoothly-working outlets were available.

Again came the nagging feeling that he had missed something; that something he should have taken as significant had gone over his head....

"Are you asleep?" Linda asked.

The words startled Mark. "No-oh, no, I was just thinking." One of his arms was numb from the weight of her body. He drew it out and flexed the muscles. "I think I'd better get back to my own cabin," he said.

"Kiss me first."

He drew her face to his and kissed her but it was a gentle embrace without passion on either side; a strangely satisfying moment of tenderness.

"Thank you for what you did," Linda whispered.

"You're very sweet."

"You're very wonderful...."

Back in his own cabin, he got into bed and stared open eyed at the ceiling for a long time. Then he drifted off to sleep....