TWO

Amos Tarbell had just returned from the jail infirmary where the near-­drowned man was recovering when Hilda Cannon rocketed into his office again. She was more distraught than earlier, and had trouble speaking through her fresh anger. “I came home from lunch and saw that man in my garden! Without a stitch on his filthy body! Not down on the beach, but in front of me in my garden! And . . .” she let her voice peak to the height of her new anxiety, “. . . I can’t find Ruth or Becky anywhere! That man has raped them and killed them, Amos!” She was trying not to break into tears.

The sheriff came around his desk and held the woman’s shoulders. “Hildie, how could a man rape someone with his hands locked behind his back?”

Hope appeared in the woman’s twitching face. “He was handcuffed?”

“Handcuffed,” the sheriff repeated.

“But where are my girls, then? It’s almost two o’clock!”

Amos Tarbell sat down to the papers on his desk. “Visiting some friends, or out fishing, or bird-­watching.”

“I told them strictly to wait home till I got back from Beatrice Scott’s!”

The man said soothingly, “We’ll pick that fellow up. Don’t worry. Incidentally, did he talk to you or anything?”

“Come to think of it, yes, he did!”

The sheriff looked up. “What was that?”

“He said—” The woman thought for a moment to get it exact. “He said, ‘Take me to your sheriff.’ ”

Her words echoed in the office before they both burst into laughter. The creature from outer space had spoken.

Tarbell asked, “Well, why didn’t you bring him in?”

The woman coughed. “Me? A naked man?”

“You could have given him a blanket or a robe . . .”

“I suppose it was foolish,” the woman added. “I was just too upset.” She managed a dry smile. “It isn’t every day I find something like that in my garden . . .”

“I guess not,” the sheriff smiled back sympathetically.

Mrs. Cannon started out, her lips working with inner confusions. “I’ll ask around after Ruth and Becky.”

“I’m sure you’ll find them safe and sound,” Tarbell said.

When the door closed, he let out another blurt of laughter. That must have been the funniest damn most hilarious spectacle anywhere, anytime—that bearded fellow in front of none other than Mrs. Hilda Digges Cannon in his birthday suit. “Take me to your sheriff!” Tarbell slapped his desk in a paroxysm of delight and relief. If the one man had showed up, the other would. Ben Dorset had been foolish to bring up the question of the rats . . .

But when Amos Tarbell answered his ringing telephone, his laughter and his assurance faded fast.