CHAPTER 18He brewed coffee, turned on Sibyl’s radio. It would be no use trying to get back to sleep.
He knew very well he shouldn’t have let her take that plane. But he realized, too, that nothing he could have said would have stopped her. She had arrived at the point where her sense of responsibility for Timmy’s return was greater than her concern for her sister-in-law; that must have been a hard choice for Sibyl to make.
By now the ponderous wheels of police machinery would be grinding out descriptions of Timmy, turning out data on Madame Marbola, clattering the official teletypes with queries about gypsies traveling with a snub-nosed, redheaded youngster in their big car. Was it barely possible that Sibyl, relying on intuition more than on logic, could get to Madame Marbola before the
