CHAPTER 8The gate was heavy and the hinges ground in a kind of agony as I pushed it open. Mary Dane looked at the two cars and said nothing.
“Peter,” I said, “is in the hospital. He’s going to be all right, but I’d like him to stay there a while.”
“He was injured?”
“In a way,” I said. “I’ve brought his car back. He can get home from the hospital in a taxi.”
“Yes,” she said.
She was looking at the two cars, first at one and then the other.
“You’re quite remarkable,” she said. “Two cars at once—”
“I had some help,” I said.
“I’m glad of that.”
“I’ll just ease Peter’s car inside the gate, all right?”
“Of course.”
I went to Rinaldi’s car. The gun was a bad load in my pocket, and without thinking I pulled it out and tossed it onto the seat. Then I saw that Mary Dane was watching.
“Ex
