“I don’t know that I would call her exactly calm,” I commented to Stocker and Rogers as Vivian Ellis disappeared from view. “Anybody whose hands shake like hers, and who throws away a cigarette after the first drag on it, isn’t calm.”
“Not exactly,” agreed Rogers. “Well, shall we go?”
We moved over to the cars. Morris Pine, who had stood with Otis Barton beside the ranger’s car, overhearing what was said, asked me who the woman was. I told him and he made a note of her name.
“How about hunting up Byers now?” suggested Stocker. “Of course. Wallace Lambert too,” Rogers replied. Lambert was the first to be encountered. For, as it happened, about half an hour later, when we were nearing Zabriskie Point, we saw him driving up the wash toward us in his desert-stained coupe. We flagged him dow
