Over to the left the door to the bath was closed. Just as I reached it, I heard the doorbell ringing in the front of the house. I twisted at the knob; it was locked. I backed up and hit it the way I had the other one, but nothing gave. I tried again; a throw rug skidded under my feet and I fell against the door with the point of my shoulder. My breath was whistling in my throat from rage and frustration. I kicked the rug out of the way and lunged at it again. She screamed. I was backing up to hit it once more when I finally became conscious that the doorbell was ringing continuously now. Some vestige of sanity returned. Whoever was out there would hear the uproar and call the police. “I’ll be back!” I shouted through the door, and strode down the hall. When I switched on the porch light and yanked open the front door, I saw it was Mulholland, the beefy, handsome face looking mean under the shadow of his hat.

I was winded, and had to draw a breath before I could speak. “What do you want?”

“You,” he said curtly.

“What do you mean ‘you,’ you silly bastard?” I snapped. “If you’ve got some reason for leaning on that doorbell, let’s hear what it is.”

“I’m taking you in. Scanlon wants you.”

“What for?”

“Maybe you’ll find out when you get there.”

“Like hell. I’ll find out now.”

“Suit yourself.” There was an eager and very ugly light in the greenish eyes. “He told me to bring you in, but he didn’t say how. If you want to go in handcuffs, with a lump on your head, it’s all the same to me.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Is he there now?”

“He’s there.”

I turned abruptly and went down the hallway to the living room. He followed me and stood in the doorway. I dialed the sheriffs office, and while I was waiting I saw he was looking toward the dining-room door. About half the suitcase showed beyond the end of the sofa, though her purse was out of sight from where he stood. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, popped a match with his thumbnail the way he’d probably seen some tough type do it in the movies, and favored me with a nasty smile. “You wouldn’t have been thinking of running out, would you?”

I stared at him contemptuously without bothering to answer. It occurred to me he was probably itching for a chance to belt me one and that I wasn’t being very smart, but at the moment I was too full of rage to care. Scanlon answered the phone.

“Warren,” I said. “What’s this about wanting to see me?”

“That’s right.”

“What about?”

“Some questions I want to ask you.”

“All right. It probably hasn’t escaped your attention that I’ve lived in this town for 33 years, and there’s a good chance I could find the courthouse without help. When you want to see me, I’ve got a telephone.