The Kiwi Target

watched a sheepdog demonstration and enjoyed the elaborate morning tea that was served as though the fee-paying tourists were invited guests.
    The jet boat ride was a dramatic experience as it skimmed close to overhanging rocks at high speed and performed some of the startling maneuvers of which it was capable. When it spun around in a way impossible for an ordinary craft, some of the passengers screamed, as they always did.

    Sergeant Bill Woodley, who was in charge of the small police detachment in Queenstown, was young for his rank, but he had earned it through efficient performance. On the same morning that Peter took the steamer excursion, Sergeant Woodley had a brief conversation with Louise McHugh.
    “When I picked him up at the airport, I didn’t know that his name was Peter Ferguson,” she told him. “He didn’t identify himself, and I didn’t ask.”
    “Quite understood. What was your impression of him?”
    “At first I didn’t like him at all; he was very short with me. Then on the way in he asked me some questions about Queenstown—what kind of a place it was and if there were any theaters here.”
    “I see. Would you say that they were casual tourist inquiries, or something more?”
    “Neither one; he was just trying to make conversation. Then, very nicely, he apologized. I can’t remember anybody else doing that. Of course I thought much better of him then.”
    “Suppose you met again and he asked you for a date.”
    Louise understood just what Bill Woodley meant. “I might,” she said.
    The sergeant next stopped at the Mountaineer Establishment. “Mr. Ferguson is a good guest,” the manager told him. “He conducts himself well, and he’s considerate of the staff.”
    “From your observation, do you think he knows?”
    “I doubt it. If you’d asked me, I’d have said it was a coincidence.”
    Woodley left with a policeman’s inherent dislike of coincidences still in his mind. He returned to the police office and rang through to Jack McHugh up at his station. The two men knew each other well, so McHugh spoke with candor.
    “I liked the chap. Not stuffy, not impressed with himself, and kept quiet until I spoke to him. I can’t be sure, Bill, but I gathered that either he doesn’t know or he’s not the right man. It could be either one.”
    Bill Woodley thanked him, gave the usual injunction about not mentioning any part of the conversation to anyone, and made some additional notes on his pad. He then phoned in a report covering what he had learned. He carefully refrained from offering any opinion of his own, but he still didn’t like coincidences.

CHAPTER 6

    It was a little after eight-thirty that evening when Ray O’Malley rang through to the Mountaineer Establishment and asked for Peter Ferguson. Since there was no phone in his room, he had to be called down to the lobby, where a private booth was placed at his disposal.
    “Mr. Ferguson,” O’Malley said, “I must begin by apologizing to you for the inconvenience I know I’ve put you through. I wouldn’t have done it if there’d been any alternative.”
    Peter was quick on the pick-up. “As a matter of fact, I’m very comfortable here, and Queenstown is a beautiful place. Pending our meeting, I don’t feel inconvenienced at all.”
    “Very generous of you to look at it that way. I appreciate it,” O’Malley said. “I believe I understand the purpose of your visit. You’re concerned about Mr. Bishop’s holding in Swarthmore and Stone. But I don’t know your exact position. Are you an attorney, Mr. Ferguson?”
    “No, I’m a lead engineer at S and S.”
    “And a stockholder?”
    “Yes, and I hold options for more.”
    “I see.” O’Malley’s tone changed a little. “Mr. Ferguson, the reason I called is to advise you that I’m almost hopelessly tied up for the next three or four days. I don’t like to be cavalier like this, but I don’t have any real choice.”
    “We’ve had similar situations,” Peter said. No matter what O’Malley was about to tell him, he had to stay on the man’s good side.
    O’Malley went on. “I’m afraid I’ve got to cancel our lunch on Saturday. I hope you understand. However, I will meet with you as soon as this crisis is over, I guarantee that.”
    “Understood,” Peter said, and then put his own oar in the water. “I’ll be glad to wait until you’re free. Meanwhile, can you give me two minutes of your time, right now, on the phone?”
    “Of