The Mystery Megapack

covered his face with his trembling hands, and called upon God to have mercy upon him, to permit him to arrive in time!
    “Can’t your man drive faster?” he gasped. “My wife—alone there with—”
    The sheriff interrupted him harshly. “With the man whose rogue’s gallery photograph I just showed you? And you took him in, and hid him, and never told me—”
    “But I just said that he explained that it was imperative that his presence remain a secret! That you—the local police—”
    “That we were a lot of hick cops, I suppose,” put in Thomas. “That we would fall down on the case, and if we knew he was here would crab his game! Was that it? I thought so! Well, Weston, let me tell you something. While you have been sheltering a dangerous maniac, the hick cops went quietly ahead, got fingerprints, sent them on to Boston, and just got this man’s full record. A lifer from the Bedford Asylum for the criminally insane; escaped a month ago; lived only a few miles away from Fast Harbor as a lad, but not under the name he has used since. True, we haven’t got him yet; but he can’t elude us much longer. No wonder he fooled us, with you sheltering him every night!”
    “Days,” murmured the stricken Weston. “He never went out till after dark. And he told us what progress he was making. Only this morning showed us a necklace of gold beads—”
    “Which he himself stole from the Bronson woman! Just as he stole Teller’s credentials after murdering him and concealing his body in the swamp where only by the barest chance it would ever have been found!”
    “Don’t rub it in, now!” begged Weston. “Just hurry! If only God will let me find Annie alive—”
    The harsh lines faded a little from Thomas’ face. He shook the other’s arm with rough kindliness. “Pull yourself together, man! He’s far too cunning to touch her. Why, you’re the best bet he has! Safe and snug at your place, he can sneak out nights and rob and assault and murder to his heart’s content. And we are already driving twice as fast as it’s safe to do.”
    After a moment he added: “I must say, though, that you haven’t shown that sound judgment I gave you credit for! I’m a countryman, and there’s a lot about crooks that I don’t know. But after all, I’m sheriff of this county, and in full charge. Wallis wouldn’t dream of sending an operative up here without having him report to me. The fact that he didn’t report either to me or to headquarters yesterday, worried me; and my men have been looking for Teller as much as they have for Schmidt. That’s what your man calls himself when he is among friends.”
    Weston had no heart for a reply. What a cursed fool he had been! To swallow the story of a lunatic, and to aid and abet him at the very time he was carrying on his reign of terror! That story about finding the gold beads in Jason Hodge’s house; why, anybody with the slightest ability to estimate character would know that Jason was the salt of the earth! While Teller—Schmidt—he was too smooth, too plausible. At that, he seemed more the type who went in for phony stock promotions than for red-handed murder! Probably these spells came on him from time to time; perhaps between his outbreaks he was perfectly normal; didn’t even recall them! But Frank was in a state of frenzy meantime; for, suppose one of the attacks of homicidal mania would seize him this very day? Alone there, with Annie!
    An exclamation from the sheriff caused him to open anguished eyes, to look up. Thomas was pointing far up the road, where a slim woman’s figure could be made out, running stumblingly toward them, waving her hands.
    “There she is! That’s Annie now!” shouted Weston, and would have leaped from the fast-moving car had the sheriff not clamped an iron hand about his biceps.
    “Think you can outrun us? Get a grip on yourself! We’ll be up with her in thirty seconds!”
    The brakes were applied, and with a screech and a smell of hot rubber, they came to a stop beside the panting woman. She was bareheaded, breathless; but despite the look of terror in her eyes, she was unhurt.
    “Where is he? Did he get away?” demanded Thomas, the instinct of the man-hunter uppermost.
    “N-no! He’s locked up—” Annie had time for nothing more before Frank leaped to the roadside and crushed her in his arms, sobbing like a child.
    Almost indignantly she pushed him away. “Frank! Behave yourself! This isn’t a petting party,