The car was close by when they came out, but Earl was gone. He had stopped the car, cut the lights, and walked back towards the big cabin without saying anything to me. He was still whistling, groping for some half-remembered tune. Wade climbed carefully into the back seat and I got in beside him. Dr. Verringer drove. If his jaw hurt badly and his head ached, he didn't show it or mention it. We went over the ridge and down to the end of the graveled drive. Earl had already been down and unlocked the gate and pulled it open. I told Verringer where my car was and he pulled up close to it. Wade got into it and sat silent, staring at nothing. Verringer got out and went round beside him. He spoke to Wade gently. "About my five thousand dollars, Mr. Wade. The check you promised me." Wade slid down and rested his head on the back of the seat. "I'll think about it." "You promised it. I need it." "Duress, the word is, Verringer, a threat of harm. I have protection now." "I fed and washed you," Verringer persisted. "I came in the night. I protected you, I cured you—for the time being, at least." "Not five grand worth," Wade sneered. "You got plenty out of my pockets." Verringer wouldn't let go. "I have a promise of a connection in Cuba, Mr. Wade. You are a rich man. You should help others in their need. I have Earl to look after. To avail myself of this opportunity I need the money. I will pay it back in full." I began to squirm. I wanted to smoke, but I was afraid it would make Wade sick. "Like hell you'd pay it back," Wade said wearily. "You won't live long enough. One of these nights Blue Boy will kill you in your sleep." Verringer stepped back. I couldn't see his expression, but his voice hardened. "There are more unpleasant ways to die," he said. "I think yours will be one of them." He walked back to his car and got into it. He drove in through his gates and was gone. I backed and turned and headed towards the city. After a mile or two Wade muttered: "Why should I give that fat slob five thousand dollars?" "No reason at all." "Then why do I feel like a bastard for not giving it to him?" "No reason at all." He turned his head just enough to look at me. "He handled me like a baby," Wade said. "He hardly left me alone for fear Earl would come in and beat me up. He took every dime I had in my pockets." "You probably told him to." "You on his side?" "Skip, it," I said. "This is just a job to me." Silence for a couple of miles more. We went past the fringe of one of the outlying suburbs. Wade spoke again. "Maybe I'll give it to him. He's broke. The property is foreclosed. He won't get a dime out of it. All on account of that psycho. Why does he do it?" "I wouldn't know." "I'm a writer," Wade said. "I'm supposed to understand what makes people tick. I don't understand one damn thing about anybody." I turned over the pass and after a climb the lights of the valley spread out endlessly in front of us. We dipped down to the highway north and west that goes to Ventura. After a while we passed through Encino. I stopped for a light and looked up towards the lights high on the hill where the big houses were. In one of them the Lennoxes had lived. We went on. "The turn-off is pretty close now," Wade said. "Or do you know it?" "I know it." "By the way, you haven't told me your name." "Philip Marlowe." "Nice name." His voice changed sharply, saying: "Wait a minute. You the guy that was mixed up with Lennox?" "Yeah." He was staring at me in the darkness of the car. We passed the last buildings on the main drag of Encino. "I knew her," Wade said. "A little. Him I never saw. Queer business, that. The law boys gave you the rough edge, didn't they?" I didn't answer him. "Maybe you don't like to talk about it," he said. "Could be. Why would it interest you?" "Hell, I'm a writer. It must be quite a story." "Take tonight off. You must be feeling pretty weak." "Okay, Marlowe. Okay. You don't like me. I get it." We reached the turn-off and I swung the car into it and towards the low hills and the gap between them that was Idle Valley. "I don't either like you or dislike you," I said. "I don't know you. Your wife asked me to find you and bring you home. When I deliver you at your house I'm through. Why she picked on me I couldn't say. Like I said, it's just a job." We turned the flank of a hill and hit a wider, more firmly paved road. He said his house was a mile farther on, on the right side. He told me the number, which I already knew. For a guy in his shape he was a pretty persistent talker. "How much is she paying you?&qu............