The first rays of the morning sun brought me upright with a start. I looked at the clock. It showed a quarter to seven. Kerman slept soundly. I heard no sound except the gentle beating of the surf on the low ridge of coral stone that made a natural harbour at the end of the garden.
I swung my legs off the settee and walked on to the terrace.
The two Chinese gardeners were at work, staring at the umbrella standard. The flamingoes were grouped around the lily pond, hunting up some breakfast On a balcony at the far end of the terrace, Serena Dedrick, still in her black slacks and her short fur coat, sat staring out to sea. There was a 1ost look on her white face: a look that told me no one had tele-phoned while we slept, and no one had sent him back.
I walked quietly into the lounge and left her alone with her misery.
CHAPTER THREE
I
THE next four days were a sustained and shattering bedlam that shook the usually placid, unruffled calm and quiet of Orchid City to its foundations.
When the news broke that five hundred thousand dollars had been paid to a gang of kidnappers and the kidnapped man had not been returned, the country as far north as San Francisco and as far south as Los Angeles sprang into action.
For the first few hours, Brandon had it all his own way, and revelled in the commotion. He began to organize what was to be the greatest man-hunt of the century, but he had scarcely begun to issue orders when a dozen sharp-eyed Federal agents descended on him from San Francisco and snatched away his command.
State troopers, regular Army units, aircraft, television and the radio were pressed into service.