Two miles into the dark hills north of the Elsby city limits, Tremaine rounded a curve. The police car was parked on the shoulder beside the highway just ahead. He pulled off the road ahead of it and walked back. The door opened. A tall figure stepped out.
"What's your problem, mister?" a harsh voice drawled.
"What's the matter? Run out of signal?"
"What's it to you, mister?"
"Are you boys in touch with Grammond on the car set?"
"We could be."
"Mind if I have a word with him? My name's Tremaine."
"Oh," said the cop, "you're the big shot from Washington." He shifted chewing tobacco to the other side of his jaw. "Sure, you can talk to him." He turned and spoke to the other cop, who muttered into the mike before handing it to Tremaine.
The heavy voice of the State Police chief crackled. "What's your beef, Tremaine?"
"I thought you were going to keep your men away from Elsby until I gave the word, Grammond."