Highways in Hiding | Page 8

of the details of the rambling
Harrison house, I could get more from my eyesight than from any sense
of perception. But even if they couldn't find a really dead area, the
Harrisons had done very well in finding one that made my sense of
perception ineffective. It was sort of like looking through a light fog,

and the closer I got to the house the thicker it became.
Just about the point where the dead area was first beginning to make its
effect tell, I came upon a tall, browned man of about twenty-four who
had been probing into the interior of a tractor up to the time he heard
my car. He waved, and I stopped.
"Mr. Harrison?"
"I'm Phillip. And you are Mr. Cornell."
"Call me Steve like everybody else," I said. "How'd you guess?"
"Recognized you," he said with a grin. "I'm the guy that pulled you
out."
"Thanks," I said, offering a hand.
He chuckled. "Steve, consider the hand taken and shook, because I've
enough grime to muss up a regiment."
"It won't bother me," I said.
"Thanks, but it's still a gesture, and I appreciate it, but let's be sensible.
I know you can wash, but let's shake later. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like a first-hand account, Phil."
"Not much to tell. Dad and I were pulling stumps over about a thousand
feet from the wreck. We heard the racket. I am esper enough to dig that
distance with clarity, so we knew we'd better bring along the block and
tackle. The tractor wouldn't go through. So we came on the double,
Dad rigged the tackle and hoisted and I took a running dive, grabbed
and hauled you out before the whole thing went Whoosh! We were both
lucky, Steve."
I grunted a bit but managed to nod with a smile.
"I suppose you know that I'm still trying to find my fiancée?"

"I'd heard tell," he said. He looked at me sharply. I'm a total blank as a
telepath, like all espers, but I could tell what he was thinking.
"Everybody is convinced that Catherine was not with me," I admitted.
"But I'm not. I know she was."
He shook his head slowly. "As soon as we heard the screech of brakes
and rubber we esped the place," he said quietly. "We dug you, of
course. But no one else. Even if she'd jumped as soon as that tree limb
came into view, she could not have run far enough to be out of range.
As for removing a bag, she'd have had to wait until the slam-bang was
over to get it out, and by the time your car was finished rolling, Dad
and I were on the way with help. She was not there, Steve."
#You're a goddam liar!#
Phillip Harrison did not move a muscle. He was blank telepathically. I
was esping the muscles in his stomach, under his loose clothing, for
that first tensing sign of anger, but nothing showed. He had not been
reading my mind.
I smiled thinly at Phil Harrison and shrugged.
He smiled back sympathetically, but behind it I could see that he was
wishing that I'd stop harping on a dead subject. "I sincerely wish I
could be of help," he said. In that he was sincere. But somewhere,
someone was not, and I wanted to find out who it was.
The impasse looked as though it might go on forever unless I turned
away and left. I had no desire to leave. Not that Phil could help me, but
even though this was a dead end, I was loath to leave the place because
it was the last place where I had been close to Catherine.
The silence between us must have been a bit strained at this point, but
luckily we had an interruption. I perceived motion, turned and caught
sight of a woman coming along the road toward us.
"My sister," said Phil. "Marian."

Marian Harrison was quite a girl; if I'd not been emotionally tied to
Catherine Lewis, I'd have been happy to invite myself in. Marian was
almost as tall as I am, a dark, brown-haired woman with eyes of a
startling, electricity colored blue. She was about twenty-two, young and
healthy. Her skin was tanned toast brown so that the bright blue eyes
fairly sparked out at you. Her red mouth made a pleasing blend with the
tan of her skin and her teeth gleamed white against the dark when she
smiled.
Insultingly, I made some complimentary but impolite mental
observations about her figure, but Marion did not appear to notice. She
was no telepath.
"You're Mr. Cornell," she said, "I remembered you," she said quietly.
"Please believe us, Mr. Cornell, when we extend our sympathy."
"Thanks," I