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bathroom with one final； murderous swing； and she saw that it was an ax； bearing down on her face； the steel blade gleaming like the finest silver under the fluorescent lights。 As the wickedly sharp edge of the ax swept inexorably toward her head； her knees buckled； and she fainted。
***
Near dawn； Jane woke again。
She was in bed。 She was nude。
She threw the covers back； sat up； and saw her 1…shirt； panties； and knee socks on the floor beside the bed。 She dressed quickly。
The house was silent。 The Tracys weren't up yet。
Jane hurried quietly down the hallway to the guest bathroom； hesitated on the threshold； then stepped
inside and snapped on the lights。
There was no blood； and the mirror above the sink was only an ordinary mirror； reflecting her worried face but contributing no bizarre images of its own。
Okay； she thought； maybe I was sleepwalking。 And maybe I was actually here without any clothes on； trying to scrub nonexistent blood off my body。 But the rest of it was just part of the nightmare。 It didn't happen。 It couldn't。 Impossible。 The mirror couldn't really change like that。
She stared into her own blue eyes。 She wasn't sure what she saw in them。
〃Who am I？〃 she asked softly。
All week； Grace's sleep…what little she had managed to get between bouts of insomnia…had been dreamless。 But tonight she thrashed for hours in the sheets； trying to fight her way out of a nightmare that seemed to last an eternity。
In the dream； a house was on fire。 A big； beautifully ornamented Victorian house。 She was standing outside the blazing structure； pounding on a pair of slant…set cellar doors and calling a name over and over again。 〃Laura！ Laura！〃 She knew that Laura was trapped in the cellar of the burning house and that these doors were the only way out； but the doors were latched on the inside。 She hammered on the wood with her bare hands until each blow sent a cruel bolt of pain the length of her arms； through her shoulders； and up the back of her neck。 She wished desperately that she had an ax or a pry…bar or some other tool with which she could smash through the cellar doors； but she had nothing other than her fists； so she pounded and pounded until her flesh bruised and split and bled； and she kept on pounding even then； all the while screaming for Laura。 Windows exploded on the second floor； showering glass down over her； but she didn't turn away from the slant…set cellar doors； she didn't run。 She continued to slam her bloodied fists into the wood； praying that the girl would answer at any moment。 She ignored the sparks that showered down on her and threatened to set her gingham dress afire。 She wept； and she coughed when the wind blew the acrid smoke in her direction； and she cursed the wood that so easily resisted her fierce but ineffectual attack。
The nightmare had no climax； no peak of terror。 It simply went on all night long at a continuously breathless pace until； a few minutes after dawn； Grace finally wrenched herself out of the hot； clutching arms of sleep and woke with a wordless cry； flailing at the mattress。
She sat up on the edge of the bed and held her throbbing head in her hands。
Her mouth was filled with the taste of ashes and bile。
The dream had been so vivid that she had even felt the high…necked； long…sleeved； blue and white gingham dress binding at her shoulders and across her bust as she had hammered on the cellar doors。 Now； wide awake； she could still feel the dress binding her； even though she was wearing a loose nightgown； and even though she had never worn such a dress in her entire life。
Worse； she could smell the house burning。
The smoke odor lingered so long after she had awakened that she became convinced that her own house was ablaze。 Quickly； she pulled on a robe； stepped into her slippers； and went from one room to another； searching for the fire。
There was no fire。
Yet for almost an hour； the stench of burning wood and tar stayed with her。
10
FRIDAY morning at nine o'clock； Paul sat down at his writing desk； picked up the phone； and called Lincoln Werth； the police detective in charge of the Jane Doe case。 He told Werth that Carol was taking the girl out of town for a few days of rest and recreation。
〃Might as well；〃 Werth said。 〃We don't have any leads； and I sure don't think this is going to break wide open anytime soon。 We keep expanding the search area； of course。 At first we just put the kid's photo and description out to authorities in the surrounding counties。 When that didn't do us any good； we put it on the wire to police agencies all over the State。 Yesterday morning we took another step and Wired the same data to seven neighboring states。 But I'll tell you something； just between you and me。 Even if we expand the search area all the way to Hong
Kong； I got a feeling we ain't never going to find anyone who knows the kid。 I just have a hunch。 We're going to keep ing up empty…handed。〃
After talking to Werth； Paul went down to the garage； where Carol and Jane were putting their gear in the trunk of the Volkswagen。 To spare the girl grief； Paul didn't pass along Werth's pessimistic assessment of the situation。 〃He said it's all right to leave town for a few days。 The court didn't restrict you to Harrisburg。 I told him where the cabin is； so if anyone turns up to claim our girl here； the Harrisburg police will contact the county sheriff out that way； and he or one of his deputies will drop by the cabin and let you know you've got to e back。〃
Carol kissed him goodbye。 Jane kissed him； too； hers was a shy； chaste kiss； lightly planted on his cheek； and when she got into the car； she was blushing brightly。
He stood in front of the house and watched them drive away until the red Volkswagen Rabbit was out of sight。
After almost a week of blue skies； clouds had drifted in again。 They were flat； slate gray。 They matched Paul's mood。
***
When the kitchen phone rang； Grace steeled herself for the sound of Leonard's voice。 She sat down in the chair at the small built…in desk； reached up； put her hand on the receiver that hung on the wall； let it ring once more； then picked it up。 To her relief； it was Ross Quincy； the managing editor of the Morning
News； returning the call she'd made late yesterday afternoon。
〃You were inquiring about one of our reporters； Dr。 Mitowski？〃
〃Yes。 Palmer Wainwright。〃
Quincy was silent。
〃He does work for you； doesn't he？〃 Grace asked。
〃Uh。。 Palmer Wainwnght has been an employee of the Morning News； yes。〃
〃I believe he nearly won a Pulitzer Prize。〃
〃Yes。 But of course。 。 。 that was quite a while back。〃
〃Oh？〃
〃Well； if you know about the Pulitzer nomination； you must know it was for the series he did on the Bektermann murders。〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Which was back in 1943。〃
〃That long ago？〃
〃Uh。 。 。 Dr。 Mitowski； exactly what is it you wanted to know about Palmer Wainwright？〃
〃I'd like to talk with him；〃 she said。 〃We've met； and we have some unfinished business that I'm rather anxious to take care of。 It's a。。 。 personal matter。〃
Quincy hesitated。 Then： 〃Are you a long…lost relative？〃
〃Of Mr。 Wainwright's？ Oh； no。〃
〃A long…lost f