Beware the Young Stranger by Ellery Queen

clock said tick and then waited, refusing to tock .
    Keith had no authentic sense of movement. Newt seemed to be rushing backward toward him, the weasel face turned to throw a look over the bony shoulder, the eyes desperate, the etching mouth gasping for breath … The sight gave Keith renewed strength. He knew the old man would not escape. All uncertainty left him.
    Newt ducked, twisted, darting away from the empty road toward the heavy thickets and trees.
    Keith’s rush carried him past the old man. He wheeled, laughing. Let the punk sweat. Prolong the agony.
    Newt jumped the ditch. As he came down, Keith hurtled into him. With a wild cry, the ex-convict spun and threw a looping punch. Keith raised his shoulder to take the blow. He launched his fist like a piston and felt the stringy musculature of the old man’s middle quiver and collapse.
    Grabbing his abdomen with both arms, Newt reeled in a senseless circle. Keith punched him on the nose. Cartilage flattened, a black fountain spurted. The color carried no bloody meaning for Keith.
    Newt’s knees struck the weedy earth. As he pitched forward, Keith struck him again in the face, and the old man flopped on his back. His fingers clawed and dug as he slewed himself around. He looked like an overturned turtle.
    Keith was reaching for his collar when Nancy flew against him. “Stop it, Keith! You’ll kill him!”
    He struggled to pull away from her as Newt blindly burrowed his way into the thickets.
    Nancy seemed to have eight arms. “Let him go, Keith—for your own sake …”
    Keith suddenly grew quiet. He stood without docility or penitence, spent. Nancy clung to him; almost gently he disengaged her arms.
    He walked to the car, examined it. He squatted near the right front wheel, picked up a bit of dirt, flicked it at the car.
    â€œSpindle’s broken,” he said. “When this crate moves again, a wrecker will be towing it.”
    â€œKeith, a moment ago …”
    He rose; his face was remote. “I don’t want to talk about that creep. If you’re ready to cut out on me, Nancy, go ahead.”
    â€œIs that what you want?”
    â€œYou know I don’t. But I was wishing instead of thinking. I was fool enough to think you would stick. It’s the same old story. But don’t let it worry you, Nancy. I’m used to going it alone.”
    Twin lights appeared in the darkness. Would the oncoming car stop? Sooner or later some curious motorist or a highway patrolman would see the wrecked jalopy and apply the brakes.
    Keith dog-trotted across the highway, glancing down the road as he crossed the shoulder. The shadows of the trees closed over him. A dim trail of sorts pointed toward emptiness and silence.
    Behind him on the highway the car swished past. His tension lifted. That one hadn’t been stopped by the sight of the junker. Nor by a girl standing alone.
    Keith stopped and turned. Nancy was no more than a dozen yards away, closing the gap between them.

13.
    Vallancourt sensed Ralph Hibbs’s growing discouragement. He was not strongly affected by it. By training, tradition, and experience, he and Hibbs were very different. The attempt to anticipate their quarry’s moves, to track down a course of action as if a mistake would not have terrifying consequences—these were factors in a milieu strange to Hibbs. Vallancourt was the hunter.
    With Hibbs standing disconsolately beside the door, Vallancourt tapped the bell on the motel desk and waited.
    Although their search had so far proved fruitless, Vallancourt was not discouraged. Against big game there were no rewards for impatience or discouragement. You followed the trail and your hunches. He had never felt more vitally alive.
    A woman came through the doorway beyond the desk. She had a spare frame, a dry-skinned face. Her mouth was plotted in lines of strain, her eyes snappish.
    Vallancourt felt himself tighten.
    She looked surprised at