“Hm-m-m — ” She let it go at that for several minutes.
Randall stopped talking, being busy with the traffic in Waukegan. He turned left and headed out of town.
“Teddy — if you are sure that the whole thing was just a hoax and there are no such things as the Sons, then why can’t we drop it and head south? We don’t need to keep this appointment.”
“I’m sure of my explanation all right,” he said, skillfully avoiding a suicide-bent boy on a bicycle, “in its broad outlines, but I’m not sure of the motivation — and that’s why I have to see Hoag. Funny thing, though,” he continued thoughtfully, “I don’t think Hoag has anything against us; I think he had some reasons of his own and paid us five hundred berries to put up with some discomfort while he carried out his plans. But we’ll see. Anyhow, it’s too late to turn back; there’s the filling station he mentioned — and there’s Hoag!”
Hoag climbed in with no more than a nod and a smile; Randall felt again the compulsion to do as he was told which had first hit him some two hours before. Hoag told him where to go.
The way lay out in the country and, presently, off the pavement. In due course they came to a farm gate leading into pasture land, which Hoag instructed Randall to open and drive through. “The owner does not mind,” he said. “I’ve been here many times, on my Wednesdays. A beautiful spot.”
It was a beautiful spot. The road, a wagon track now, led up a gradual rise to a tree-topped crest. Hoag had him park under a tree, and they got out. Cynthia stood for a moment, drinking it in, and savoring deep breaths of the clean air. To the south Chicago could be seen and beyond it and east of it a silver gleam of the lake. “Teddy, isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It is,” he admitted, but turned to Hoag. “What I want to know is — why are we here?”
“Picnic,” said Hoag. “I chose this spot for my finale.”
“Finale?”
“Food first,” said Hoag. “Then, if you must, we’ll talk.”
It was a very odd menu for a picnic; in place of hearty foods there were some dozens of gourmets’ specialties — preserved cumquats, guava jelly, little potted meats, tea — made by Hoag over a spirit lamp — delicate wafers with a famous name on the package. In spite of this both Randall and Cynthia found themselves eating heartily. Hoag tried everything, never passing up a dish — but Cynthia noticed that he actually ate very little, tasting rather than dining.
In due course Randall got his courage up to brace Hoag; it was beginning to appear that Hoag had no intention of broaching the matter himself. “Hoag?”
“Yes, Ed?”
“Isn’t it about time you took off the false face and quit kidding us?”
“I have not kidded you, my friend.”
“You know what I mean — this whole rat race that has been going on the past few days. You’re mixed up in it and know more about it than we do — that’s evident. Mind you, not that I’m accusing you of anything,” he added hastily. “But I want to know what it means.”
“Ask yourself what it means.”
“O.K.,” Randall accepted the challenge. “I will.” He launched into the explanation which he had sketched out to Cynthia, Hoag encouraged him to continue it fully, but, when he was through, said nothing.
“Well,” Randall said nervously, “that’s how it happened — wasn’t it?”
“It seems like a good explanation.”
“I thought so. But you’ve still got to clear some things up. Why did you do it?”
Hoag shook his head thoughtfully. “I’m sorry, Ed. I cannot possibly explain my motives to you.”
“But, damn it, that’s not fair! The least you could — ”
“When did you ever find fairness, Edward?”
“Well — I expected you to play fair with us. You encouraged us to treat you as a friend. You owe us explanations.”
“I promised you explanations. But consider, Ed — do you want explanations? I assure you that you will have no more trouble, no more visitations from the Sons.”