Free Beware the Young Stranger by Ellery Queen

compact into the driveway. It jackrabbitted upward, vanishing in the shadows of the deserted house.
    The Continental purred past on the road below.

10.
    Keith didn’t like the looks of the proprietor. The motel had seemed made to order, an older one, clean, inexpensive. Not a fancy place, and not a seedy dump a rat would run to, either. Just an everyday, run-of-the-mill motel. The kind of place he’d told the taxi driver he wanted for himself and his sister.
    â€œSay you had car trouble?” the proprietor said.
    Keith nodded, looking at the registry card he was signing. Why was the old bird quizzing him? The story he had told was perfectly plausible: He and his sister … driving downstate … car trouble … the need for an overnight repair.
    â€œI guess you want adjoining rooms,” the lanky, wrinkled man said.
    â€œIf you have them.”
    â€œSure.” In a wise tone.
    Keith let his breath out cautiously. This map-cheeked character with the granite eyes … did he think he’d spotted a couple of college kids shacking up for the night?
    He handed the man the card. The eyes shifted. It made Keith want to reach across the registry desk in the dingy office and tap the old man on the chest and ask him what the hell was bugging him. Instead, Keith jammed his hands into his pockets.
    â€œYou’ll have to sign a card of your own, honey,” the man said, smiling at Nancy.
    Keith pictured himself backhanding the old punk, wiping that wet, wise smile off the withered lips.
    Nancy bent over the card. The eyes met Keith’s across her shoulders. The eyes turned stonier, and the old man got two keys from a pegboard behind the desk.
    â€œJust the one bag?” he asked.
    â€œOh, yes,” Keith said. “Left the rest of the luggage in the car. It’ll be locked in the garage until the mechanic gets started on it tomorrow morning.” He reached down and picked up the bag. It was heavy. Her trousseau kit, Nancy had called it when they’d planned the elopement.
    The heft of the bag, the sight of her blonde head bent over the registry card, caused an ache to spread through him. He was almost overcome by a feeling that it was useless to keep running. They were unreal people stumbling through a nightmare. Cold, greasy hamburgers for their dinner. Her compact abandoned on the other side of town. A ride on a municipal bus. A taxi to here. We’re making progress like a turtle backing his rear into a pot of water the cook has got boiling, he thought.
    â€œThis way,” the motel man said. Keys in hand, he started around the waist-high desk.
    â€œNewt?” a shrill female voice called.
    The man glanced with irritation at the open doorway beyond the desk. “Heather,” he called toward the living quarters, “we got …”
    â€œI have to go out, Newt. None of those crummy friends of yours while I’m gone, hear? I’ll only be …”
    A woman appeared in the doorway. She was thin and sallow, an arrangement of slats in clean, threadbare clothing. “Oh.”
    â€œYou never give me a chance to tell you,” her husband said. “This is Mr. and Miss Lonergan, Heather. They’re staying the night. I’m putting them in three and four.”
    The woman glanced at Nancy’s left hand.
    Keith looked frankly into the narrow face with its pinched mouth and anxious eyes.
    â€œWe’re not from the college, ma’am,” Keith said with a forced smile. “Brother and sister, on our way down-state because of sickness in the family. Our car broke down and we can’t get it fixed until tomorrow morning.”
    â€œSure. Well, you’ll rest easy here. We have a nice place.” She brushed by Newt, took Nancy’s bag, and led the way outside.
    Keith glanced over his shoulder as he followed the woman across the parking area. Old Newt was standing in the doorway. Stiffly, watching.
    The woman opened a door,