Ken Holt - Mystery Of Green Flame Part 11

looked at Phillips. "I think, Mort, that we shall discover that this is what our friends have done."

Suddenly they all became aware that the little tax collector had come to his feet, holding in his hand a sheet of paper. He straightened his rumpled coat and with a nod of apology to the others launched into a long speech in Spanish directed toward Gonzalez and the chief.

When he had finished, he handed Gonzalez the paper, accepted his thanks gravely, and departed with his two heavy ledgers. His records showed that only one business establishment and seventeen private houses in Rio Claro, which was not a rich town, even approached the qualifications Gonzalez had described. All seventeen were listed on the sheet of paper, together with the tax collector's own statement that he had known the resident-owners of those houses for the twenty-seven years he himself had held office in the town, and that he could personally vouch for their honor and their integrity.

The chief of police himself spoke up at that point, to add his own statement to that of the tax collector. He, too, knew all those houses well, he said, and could vouch for the fact that they were indeed what they seemed-homes of families who had lived in Rio Claro for several generations.

Ken remembered the unanswered question he had asked some time before. "But what about the hotel?" he queried.

"The hotel is the one business establishment on this list," Gonzalez said. "But both the tax collector and the chief of police vouch for that too. It was once a Spanish governor's palace, and the same Spanish family has lived there since it was built. When it became a hotel 122 .

a few years ago, the owner of the house simply became the hotel manager."

The chief of police said something, half under his breath, and Gonzalez smiled at him and shook his head. "He thinks we may doubt his word, but I a.s.sured him we have complete faith in his knowledge of this town and his integrity."

The phone shrilled again and Gonzalez picked it up in the middle of the first ring. He listened for a few moments and then hung up with a brief "Bueno." To the others he said, "The truck is now empty. The driver is being paid for the wood. In a moment he will leave. And when he departs from Rio Claro he will lead us, I think, to our goal."

He got up and moved to the map on the wall and the others joined him there. Gonzalez pointed out the location of the hotel, on one of the streets leading out of the town plaza. They all studied the map tensely, with particular attention to the various small roads threading their way out of Rio Claro into the surrounding hifl country. The big clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, one by one.

At the end of three long minutes the phone rang once more. Gonzalez grabbed it, and stood facing the map as he listened to the quick rattle of Spanish over the wire.

"Si," he muttered. "Si." An instant later the phone was back in place and Gonzalez was pointing to a line that ran northwest out of the network of Rio Claro's streets.

"The truck is on this road," he said, "heading out of town. The road goes up here-you see?-through the village of Pino and the village of La Plata. Then it climbs this ridge and goes to the village of Gallego, ON THE TRAIL AGAIN 123.

in the small valley beyond. There the road curves eastward over to Leon, swings abruptly southward, and returns to Rio Claro. Very interesting, no?"

Mort Phillips nodded. His eyes were narrowed with intensity. "Very interesting indeed. A loop road, leaving Rio Claro at one point and returning at another. And about"-he calculated quickly-"twenty-five miles in total length."

"Exactly," Gonzalez agreed. "And in all the thousands of acres of wild, little-known country through which the road pa.s.ses there are only four small villages. What better place for a secluded establishment, eh? Its nearest neighbor could be miles distant-and yet it has two exits for use in case of emergency. Most roads that go back into unpopulated hill country, like this, are dead-end roads, easy to block off, easy to watch. But this road-ah-hah! It is just the sort of place we should expect our friends to choose. Quickly, now-let us organize ourselves."

He and Mort and the chief conferred together for several moments, planning road blocks for each end of the loop, and naming the personnel of the two parties that would enter the road from either end. Phillips would head one such party, Gonzalez the other. And the scouting planes would remain in the air, in case the residents of the hide-out, alerted to approaching police forces, attempted to escape by their helicopter.

The chief hastily summoned deputies to fill the complement of forces demanded. He was clearly fl.u.s.tered by the importance of Gonzalez and Phillips, and unaccustomed to being involved in a search for dangerous lawbreakers. The annual Red Cross parade of Rio Claro was to take place that day, he explained, and he usually a.s.signed his full force to that event. Normally a 124 .

parade was the heaviest strain ever imposed on Rio Claro police. But today he would a.s.sign only two men to the parade. He himself would remain at his post, to await messages from Gonzalez and Phillips. And his other two officers, including young Pedro Montez, together with the dozen deputies he had called in, would provide the road-blocking and searching parties that were now being organized. Four men made up each road-block group. Phillips and Montez and two deputies would enter the loop road at the northwest corner of town. Gonzalez and a party of three would enter it at the other end.

Both parties would be armed. Both would receive radio reports on the truck's progress. No person or vehicle would be allowed to leave the road, once the search parties had started toward each other. And the two groups would remain in constant communication, so that if one discovered the probable site of the hideout, the other could join it for the final purpose of surrounding and entering the place.

Gonzalez and Phillips both had the quick efficient air of well-trained men, but the tension in their manner betrayed their belief that they were approaching the end of a long and important job.

Neither Ken nor Sandy mentioned the fact that their names had not been included on the hastily drawn-up rosters of road-block groups and searching parties. They knew that they were going to be forced to remain safely in Rio Claro.

But Ken said finally, in the brief lull when the cars were being drawn up outside the munic.i.p.al building, "Mort, we still hope to have this story. Can you let us have the facts as soon as possible?"

ON THE TRAIL AGAIN 125.

Mort Phillips grinned at them both. "That I can do," he promised. "You deserve them and you'll get them at the first possible moment."

Gonzalez joined them. "I suppose you think it would be fun to come with us, eh?" He shook his head. "I think perhaps this will not be fun. If we find the men we seek, they will not be glad to see us. They will make us very unwelcome-very unwelcome indeed. Still, if you wished to take the risk, I should be willing to let you come along-except for a very selfish reason. If one of you suffered a small hurt-the p.r.i.c.k of a cactus, perhaps, or the p.r.i.c.k of even a tiny bullet-ah, poor Ramon! Then I would no longer be a capitan. I would be patrolling a jungle somewhere far away."

"We understand," Ken a.s.sured him, grinning. "And we're not going to plead to be taken along. But Mort has just said we could have the story as soon as possible. Is that all right with you?"

Gonzalez put an arm briefly around each of them. "I will be torn to bits by the Mexican reporters," he said, "but I will, nevertheless, see to it that you have the story first." He drew himself up. "I, Ramon Arturo Fernandez Gonzalez, promise you this thing."

The cars were ready to leave. Ken and Sandy shook hands with Phillips and Gonzalez and wished them luck.

"Walk around the town-take a look at Rio Claro while you're here," Phillips advised. "Don't sit around here waiting to hear from us. This may take quite awhile."

"We'll walk around long enough to find Sandy some breakfast, anyway," Ken a.s.sured him. "But we'll be back here by"-he glanced at his watch and saw that 126 .

the hour was exactly eight-"ten thirty, in case you phone in. If we can join you out there when you get things under control, will you let us know?"

"Absolutely. And we'll get word to you as soon as possible-after ten thirty." With one last gesture Phillips was gone.

The chief rushed out to the cars to report that the planes had just radioed another report. The firewood truck was now halfway between Pino and La Plata. Then the cars took off, roaring away over the cobblestones.

The chief looked after them, half-wistfully, half-relieved not to be a member of one of the grim well-armed parties. Ken, reading the expression on his face, knew how he felt. Then, when the chief turned to them with a smile, Ken managed to explain to him that they would return to the police station by ten thirty. The chief nodded, repeating the hour carefully. A moment later he disappeared into the ancient munic.i.p.al building.

"Watching a parade is going to be quite a letdown after the excitement of the last twenty-four hours," Sandy muttered. "But at least," he added, making an effort to conceal the disappointment he felt at having been left behind, "we'll get a chance to eat." Ken didn't reply. "Don't tell me you're not occasionally interested in food too," Sandy said.

"What?" Ken had been staring off across the placid square, with its beds of tall white calla lilies, its towering shade trees, and its neat paths. "Oh, sure," he said abruptly. "I'm interested-occasionally. But right now I'm wondering why, if the hide-out is really somewhere along that road, the brains behind it would let that truck head toward it in broad daylight."

CHAPTER XI.

SNARED.

SANDY DIDN'T RESPOND immediately to Ken's remark. Finally he said, "I'm not sure I follow you. Do you mean you think the truck is not heading for the hideout-that it's heading somewhere else? Or are you suggesting that the truck has nothing to do with the case at all?"

"I don't know what I mean," Ken admitted.

Sandy stared at him in mock amazement. "For you to admit you don't know something is quite a record."

Ken grinned briefly. Then he said, "Come on. Let's go look for some breakfast."

They strolled, side by side, away from the munic.i.p.al building, which stood in the center of one side of the plaza. Beyond it was a row of shops, their fronts protected by a wide roof that extended clear over the sidewalk and formed a shady arcade. The corner shop was a small restaurant, with two or three tables standing on the sidewalk. Ken raised his eyebrows ques-tioningly and Sandy nodded. They sat down at one of the tables and ordered rolls and coffee with milk from the waiter who appeared promptly from inside the doorway.

127.

128 .

While they waited for the food to arrive they looked out over the green flowery plaza. A ma.s.sive church stood on one side of it. The other three sides were bordered by arcades, and all of them were now coming to life. Men were rolling up the heavy iron shutters that protected their open-fronted shops. Women and boys were setting up small stands of all kinds along the outer edge of the sidewalk, and laying out their wares in neat piles-oranges, red and green chili peppers, bottles of soft drinks, and foot-long lengths of green sugar cane. Ken watched a small boy buy a piece of sugar cane and begin to chew one end of it, as if it were a stick of candy. For a moment he was so fascinated by the colorful life of the square-so different from anything he and Sandy had ever seen before-that he almost forgot the reason for their presence in Rio Claro this morning.

But when their food arrived, and he had taken his first long, satisfying swallow of coffee and milk, he said abruptly, "I shouldn't have said I didn't know what I mean. I do have kind of an idea."

"And you've been keeping it to yourself?" Sandy shook his head. "That's another record."

Ken ignored the heavy humor in Sandy's voice. "Did you ever read Edgar Allan Foe's famous story called The Purloined Letter?"

Sandy choked slightly on a bite of roll. "I wish you'd warn me," he said, "when you're about to launch into a literary discussion. Sure, I've read it," he added. "It's about somebody looking for a letter, isn't it?"

"That's right. They look in every possible hiding place-under things, inside things, behind things. And all the time the letter is in plain sight, in the letter rack SNARED 129.

on the desk. The reason it isn't seen immediately is because it's too obvious."

"And the moral of this is?" Sandy prompted.

Ken grinned. "You've guessed it-there's a moral. I'm wondering if this mysterious hide-out doesn't remain safely hidden because, actually, it's not hidden at all. Maybe it's not way off in the wilds somewhere. Maybe it's right in plain sight."

Sandy touched his forehead and bowed. "Ah, master," he murmured, "how clever you are. Who but you could have guessed that the hide-out is that orange stand right over there?" Then suddenly he sobered. "I get it," he said. "That's why you kept asking about the hotel -you thought maybe that was it."

Ken nodded. "That's the kind of place I have in mind. But I guess we've got to take the chief's word for the fact that the hotel is beyond suspicion."

"And so," Sandy reminded him, "are all the other sizable buildings in town, according to the tax collector."

Suddenly a whole cla.s.s of school children marched around the corner and came to a halt almost directly in front of where the boys were sitting. At the same moment, a second group appeared on the opposite side of the square, to march around it and take their places behind the first. The girls wore uniforms-ruffled white pinafores over dark dresses. The boys were in ordinary jeans and plaid shirts. But all the children looked clean and scrubbed, and they were clearly excited. The teachers who accompanied them kept up a running murmur of low-voiced requests for silence and good behavior.

"The Rio Claro annual Red Cross parade is beginning 130 .

to form," Sandy said, grinning at the children nearest him. "We've certainly got swell seats for it."

The next arrival was a sound truck, which took up its position directly in front of the munic.i.p.al building and began to blast forth gay march music from the horn attached to its roof. A farm truck then pulled up behind the children, garlanded with banners that proclaimed it was the property of the Santa Luisa Agricultural Co-operative. And on a side street, just off the square, a shining new ambulance parked at the curb. The driver got out and began to polish its already gleaming fenders.

Now cla.s.ses of school children were pouring into the square from all four corners. Ken and Sandy neglected their breakfast in the interest of watching each group of newcomers. Unconsciously their feet were tapping the pavement in time to the music. Ken was admiring the diligence of the ambulance driver, now briskly rubbing the gla.s.s of his windshield, when suddenly his eyes narrowed.

"Sandy," he said quietly, 'look over there. The driver of the ambulance-did you ever see him before?"

Sandy waited until he could get a good look at the man's thin, long-nosed face. "Yes, I think so," he said slowly. "Wasn't he one of the people milling around in that crowd in front of Mendoza's this morning?"

Ken kept his voice low. "I think he was," he said. "Why couldn't he have been the one who collected the fake note?"

Sandy stared at him a moment. "I don't know why he couldn't have been," he said finally, "but what makes you think he was?"

"Because," Ken whispered, "he apparently works for a hospital-and a hospital fits my specifications for a SNAKED 131.

hide-out that isn't noticed because it's in plain sight. Furthermore," he added, "a hospital doesn't usually pay taxes, and wouldn't appear on a tax list at all."

Sandy whistled softly. "Master," he murmured, "maybe you really have got something this time."

"Mort Phillips is pretty sure the hide-out provides plastic surgery for its-eh-guests," Ken went on, still speaking quietly. "That means it would have to have doctors on hand, and what better-"

Sandy finished it. "What better place to conceal a purloined doctor than in a hospital? It really makes sense, Ken!"

The boy who had bought a stick of sugar cane some minutes before was suddenly standing beside their table. He was barefooted, and his jeans were faded from many washings, but the white knitted cotton shirt he wore was dazzlingly clean. And he held the half-eaten piece of sugar cane stiffly at his side as he said, "Meesters, you want guide?"

Ken and Sandy both smiled at him and his sober black-eyed face was swiftly illuminated with an answering smile. "I speak English," he a.s.sured them, and then added, "A little bit I speak. You want guide?"

"Aren't you going to be in the parade?" Ken asked him.

The boy shrugged. "Here we have many parades- for watching, for marching in. More parades we have than turistas who sometimes pay for me to guide them. But you do not have to pay much, meesters," he added quickly. "My name it is Roberto. I can show you church, school, museum, factory where is made pots of copper -anything. What you want to see?"

"Take it easy," Ken said, laughing. "How about hospitals?"

132 .

"Hospitals?" Roberto looked at Ken as if he weren't sure he had understood him. "Where the sick people go?"

"That's right." Ken nodded.

"Ken," Sandy said swiftly, "hadn't we better wait until Mort and-"

Ken shook his head. "Don't worry. I'm not getting into anything. It won't hurt to make a preliminary survey. Is there a hospital right here in Rio Claro?" he asked, turning back to Roberto, who was watching them both with his bright inquisitive eyes.

"In Rio Claro are two hospitals," Roberto told him. "Me, I do not like hospitals, but-" He shrugged, as if long accustomed to the strange behavior of foreigners. "One is here," he explained, pointing to the munic.i.p.al palace. "In back of palacto is hospital of the city."

Sandy glanced at Ken. "A city hospital is a little too obvious, don't you think?"

Ken was already asking Roberto, "And the other?"

"At edge of Rio Claro-over there." Roberto gestured toward the southern outskirts of the town. "Me, I was in that hospital once," he added proudly.

"You were?" Ken was surprised. "And is it a good hospital, Roberto?"

"Very good," Roberto a.s.sured them. "My mother took me there because they have a special place where they allow to come the children. It costs nothing, this children's place. Is-how you call it?-clinico."

"Clinic," Ken told him. He could feel Sandy's glance on him again. A children's clinic was not, he realized, the sort of place he was looking for.

"But never do I see the other part of this hospital," Roberto went on. "The part for rich people."

"Oh!" Ken leaned forward but he kept his voice SNARED 133.

casual. "So there's a special place for rich people there?"

"Oh, yes." Roberto nodded vigorously. "One time I see the patio where the rich people sit when they are not so sick any more. It has many flowers. And big chairs and tables-tables with-" He gestured largely above his head with the piece of sugar cane.

"Umbrellas," Sandy supplied. "To keep the sun off."

"Si." Roberto nodded, and then he repeated the word over several times to fix it in his memory. "Um-brell-a. Um-brell-a." He grinned proudly. "Muchas gracias. This is how I learn the English."

Suddenly his eye lighted on the ambulance, parked some distance away. "Ah!" he said. "There is the- the-"

"Ambulance."