Biggles in Mexico Page 6

  ‘That’s what they call a leading question, but between ourselves I have reason to believe there’s oil under the sand. But to locate the stuff and then get a concession to work it are two very different things.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘The beer is warm and the coffee Pepe makes is undrinkable. Orange juice is the only thing. I’ll have one with you with pleasure. In this heat one drinks all the time.’

  Biggles shouted for Pepe, and when he came ordered orange juice all round.

  ‘Was it your other friend who was here, talking to the local policeman, when we rolled up?’ asked Biggles, while they were waiting.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘He was helpful. Tipped us off how to put ourselves on the right side of the law.’

  ‘So he told me.’ Ritzy glanced around and lowered his voice. ‘Have you much money on you?’

  ‘Not a great lot — why?’

  ‘Keep your hand on it. Money here has a knack of disappearing unaccountably.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ returned Biggles, as Pepe put the drinks on the table and shuffled back indoors.

  Ritzy raised his glass. ‘Well, here’s luck, mister... I don’t think I heard your name?’

  ‘Bigglesworth. My friend here is Hebblethwaite.’

  ‘Bigglesworth. Rather an odd name,’ murmured Ritzy. ‘I heard it once before though. I believe there’s a fellow of that name at Scotland Yard — something to do with aviation. Would he be a relation of yours?’

  Biggles’ expression did not change. He shook his head. ‘As far as I know I haven’t a relation in the world,’ he answered casually. ‘Come to that I don’t think you told me your name.’

  ‘Brabinsky. Nicolas Brabinsky. British by naturalization. My friend here is Sam Brimshawe. The man you met this morning was Charlie Cornelli.’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Thanks, now we know each other.’

  Ritzy rose. ‘Well, we must be getting along. Be seeing you again before long, no doubt.’

  With that the two men departed, going back the way they came.

  After they had gone Ginger turned serious eyes to Biggles’ face. ‘That was a bit shattering,’ he breathed. ‘He knows you.’

  ‘No. He knows of me. Being what he is he has probably heard someone mention my name. Don’t worry. He didn’t recognize me. If he had the conversation would have been entirely different.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be a bad sort of fellow.’

  ‘Don’t let his charming manners deceive you,’ said Biggles. ‘He had one purpose in coming here. He wanted to have a look at us, to size us up. He’s a crook, and as such must keep his eyes open all the time. We’ve learnt more about him than he has about us. We know he’s still here, which is important because it means he hasn’t been able to get rid of the stones. They’re still about here, somewhere. He’s expecting Schultz, or another agent, to arrive and collect them. If my guess is right he’ll turn up in a blue Cadillac. That could only mean Schultz has been in touch with Ritzy or he wouldn’t know details of the car.’

  ‘I suppose we couldn’t locate the stones by watching him?’

  ‘Not a hope. He won’t go near them. Remember what Tricky said. He’s been well on the beam so far, so the rest of his statement might also be true. According to him, Ritzy has hidden the stones. The other two don’t know where they are. That’s why they’re still here. They’re not going to give up their share of the swag if they can help it. The chances are they haven’t any money, anyway. Ritzy keeps a tight hand on the cash.’

  ‘He’s here under his own name.’

  ‘As I told you, it couldn’t very well be otherwise. If he used any name other than the one on his passport he might get into trouble with the authorities. It’s unlikely they’d let him cross the frontier.’

  ‘What if this fellow arrives in the blue Cadillac and offers to give you a lift to the States?’

  ‘That would suit fine. I'd jump at the chance because, assuming the deal with Ritzy goes through, we should be travelling with the diamonds. The crooks could be picked up at any time if they tried to leave the country. The next thing I want is to have a quiet word with Nifty. Tricky says he’s fed up with being here and that I can well believe. He might be in the mood to talk.’

  ‘If he doesn’t know where the diamonds are I don’t see how he could tell us anything we don’t already know.’

  ‘He may know something about Ritzy’s immediate plans. He may know who is coming in the Cadillac, for instance. We’ll just sit quiet and wait for the next move. If nothing happens within the next day or two we’ll accept Ritzy’s invitation and call at his villa for a drink and another chat.’

  Ginger puckered his forehead. ‘What strikes me as odd is this; I can’t see Ritzy parting with the stones unless he receives payment for them. I mean, payment in cash. He wouldn’t be likely to accept payment by cheque from a man he might never see again. A cheque can be stopped at the bank. Ritzy’s confidence in this dealer, Schultz, or whoever it might be, wouldn’t go as far as that. He must know that once he parts with those diamonds he’ll never see them again.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Can you see Schultz travelling in this sort of country with a quarter of a million dollars on his person? After all, Schultz knows he’s dealing with a thief. What’s to stop Ritzy bumping him off and taking the money? If he did that he’d have both the money and the stones.’

  'I've thought of that,’ answered Biggles. ‘I can only suppose that Schultz knows what he’s doing. Anyhow, it’s no use trying to guess the answer. We may know in due course. Another mystery is why Schultz is overdue, as apparently he is. No doubt these things will sort themselves out in time. For the short while we’ve been here we’ve done pretty well.’

  CHAPTER 7

  MURDER BY MOONLIGHT

  THE remainder of the daylight hours passed quietly. The heat was formidable and discouraged walking except for short distances. Everywhere, indoors and outdoors, flies filled the air with a continuous hum, and were a constant irritation.

  Biggles walked as far as the post office and returned to say there were no telegraph facilities. That settled any argument about that. Instead, more in hope than confidence that it would reach its destination he wrote a carefully worded letter to Algy in San Francisco notifying him of their arrival and that they were without transport owing to their car breaking down. In Eltora, he concluded, they had found what they were looking for.

  ‘Algy will understand that means Ritzy and Co.,’ said Biggles, as he handed the letter to Ginger to post.

  ‘How long will this take to get there?’ asked Ginger.

  Biggles shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. The old woman who runs the post office hadn’t a clue.’

  In the late afternoon, as they sat on the patio still discussing the situation, who should appear but Nifty.

  ‘I wonder what he wants,’ said Biggles softly. ‘He hasn’t just come to see if we’re still here, you can bet your boots on that.’

  Nifty joined them and at Biggles’ invitation accepted a glass of wine. Biggles waited for him to open up the conversation. It seemed to Ginger that he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin, or maybe was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

  Biggles tried a little prompting. ‘Have you been here long?’ he asked.

  ‘Too long,’ answered Nifty. He spoke crisply, with a pronounced cockney accent.

  ‘If you don’t like it here why do you stay?’

  ‘I’ve got some business to finish. Besides, till our pal from the States shows up I’m a bit short of ready cash. Matter of fact I was wondering how you were fixed.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Biggles. ‘We shall only have just enough money to see us through this trip, particularly in view of what’s happened to our car.’

  Nifty nodded. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  ‘You’d need a tidy sum if you were thinking of going to England.’

/>   ‘I reckon so. I shall be all right for dough presently, when our pal rolls up. He should have been here some time ago. Can’t think what’s keeping him. Lost his way, I shouldn’t wonder. This is a heck of a place to find. If he got off the road he might end up anywhere.’

  ‘Suppose he doesn’t come at all?’

  ‘That’s what I’m scared of,’ growled Nifty. ‘Something must have gone wrong or he’d have been ‘ere by now.’

  ‘What about your friend at the villa — what’s his name again?’

  ‘Brabinsky.’

  ‘Is he in the same boat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s got a car. Why doesn’t he go to the States and find out what’s happened to the man you’re waiting for?’

  ‘It ain’t as easy as that. I don’t want to go back to the States, neither does Ritzy.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ritzy. That’s my pal’s nickname. The fact is,’ went on Nifty in a burst of confidence, ‘we ‘ad a spot o’ trouble when we was there — and, well, you know how it is.’

  Nifty, who may have felt that he was saying too much, fell silent.

  The sun set in a cauldron of fire, staining the sky with all the colours of the rainbow. Night began to draw its curtains over the scene. A few lights appeared in windows and doorways. There was no street lighting. Nifty finished his wine and got up, apparently to go. Instead, he took a pace back into deeper shade, staring at a figure moving in the purple shadows on the far side of the street.

  Ginger, following his eyes, recognized Cornelli. He carried a guitar slung from his shoulder.

  ‘That’s your friend, isn’t it?’ queried Biggles.

  ‘Yeah. The blame fool. He’s asking for trouble, he is. He wants his ‘ead looking at.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I know what he’s up to. Fancy fooling abart with another feller’s gal in a place like this. Ritzy told ‘im to lay off it. We don’t want no trouble o’ that sort. If there’s a row it could mean trouble with the police, and according to Ritzy when that starts in Mexico there ain’t no tellin’ where it’ll end. Now I see he’s still at it.’

  ‘Who’s the other man?’

  ‘Feller named José Fonderi. Real caballero.1 Hidalgo,2 as they say. Got a hacienda3 up the river. Tons o’ money, I’m told. Pretty wild, too, from all accounts. Carries a gun. The girl’s old man ain’t got much time for Corny. José’s as good as engaged to the gal. The old man is a real toff. Not much dough but real blue-blood Spanish. José would be a good match for Margarita.’

  ‘What’s the old man doing here?’

  ‘He’s a professor of something or other. They say he’s writing a book on the flowers of the desert. I’d better let Ritzy know abart this. He’s scared stiff Corny’ll start something.’

  ‘Is José the man I saw in town this morning? Good-looking chap. Carries a red sarape.’

  ‘That’s ‘im. Corny saw him, too. He said so, and told Ritzy he’d keep out of the way. Now look at ‘im! Crazy! I’ll be getting back. So long.’ Nifty strode away in the direction of his home.

  Biggles looked at Ginger. ‘I fancy Nifty is nearly ready to squeal,’ he said, pensively. ‘He was afraid of saying too much at one go. He was feeling his way. Given time he’ll say more. He’s so sick of this place, which is utterly foreign to him, that unless that Cadillac they’re waiting for soon comes, or Ritzy gives him his share of the loot, he’s liable to do something desperate. He hasn’t got his fare home. What with that, and Corny playing fast and loose with a girl against Ritzy’s orders, the atmosphere at their villa must be getting a bit strained.’

  ‘The girl must be the Margarita we heard Pepe talking about.’

  ‘I imagine so.’

  After a little while Biggles suggested they might take a stroll in the cool of the evening before turning in.

  Ginger agreed, so they got up and walked slowly down the dusty road towards the hill that led to the desert. All was quiet. The air was sultry, but refreshing after the burning heat of the day.

  Presently to their ears came the soft strumming of a guitar and the voice of a man singing. These romantic sounds, they discovered, came from an orange grove in which was set a detached two-story villa, its white walls shining in the clear moonlight. A short drive led to the door. They paused in passing but could see no one. There was a light in one of the upstairs windows. The window was open.

  ‘Someone serenading his girl friend,’ commented Biggles, as they strolled on.

  ‘Corny perhaps.’

  ‘Could be. He was carrying a guitar, and being a South American would speak Spanish like a native.’

  They went on past the last houses and up the hill beyond. There, finding a seat on an outcropping tongue of rock, they sat down to rest a little while before returning to the hotel. Biggles lit a cigarette. Ginger gazed moodily across the great loneliness. All was silent, but once, from a long way off came the thin quavering howl of a coyote.

  Seeing nothing he gave himself up to the wonder of the sky, now ablaze with a million stars. Twice the size of those dimmed by city lights and dust they looked like lamps suspended from the deep blue dome of heaven, so close that a high-flying aircraft might collide with one of them. The moon, clear shining silver, now high above the distant mountains, drenched the scene with an eerie light. The gigantic saguaros sprawled fantastic shadows on the sand.

  Suddenly, in the near distance, a shadow moved. Staring, Ginger made it out to be a horseman, riding towards the village from the desert. He touched Biggles on the arm and pointed, to call attention to the rider, picking his way at walking pace through the chaparral. Actually, the man was as much a part of the scene as his surroundings, but, for no reason which Ginger could have named, there seemed to be something sinister about this silent advance of a solitary figure from the wilderness. The rider went past, joining the track a little farther on. He didn’t see them, for he was never nearer than fifty yards and they were half in the shadow of a saguaro.

  ‘I believe that was José,’ said Ginger, after the man had disappeared in the direction of the village. ‘I recognized that enormous sombrero.’

  ‘You’re right,’ confirmed Biggles. ‘If he’s going in to see his girl and finds Corny there doing his lullaby stuff there’s likely to be a row. We don’t want to be mixed up in it so we’ll sit here for a bit.’

  A few minutes passed. Then, suddenly, the silence was shattered by a gun-shot. A woman’s scream pierced the night.

  Biggles sprang to his feet. ‘That’s it,’ he ejaculated.

  ‘You mean — one of them has shot the other?’

  ‘What else could it be? Sit still. It’s nothing to do with us.’

  Then, as they waited, motionless, came the thud of galloping hooves. A few seconds later the rider went past them in a cloud of dust. Being on the track he couldn’t fail to see them. Indeed, Ginger saw his face, white in the moonlight, turned towards them. He also saw his hand flash to his hip; but apparently the movement was instinctive, or he thought better of what he must have contemplated, for he went on soon to disappear in the great desolation.

  ‘So it was José,’ muttered Ginger.

  ‘It was.’

  ‘He saw us.’

  ‘Couldn’t help but see us.’

  ‘If he’s shot Corny he must know we know who did it.’

  ‘Yes. A pity. We don’t want to be involved, so we’d better keep our mouths shut. As I said before, this has nothing to do with us.’

  ‘The locals will know who did the shooting. They knew what was going on. It seemed to be the main topic of conversation.’

  ‘As far as we’re concerned we may find we have one crook fewer to deal with. Come on. Let’s get back to the tavern. Remember, we’ve seen nothing.’

  They set off down the hill.

  Biggles’ hopes of reaching the hotel without being observed were not fulfilled. Outside the house where they had heard the guitar three men were standing by a body that lay sprawled fa
ce down in the dust. One of them was Juan, the policeman. The others Ginger did not know, but one, an old man with a fine aristocratic face, he thought might be the girl’s father. Seeing them the policeman called them over, and as they drew near Ginger saw that the man on the ground was in fact Cornelli.

  ‘Who did this?’ demanded Juan, bluntly.

  ‘How should I know?’ returned Biggles. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Can’t you see? A man has been shot.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Yes, he is dead. Where have you come from?’

  ‘From the hill.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘We took a walk before going to bed. We were sitting on a rock. I was smoking a cigarette before returning. We heard a shot. We are now on our way home. Don’t you know who did the shooting?’

  ‘No.’

  This denial surprised Ginger, for from what they had heard in the short time they had been in the village most people would draw their own conclusions.

  ‘How long ago did you pass this house on the way to the hill?’

  ‘About half an hour.’

  ‘Did you see anyone here?’

  ‘No,’ answered Biggles, truthfully. ‘We heard a man playing a guitar, and singing, but we didn’t see him. While we were at the posada, before we started, we saw Señor Cornelli go past with a guitar. Here is a man who will confirm that. He was with us at the time.’

  Biggles indicated Nifty, who had arrived on the scene, with Ritzy, in their car.

  Juan turned to him. ‘Were you at the posada tonight talking to these two gentlemen when Senor Cornelli went past.’

  ‘No,’ lied Nifty fluently.

  Ginger stared, astonished, not to say shocked, by such a downright lie. Then, in a flash of inspiration, he understood. Nifty didn’t want Ritzy to know he had been talking to them.

  ‘Who’s telling lies?’ demanded Juan

  ‘No one,’ replied Nifty. ‘These gentlemen are making a mistake. It’s true they saw me, and I saw them on the patio. I was on my way to get some cigarettes.’

  So that was what Nifty had told Ritzy to account for his absence, thought Ginger.