Orchids for Biggles Read online

  The second course open was to go on to the Casa Floresta and report what had happened to Salvador — to give the man his assumed name — leaving him to do anything he might consider advisable. But Biggles didn’t care much for that plan, either. The third and last course was to go at once to the Intendente and tell him about the tragedy, saying he was out for a walk and had come across the body by accident, which in a way was not far from the truth. This, he felt, as a police officer himself, was the right thing to do. Indeed, if only out of respect for the dead girl he couldn’t see how he could do anything else.

  But how much should he tell the Intendente? That was the question. To tell him all he knew, or suspected, could hardly fail to complicate his own affairs. That would certainly happen if he handed over the letter Dolores had been carrying when she met her death. It was addressed to Neckel. The Intendente would read it, and putting two and two together, associate with Neckel his own purpose in being in the town. He recalled he had already mentioned Neckel’s name to him. No, decided Biggles. That wouldn’t do. It would be better to say nothing about the letter, which had no bearing on the case beyond the fact that it would account for Dolores being on her way to the Casa Floresta.

  There was another angle. If he reported his suspicion to the Intendente, that Dolores had been murdered by Maria, word would get around, and her relations, holding him responsible for her arrest, would make his position in Cruzuado untenable. As likely as not he would be the next one to get a knife in his back some dark night.

  Having made up his mind, he set off at a fast pace for the office of the Chief of Police. To his relief he met no one until he was in the main street. Passing the Bar Francisco, from which regardless of the hour there still came the customary noise of revelry, he put his head in the door and saw Maria doing her usual dance act. That, he realized, didn’t mean she had not been out.

  Continuing on his way he was soon at the police headquarters, to be informed by the agente on duty that the Intendente had just gone to bed.

  ‘Then I must ask you to fetch him, for a matter I have to report is both urgent and important,’ requested Biggles.

  After a short delay the Intendente appeared.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but there is something you should know, señor,’ began Biggles.

  ‘I am at your service,’ stated the officer courteously, but looking puzzled.

  ‘A short while ago I went for a walk before going to bed. It took me a little way beyond the top end of the street, almost to the place where the road goes in two directions.’

  ‘I know it. You mean where your friend was attacked and robbed?’

  ‘Exactly, señor. There, lying across the road, I found the body of a girl. She had been stabbed to death.’

  The police officer grimaced. ‘Did you recognize her?’

  ‘Yes. With my cigarette lighter I saw it was the girl from my hotel, the one they call Dolores.’

  The Intendente clicked his tongue.

  ‘The knife was in her back. I didn’t touch it, but I moved the body to the side of the road; then I came straight back to tell you.’

  ‘Now what demonio has done this?’ muttered the Intendente. ‘Did you see the person?’

  ‘No, señor. It is true I saw someone running down the road, but it was dark so I couldn’t say who it was.’

  The policeman sighed. ‘I get no peace. Very well, señor. I will attend to it.’

  ‘In that case I shall go to bed. Should you want me I shall be in the hotel.’

  ‘Gracias. Buenos noches, señor.’

  ‘Adios.’

  Biggles retired to the hotel, and to his room, where he found Bertie in bed, waiting for him.

  Bertie took one look at his face and asked: ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Dolores has been murdered.’

  ‘Oh no!’

  ‘It’s true. I went along to the fork in the road to wait for her to pass, as I told you I would. She came along, and within a minute went down with a knife in her back.’

  Biggles went on to narrate in detail exactly what had happened.

  ‘What a shocker! What did you do about it?’

  ‘I came back and told the Intendente. What else could I do?’

  ‘Nothing, old boy. I can see that. How much did you tell the police?’

  ‘Not more than I had to, you may be sure of that. The last thing we want is to be mixed up in a murder case.’

  ‘Who did it, do you think? Maria?’

  ‘It looks that way to me; but I’ve no proof.’

  ‘Did you give the letter to the police?’

  ‘No. I said nothing about it. I have an idea for putting it to better use.’

  ‘Have you opened it?’

  ‘No. It’s addressed to Neckel, not to Salvador, and that’s all I need to know. If, as I suppose, it’s the letter the Air Commodore said was being sent from London there’s no point in opening it. We know what it’s about.’

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  ‘I’m thinking of taking it along to Neckel, first thing in the morning.’

  ‘That’s taking a chance.’

  ‘The time has come when we shall have to take chances. Delivering the letter will enable me to have a close look at Salvador in daylight, and perhaps provide an opportunity to see inside the house.’

  Bertie thought for a moment. ‘Has it occurred to you to wonder what José is going to say about this?’

  ‘It has.’

  ‘You haven’t told him?’

  ‘I don’t know where to look for him. He’s sleeping somewhere in the town and no doubt he’ll be along in the morning. I shall probably have gone by then so it will be up to you to tell him, if he hasn’t already heard the news.’

  ‘He may cut up rough. He was fond of that girl.’

  ‘I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s happened. And there it is.’

  ‘He’ll guess it was Maria. He knew Dolores was on bad terms with her.’

  ‘What if he does? He can do what he likes as far as I’m concerned as long as he doesn’t drag us into it.’

  ‘It’s a bad show.’

  ‘Are you telling me! But let’s sleep on it. We may feel better about it in the morning.’

  CHAPTER 9

  BOGOSOFF SHOWS HIS HAND

  THE morning broke fine, the sky pale blue beyond patches of thin mist, already lifting, promising another hot day.

  It found Biggles on the move early, which awakened Bertie, who declared he was back to normal and suggested he accompanied Biggles to the Casa Floresta. Biggles had confirmed his intention of paying a visit to Salvador, the letter in his pocket providing an excuse not to be wasted.

  But Biggles would not have it. He said he could manage the affair alone, so it would be better for Bertie to concentrate on getting absolutely fit before trying to do too much too soon, and so possibly bring on a relapse at a time when all his stamina would really be needed.

  ‘You stick around the hotel to deal with anything that might arise while I’m away,’ he ordered. ‘If you see José you can tell him what has happened to Dolores, but don’t say more than is necessary. See how he takes it. He’s bound to be upset. If I see him downstairs or in the yard I’ll tell him myself.’

  ‘What if the Intendente comes round asking for you?’

  ‘Tell him I’ve gone out but you expect me back for lunch. Better not tell him where I’ve gone or he may wonder what business I have with Salvador. In fact, to prevent him from getting suspicious as to why we’re hanging about here for so long, you might drop the word that we’re thinking of joining Don Pedro at the Villa Vanda very soon now. Incidentally, that’s true, because it’s time we had a look at the machine to make sure she’s all right. At any time now we might need her in a hurry.’

  ‘Okay, old boy. But if the police are going to get suspicious of anyone, what about Bogosoff? Have you seen him lately?’

  ‘No.’

  �
��What do you suppose has happened to him?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. I imagine he’s still around, and I have a feeling he’s not here for his health; but I shan’t waste time looking for him while he keeps out of our way. See you later.’ Biggles left the room.

  It so happened that the first person he saw when he went out to the plaza was José, leaning against a hitching rail. ‘Hello, what are you doing here?’ he asked, after the usual ‘Buenos dias.’

  José, always cheerful, grinned as he admitted he was waiting for Dolores to arrive. He had a little present for her.

  ‘Then I shall have to give you some bad news,’ returned Biggles, sadly. ‘Dolores won’t be coming here any more.’

  ‘Not come back?’ José looked astonished.

  ‘You’ll have to know the truth, amigo. Prepare for a shock. Dolores is dead.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Last night she was murdered.’

  Biggles never forgot the expression on José’s face. The smile seemed to freeze into a mask. His lips became thin lines drawn hard against white teeth. His hands opened and closed, slowly. For an uncomfortable moment Biggles thought the negro was going to spring at him. But the fear passed when José said, softly but with a dangerous edge on his voice: ‘Who kill my gal?’

  Biggles shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Maria.’ Jose breathed the word.

  ‘I said I didn’t know.’

  ‘Salvador. He’s de man don’ dis. De gals was frens till he come.’

  ‘I’d rather not express an opinion on that.’

  ‘Who tell you dis?’

  ‘Unfortunately I found Dolores’ body myself. Late last night I walked up the street to watch if she went to the Casa Floresta. She went past me. She didn’t see me. Presently I heard a scream and hurried along to see what had happened. She was lying on the ground with a knife in her back.’

  ‘You see who don’ it?’

  ‘No. Some person ran past me, but it was very dark so I couldn’t make out who it was.’

  ‘What you do?’

  ‘The only thing I could do. When I realized she was dead I hurried back to tell the Intendente. I haven’t seen him since, but I imagine he sent men to bring in the body.’

  ‘Where dey take her?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the police. I went to bed when I left the office of the Intendente.’

  There was a short but uncomfortable silence.

  ‘I kill someone for dis,’ said Jose thickly, his hand to his machete. Then to Biggles’ embarrassment tears began rolling down the black face so often wreathed in a smile.

  Biggles pushed some money in his hand. ‘Go inside and have a drink,’ he advised. ‘At a time like this a man needs one. It’ll pull you together. Do nothing in a hurry. Señor Lissie will be down presently. He’ll talk to you. The Intendente may come along, and no doubt he’ll tell you what he’s been able to find out.’

  With his head bowed the negro walked away and into the hotel.

  Biggles sighed as he continued on his way, relieved that the man had taken the grim news as well as he had.

  There were now a few people in the street, but no one he knew, and when he reached the track he found it deserted. He walked with eyes and ears alert, for in view of all that had happened on it the place had acquired an ugly character. When he came to the fork he paused to look around. The body of the dead girl was of course no longer there. Seeing nothing of interest he walked on, quite openly, towards the house, the Casa Floresta, his eyes taking in the details.

  He stopped at the gate. Or rather, he was stopped by a big, ugly half-breed, who was evidently there for that purpose.

  ‘What you want, man ?’ he was asked, curtly.

  ‘I’ve come to see Señor Salvador.’

  ‘He don’t see no one.’

  ‘I think he’ll see me if you’ll tell him I have news for him, and a letter,’ returned Biggles, evenly.

  ‘Wait.’ Scowling, the man walked to the house, which stood a little way back.

  Biggles took the opportunity to have a good look at it.

  Presently the man reappeared. Without a word he opened the gate. Biggles followed him to the door, where he was met by the man he had come to see. Even before he spoke Salvador had to take a cigarette from his lips to cough.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ he inquired, politely, in a voice in which there was just a trace of transatlantic accent.

  ‘I have a letter which may have been intended for you, or for a friend of yours.’

  ‘Indeed. How did you get it?’

  ‘It came into my possession in unusual, not to say tragic, circumstances. I thought you might like to hear about it.’

  ‘Come in.’

  Biggles followed Salvador into a simply furnished but pleasant sitting room.

  ‘Please be seated,’ requested Salvador. ‘Can I get you some refreshment?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ve only just had my breakfast. As you are probably aware, I’m staying with a friend of mine at the Hotel Comisaria. We’re here to arrange new contracts with an Englishman who lives a little way down the river. He’s known locally as Don Pedro. He’s an orchid collector.’

  ‘As a matter of fact I did hear something of the sort,’ answered Salvador carelessly. ‘I once saw you in a bar in the town.’

  ‘The Bar Francisco.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I saw you there, too. You were with the reception clerk at our hotel, a girl named Dolores.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons why I’ve come to see you. As apparently you were friendly with her I thought you’d be interested to know she was murdered last night not far from this house. Did you know that?’

  Salvador’s expression had changed. ‘No.’

  ‘Late last night I went for a stroll before turning in. On the track that comes this way after leaving the town I came across a body lying on the ground. I hadn’t a torch, but using my petrol lighter I saw it was Dolores. There was a knife in her back. In moving her to the side of the track I found a letter lying on the ground. It struck me that if she was a friend of yours she might have been on her way here. My first thought was to go to the nearest house, presumably yours, for help, but I decided that as the girl was dead nothing could be done for her and it would be better to inform the police.’

  ‘Did you do that?’

  ‘Yes. I told the Intendente, and was able to tell him the identity of the victim.’

  ‘Did you give him the letter?’ asked Salvador, sharply.

  ‘No. I had put it in my pocket and had forgotten about it by the time I got to him. Anyway, obviously it was not the motive for the murder or the murderer would have taken it. I remembered it when I got up this morning, so thinking it might be a purely personal matter I’ve brought it along to see if it was intended for you. It may not be. I understand your name is Salvador, and the letter is addressed to someone named Neckel.’

  ‘Neckel is a friend of mine. He sometimes stays here with me,’ was the quick explanation.

  ‘In that case you’d better have it.’

  Biggles handed over the bloodstained envelope. After a glance at it Salvador put it in his pocket. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m most grateful to you. It couldn’t in any way be connected with the murder. The simple fact is this. Rather than make unneccessary journeys into the town I asked this poor girl to inquire every day at the post-office, and if there were any for either Salvador or Neckel to bring them along here when she had finished her work at the hotel. As a matter of detail I gave her a little money for her trouble. That explains why she was on her way here, with this particular letter, when she was murdered.’

  ‘So that was it,’ murmured Biggles. ‘I thought it might be something of the sort.’

  Salvador, coughing periodically, was rolling another cigarette. He wore no signet ring, but seeing the man in broad daylight, visualizing him without the beard, Biggles was no lo
nger in any doubt about his real identity. He was satisfied that this was Neckel, the absconding scientist.

  ‘Did you by any chance see the man who murdered this unfortunate girl?’ inquired Neckel.

  ‘I did see someone, in a hurry, but it was too dark for me to recognize the person. I don’t think it was a man. It seemed to me to be a woman. Anyhow, that’s the impression I got.’

  ‘Ah,’ breathed Neckel, with a curious significance that was not lost on Biggles. ‘You have absolutely no idea as to who she was?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be true to say that.’

  ‘Then who do you think it might have been ?’

  ‘I couldn’t swear to it, but from her figure, or something about her, as she ran past me in the dark I thought it might be the girl I’d seen dancing in the Bar Francisco.’

  ‘Did she see you?’

  ‘I don’t think so. If she did she could hardly have recognized me.’

  ‘Did you tell the Intendente about this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Frankly, because I’d rather not be involved. I’ve lived long enough to learn to mind my own business. I’m only a visitor, and the affair has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘How wise of you. When you see him again may I ask you to say nothing about the letter, my reason for that being the same as yours. The letter can have no possible connexion with the reason for the murder, I do assure you of that. Taking it all in all, the less said the better.’

  ‘As you wish. I did of course tell the Intendente where I’d seen the body, so although he did not say so there is a chance that his inquiries may bring him here. That’s why I came along early, so that the news, when it reached you through the police, should not come as a shock.’

  ‘Thank you. That was very considerate of you.’ Neckel got up, a plain hint that the interview was at an end.

  Biggles, too, had got to his feet, satisfied with the successful outcome of a visit that had told him what he wanted to know, when from outside, close at hand, came the sound of voices raised high; one it seemed, in protest. This was cut short by the report of a firearm. There were quick footsteps in the hall, and into the room marched Bogosoff, an automatic held in front of him.