The Mouse in the Mountain by Norbert Davis (detective books to read TXT) 📕

investigation, we have found that your suspicions were justified. Patricia Van Osdel was not killed by accident. She was murdered by being struck on the head by a jagged piece of stone, which was subsequently found in a lane beside her maid, Maria, who was seriously injured by being struck with the same stone.”

“How is Maria?” Janet asked.

“Doan was right in his diagnosis there, also. Her skull is fractured. She is not conscious and probably will not be so for several days. She is under guard at the military hospital, and I do not wish to hear of any of you attempting to visit her. As soon as she recovers she will be able to tell us who murdered Patricia Van Osdel and attacked her, but I do not propose to wait that long to find out.”

“Why not?” Doan asked. “You’ve got lots of time.”

“Patricia Van Osdel,” said Captain Perona, “was an enormously rich and influential citizen of your country. Your country and mine are now allies in the war. We do not wish any incidents to occur which would disturb our relationship. If it were known that Patricia Van Osdel had been murdered here, it would inevitably arouse suspicions of our ability to protect visitors and tourists, and start demands for investigation of the circumstances surrounding her death and rumors of fifth column activity in military zones and such things. Do I make myself clear?”

“Not yet,” said Doan.

“I will proceed. Patricia Van Osdel’s death is to be known as an accident until such time as we can find and arrest her murderer and prove that the Mexican Army and Government were in no way responsible or negligent.”

“Now I get it,” said Doan. “Hush-hush.”

“Yes. There is no way for any of you to communicate with anyone outside Los Altos. All exits and entrances are guarded by soldiers. All telephone and telegraph wires went down with the bridge.”

“Some bridge,” Henshaw remarked. “Couldn’t even stand a little shaking up.”

Captain Perona eyed him narrowly. “I recall that not so long ago a bridge in the United States—a new one—blew down in a high wind.”

“Oh,” said Henshaw, subdued. “Yeah, I remember that, now you mention it…. Well, what’re we gonna do?”

“Stay here. The bridge supports at either end are intact. We will put cables across as soon as we receive the equipment. We are in touch with Major Nacio by military field wireless now.”

“Who’s he?” Henshaw asked.

“The man who warned you not to come here.”

“Yeah,” said Henshaw. “He did at that, didn’t he? And was he right!”

“He was,” Captain Perona agreed. “Your presence here is a needless complication. However, if you will give me the names of the people concerned, I will see that they are notified that you are safe. You may be forced to remain here for a few days, but there will be no shortage of food or supplies. Now I wish to ask you: Do any of you know why Patricia Van Osdel was so determined to come to Los Altos at this particular time?”

No one answered.

“You,” said Captain Perona, pointing at Greg.

“I don’t know,” said Greg. “I didn’t know anything about her business affairs. I was strictly a social acquaintance of hers.”

Captain Perona pointed at Doan. “You.”

“Now, look,” Doan protested. “You’re going to have to make a choice here. I can’t have killed both Eldridge and the Van Osdel at the same time when they were a half mile apart.”

Captain Perona counted on his fingers. “Garcia. Eldridge. Patricia Van Osdel. Maria. A death by shooting, a so-called accidental death, a murder, and a near-fatal attack. All since you came to Los Altos.”

“Don’t forget the earthquake,” Doan suggested. “I had that hidden in my hat along with Greg’s knife.”

“Captain Perona,” Janet said, “I think you’re just being silly with your suspicions of Mr. Doan.”

Captain Perona turned to look at her. “I asked you earlier this afternoon if you wished to be arrested. You said, no. Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” said Janet.

“Then do not meddle in affairs that do not concern you.”

“Slap his ugly face, dearie,” Amanda Tracy urged. “Kick him in his shins.”

“What are you doing here,” Captain Perona inquired, “besides making a nuisance of yourself?”

“I’m staying here, fancy-pants, because the roof came off my house. Only Doan, thank God, wasn’t around to shove me under it when it started to fall. You’d better pinch him, Perona, before he kills all the rest of us.”

“Mind your own business.”

“All right,” said Amanda Tracy. “How about the earthquake, then? That’s my business from now on.”

“All rescue work has been organized completely by the military. Property is being guarded, people have been removed from dangerous buildings, and the injured—and others—have been taken care of. There is no disorder of any kind, and there will be none.”

“Too bad,” Amanda Tracy remarked. “How many people killed?”

“Nine, including Senorita Van Osdel and Senor Eldridge.”

“How many hurt?”

“Seventeen severely injured, including Maria. They are in a temporary hospital in charge of Lieutenant Ortega and military nurses and attendants. There were thirty-four others who were injured, but not seriously enough to require more than first aid treatment. Only about five buildings collapsed completely. Many others were damaged badly. We have not had time for a complete survey as yet. The earthquake was sharply localized. Both Mazalar and Santa Lucia felt it only faintly. Is that sufficient information to satisfy you?”

“Yup,” said Amanda Tracy.

Doan said casually: “How about witnesses? Did you find anybody who saw what happened to Maria and the Van Osdel?”

“Not yet. There was very great confusion at the time of the earthquake, as you know. People were too interested in their own affairs and their own safety to pay much attention to their surroundings or what other people were doing. We are still investigating.”

“I don’t get this,” said Henshaw. “Why all the argument about Patricia Van Osdel’s death and the attack on Maria? It’s easy to see what happened. Some of these natives around here noticed how spiffy she was dressed, and one of them just batted her one and Maria, too—and ran off with her dough and stuff. This burg looks to me like it’s practically full of thieves.”

“Speaking of thieves,” said Captain Perona, “it_ is_ my duty to inform you that unless you make immediate cash retribution for the articles you stole this afternoon, you will be arrested and tried by a military court.”

“What?” Henshaw shouted indignantly. “Articles I stole?”

“You were seen and identified by six witnesses.”

Henshaw slapped himself on the forehead. “That damned Mortimer! I told him not to lift that junk! Look, Captain. It was the kid took them, not me.”

“You are responsible for him.”

“Like hell! I’m no more responsible for Mortimer than you are for Hitler!”

“Will you pay, or will you go to jail?”

“Put Mortimer in jail,” Henshaw invited.

“Wilbur!” Mrs. Henshaw shrieked.

“One hundred and fifty dollars, please,” said Captain Perona evenly.

“What!” Henshaw moaned. “Oh, now wait a minute. It was only some old spurs and a hat. Look, I’ll make Mortimer give ‘em back!”

“The owner does not want them back. He wants the money to repair his store. And, in this case, he has the choice. I might mention that the jail is very crowded and uncomfortable at this time and that, under military law, the penalty for looting is death.”

Henshaw stared. “You said—death?”

“Yes.”

“Oh!” said Henshaw. “Oh—oh—oh!” He produced a book of travelers’ checks and a fountain pen. “One hundred fifty… Here! Take ‘em! Oh, that Mortimer! Oh, just wait!”

“Wilbur,” said Mrs. Henshaw, “you won’t lay a hand on him—not even a finger. It’s all your fault. You tempted him.”

“I—I tempted… I never did! I did not! I’ll tear him limb from limb! I’ll wring his scrawny neck!”

“Enough,” said Captain Perona, folding the travelers’ checks carefully. “There is another very vital matter. The reason for the trouble with the man, Garcia, and for the presence of a company of soldiers here, and the reason you were warned not to come is that it was suspected that a criminal by the name of Bautiste Bonofile was hiding in disguise in Los Altos. He has now been identified as one Tio Riquez.”

“Hey!” Amanda Tracy blurted in amazement. “You don’t mean the old drip who had charge of the museum?”

“That old drip,” Captain Perona confirmed bitterly. “He had held that position for years, and he had managed to fool everyone. As it was, he was uncovered by accident.”

“Well, I like that,” said Janet.

“A very attractive accident,” Captain Perona corrected, bowing in her direction. “This man is still at large in Los Altos. He cannot—and neither can any of you—possibly escape from the town. We will find him in a short time, but in the meantime I warn you to stay close to this hotel. This man is desperate and very dangerous.”

“A public enemy, I bet,” said Henshaw. “I’ve never met one. Bring him around when you catch him.”

“I do not think he will be taken alive.”

“What was in the museum cellar?” Janet asked curiously.

“We have not been able to determine fully as yet. There were rifles, as he said, as well as a considerable amount of other loot.”

“Where’d the old boob steal it?” Amanda Tracy asked.

“That is a military affair,” said Captain Perona.

Doan yawned. “He picked it up when he was riding around with, a gent named Zapata.”

Captain Perona spun on his heel. “How did you know that?”

“Eldridge told me.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” Doan answered warily.

Captain Perona leaned over the table. “If you knew—if you even suspected—that Tio Riquez was Bautiste Bonofile and did not inform the military authorities, you are going to find yourself in some serious trouble. Very serious, indeed.”

“Why don’t I keep my big mouth shut?” Doan asked, sighing. “I didn’t know. Eldridge didn’t, either. Honest.”

“Ah-lou,” said a thick, wheezing voice, and an incredibly fat man in a rumpled uniform that was too loose for him everywhere except across his paunch and too tight there rolled himself through the door and peered at them glassily through eyes that were yellowish, bloodshot marbles pouched in bluish puffs of flesh.

Captain Perona saluted stiffly. “This is Colonel Callao. He is a filthy, stupid swine, as you can plainly see. He thinks he understands and speaks English, but he does not. Nevertheless, he will be insulted if you attempt to speak to him in Spanish. Speak English, and he will grin like the fool he is and pretend to understand you. Am I not correct, Colonel?”

“Yuzz,” said Colonel Callao, grinning proudly. “Ah-lou. Goom-by.”

“He is not,” said Captain Perona, nodding politely to him, “representative of the Mexican Army. He is a holdover from the old days. He is slightly drunk now but not enough, I do not think, to collapse or vomit on the floor or to perform any of the other antics such pigs usually indulge in when they are intoxicated to a sufficient degree.”

Concha burst through the door like an explosion, her short skirt swirling, her magnificent eyes shooting sparks.

“I heard you! I heard every words you say! And I tell him, too!”

“I would not advise you to,” Captain Perona warned smoothly. “For your own —safety. This one, ladies and gentlemen, calls herself Senora Eldridge.”

“I am!” Concha shrilled furiously. “I have the papers to prove!”

“Forged, no doubt,” said Captain Perona.

“Sure! Forged absolutely genuine!” Concha jerked at Colonel Callao’ s arm. “There! That one! The little fats with the big, dumb dog! He’s killing my husband!”

“Goom-by,” said Colonel Callao helpfully.

“He is! Give him the pinch! Puts him in jail! Shoot him!”

“Bang-bang,” said Doan.

“Stop