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know. And you’d better watch that descendant of his pretty closely, too.”

“You lied to him,” Janet accused, remembering.

“What about?” Doan asked.

“You’re not married!. You don’t have any wife and three small girls!”

Doan watched her. “How’d you find that out?”

“From the answer to your message”

“Answer?” said Doan. “Answer! Did that damned, dumb Truegold send me a straight answer through the military wireless setup?”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did it say?”

“It said that he had informed the Van Osdel interests about Patricia’s murder and that your agency had been hired to solve the mystery.”

“All right,” said Doan. “But that Truegold is too dumb even for the president of a detective agency. Wait until I see him again.”

“That’s not the point, Mr. Doan. You appealed to Captain Perona’s pity by telling him about your children being quarantined with the measles, and you gave your word that you wouldn’t send out information about Patricia Van Osdel.”

“I told him I wouldn’t tell my kids,” Doan corrected. “But that’s just a weasel. Yes, I lied to him.”

“Well, aren’t you ashamed? You involved me, too.”

“You shouldn’t have believed me,” Doan said. “And neither should Perona have.”

“Why not?” Janet demanded indignantly.

“Because I’m a detective,” Doan said. “I told you something in the same line before. Detectives never tell the truth if they can help it. They lie all the time. It’s just business.”

“Not all detectives!”

Doan nodded, seriously now. “Yes. Every detective ever born, and every one who ever will be. Honest. Perona should have known that. He lies himself whenever he thinks it’s a good idea. I’m sorry, though, if he got mad at you on my account.”

“You had no right…” Janet paused. “Oh dear! You just saved my life, and now I’m talking to you this way…. I’m sorry, Mr. Doan!”

Doan chuckled. “Forget it. So many people are mad at me for so many different reasons that one more or less—”

Carstairs growled, and Doan whirled around tensely._ “Aqui!“_ a voice shouted.

A soldier was peering at them through the niche in the wall. He climbed over and dropped into the patio. Another soldier and another and another scrambled over after him. They advanced in a raggedly spaced line. Their bayonets glittered, and their brown faces were grimly set.

“Something tells me,” said Doan, “that I’m going to have a heart-to-heart chat with Captain Perona in the very near future.”

Chapter 15

IT WAS THE SAME SMALL, SQUARE ROOM in which Doan had been incarcerated before, but now Captain Perona and Colonel Callao and Lieutenant Ortega sat in a solemn, official row behind a table in the center of the floor. None of them spoke when the soldiers ushered Doan and Janet into the room. Carstairs was between Doan and Janet, and he sat down and looked at the three officers for a moment and then yawned in a pointed way. Captain Perona nodded at the soldiers, and they went out and closed the door.

“Senorita Martin,” said Captain Perona formally, “I regret to see you in your present company.”

“Mr. Doan and Carstairs are my friends!” Janet told him.

“That shows loyalty but also a lamentable lack of brains,” said Captain Perona. “Now kindly keep silent until you are addressed. Doan, this is a military court of inquiry. We would have met sooner to consider some of your actions if it had not been for the confusion resulting from the earthquake.”

“No need to apologize,” Doan said amiably.

Captain Perona’s lips tightened. “That was not my intention. By a very contemptible sort of trick, you deceived me and sent a message to the detective agency which employs you informing them of Patricia Van Osdel’s murder. As a result—which you intended—you have been hired to solve the mystery of her death, although there is no mystery.”

“No?” said Doan.

“No. You will receive no fee from this case. I have solved the murder, and I have no intention of letting you steal the credit for it. We have learned through our own sources of inquiry that Patricia Van Os-del drew twenty-five thousand dollars in United States’ currency from her bank in Mexico City four days ago. She made no major purchases subsequent to that time, and it is reasonable to assume, since a search of her possessions at the Hotel Azteca failed to reveal it, that she brought the money to Los Altos with her.”

“In her purse,” said Doan.

“That is immaterial. The money furnished the motive for her murder. Her companion, Greg, knew she had it. He was looking for an opportunity to steal it. The earthquake gave him an excellent chance. He struck down Patricia Van Osdel and the maid, Maria, and stole the money. But Maria was only wounded. She could identify Greg as the murderer when she recovered consciousness and would certainly do so. He came to the hospital and killed her last night to insure her silence. He was seen by Amanda Tracy, and he struck her down, again to keep from being identified.”

“Greg got his arm broken in the earthquake,” Doan observed.

“Yes. He fell while he was pursuing Maria. That is why he only wounded her then. He was in great pain and anxious to get away from the scene of his crime. We have not apprehended him as yet, but we will very soon. That ends the matter. Also, it absolves the Mexican government and the army of any responsibility. Patricia Van Osdel virtually caused her own death by her choice in friends and by secretly carrying such a sum of money with her without informing us of the fact so we could take extra precautions to protect her. Now have you anything to say?”

“Oh, a hell of a lot,” Doan answered.

“Proceed,” said Captain Perona.

“Well,” said Doan. “First there’s me. You were under a little misapprehension as to why I came to Los Altos. I wasn’t hired by any crooked politicians to come down here and persuade Eldridge not to come back to the United States.”

“No?” said Captain Perona.

“No. I was hired by a Committee of Good Government to bring him back so they could give the brush-off to the crooked outfit that is running the state. That outfit is slightly on the subversive side, and a lot of people would like to see them go away and not come back any more. If Eldridge testified to what he knew, it would have done the job up brown. But the Committee couldn’t get him extradited because he had too much influence here and there.”

“This is very interesting,” said Captain Perona, “if true.”

“It’s true. Due to slander, libel, defamation of character, and unfounded rumors I have the reputation of being a little sharp in my business activities.”

“Yes, indeed,” Captain Perona agreed.

“So they hired me to pretend I was hired by Eldridge’s crooked pals to scare him into staying here. That would naturally make him slightly resentful. Then he and I would cook up some sort of a supposed double-cross of his crooked pals, and he would return to the United States voluntarily so the Committee could lay hands on him and throw him in jail until he got talkative. Eldridge actually had no intention of returning, before we started to work on him. He was just talking in the hopes of shaking down his pals.”

“You actually expect me to believe this?” Captain Perona asked politely.

“Sure.”

Captain Perona watched him. “You forgot to mention the matter of the ten-thousand-dollar bribe.”

“No, I didn’t. There wasn’t any bribe or any ten thousand dollars. That was just a rumor.”

“What is in the safety deposit box in Chicago?”

“A well-gnawed steak bone,” said Doan. “Carstairs is progressive. He doesn’t bury his bones like other dogs. He deposits them in banks.”

“Bah!” Captain Perona exploded.

“Honest,” said Doan. “I’ll sign a power of attorney, and you can have your consular agent go and look in the box.”

Captain Perona breathed deeply. “If this fantastic nonsense has the faintest relation to the truth,” he said with a certain amount of satisfaction, “you have failed in your mission.”

“Oh, no,” said Doan. “Eldridge dictated a dying statement to me—signed, sealed, and witnessed in triplicate.”

Lieutenant Ortega looked up quickly. “That is impossible. Eldridge could not possibly have dictated a statement after receiving the injuries which caused his death.”

“He did, though,” Doan maintained.

Captain Perona frowned at him. “You intend to forge a statement.”

“Me?” said Doan. “Oh, no. Why, if I did that all those crooked politicians would haul me into court and prove the charges in the statement were false.”

Captain Perona opened his mouth and shut it again, helplessly. “Doan,” he said at last, “the United States is an ally of this country’s, and as such we wish to treat its nationals with all due consideration, but I warn you to get out of Mexico and stay out.”

“Wait a minute,” said Doan. “I want to set you straight on a couple of other matters first.”

“What matters?” Captain Perona inquired icily.

“I want my dough. I want you to give me the official credit for solving the mystery of Patricia Van Osdel’s death.”

“And what possible reason could I have for doing that?”

“Because if you do, I’ll tell you where to find Bautiste Bonofile.”

There was a dead, ominous silence.

Captain Perona stirred a little in his chair. “I now retract what I said a moment ago. You are not going to leave Mexico. You are going to stay here for about twenty years, I think.”

“It’s nice of you to ask me,” said Doan. “But no.”

“Where—is—Bautiste—Bonofile?”

“Do I get credit on the Van Osdel deal?”

“No! If you do not tell me at once where Bautiste Bonofile is, you are going to regret it.”

“Don’t get tough,” Doan warned, “or I’ll dummy up on you, and then you’ll never find him. Come on, Perona. Let’s make a deal. I get credit for Van Osdel. You get credit for Bautiste Bonofile. That’s a nice offer.”

Captain Perona rubbed his hand over his face and sighed deeply. “I dislike you, Doan. I dislike you very much, indeed. You are an unscrupulous, cold-blooded criminal, and I think—and hope most fervently—that you will come to a bad end one day soon.”

“I can hardly wait,” said Doan. “But let’s make a deal first.”

Captain Perona said: “I have failed to find Bautiste Bonofile, and that is a reflection on me and on Major Nacio’ s organization. The cables will be in place over the Canyon of Black Shadow by tonight. My failure will then be a matter of public knowledge. You have won, Doan. I must bargain with you because I have no choice. You will be given the credit for solving Patricia Van Osdel’s death. Where is Bautiste Bonofile?”

“In a tunnel under Colonel Callao’s patio.”

“What?” said Captain Perona sharply.

Doan nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

Captain Perona turned slowly to look at Colonel Callao. Colonel Callao’s face was as loosely blank as ever, and he was smiling, but there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

“Don’t let him kid you,” said Doan. “He understands English. Enough to get by, anyway. He’s got a swell poker face, but he can’t control his eyes. I think he’s been dealing for and covering Bautiste Bonofile all along.”

Colonel Callao stood up very slowly and leaned his weight against the table. His face was darkly leaden now. No one else in the room spoke or moved. Finally Colonel Callao pushed himself away from the table, swaying a little, and walked toward the door, pushing one foot ahead of the other.

Captain Perona looked at Lieutenant Ortega and nodded once. “I assume all responsibility here. I order you to follow Colonel Callao and place him under close arrest.”

Lieutenant Ortega

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