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

Doan’s head and hit a wall somewhere and bounced off in a whooping ricochet. Doan shot at him, and Garcia sat down suddenly on the pavement, looking blandly incredulous. He stared at Doan, his teeth white and jagged under his stringy mustache, and then he raised his right hand slowly.

Doan’s second bullet hit him in the mouth. Garcia fell backwards, and his head made a wet, thick sound as it hit the ground. He didn’t move again. Carstairs growled softly from behind Doan.

“I know,” Doan said. He was leaning forward tensely, watching the alley from which Garcia had appeared.

A second man jumped out into sight and dropped instantly on one knee. He was carrying a Luger automatic with a long, thin barrel.

“Alto ahi!” he called sharply._ “Manos arriba!“_

“Same to you,” said Doan.

They stared at each other for long dragging seconds. The kneeling man turned his head a little at last, taking in the huddled passengers, the parked bus. He smiled suddenly and nodded once. He spoke in smooth, unaccented English

“You may put away your gun now.”

“So may you,” said Doan.

The man laughed and slid the Luger inside his coat. He was dressed in a tan gabardine suit that was rumpled and smeared with dust. He was young and very tall, and he had a quick, sure way of moving. His features were thin and even, and his eyes were a deep blue-gray with a hard little twinkle of amusement in them. He got up and walked over to Garcia and prodded him casually with the toe of one brown oxford. Garcia’s head rolled loosely. Blood spilled slickly from the corner of his mouth.

“Dead,” said the tall man. “That is unfortunate.”

“For him,” Doan agreed.

The tall man studied Doan thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. A little, mild, fat man with an enormous dog. We were expecting you, but not quite so soon. What is the name? I have it! Doan! The detective who looks so harmlessly stupid.”

“I know how you look, too,” said Doan. “But what’s your name?”

“I am Captain Emile Perona.”

“Oh!” Janet exclaimed.

Perona looked at her. “Yes, senorita?”

“Oh,” said Janet, staring with eyes that were enormously dilated.

“What is it, senorita?” Captain Perona asked politely. “Are you ill?”

“No,” said Doan. “She’s a little surprised, and so am I. You’ve been promoted since the last time we heard of you, although I suppose anyone could work up from lieutenant to captain in four hundred years.”

“What?” said Captain Perona.

“How is Cortez getting along these days?”

Captain Perona frowned. “Perhaps I do not understand your language as well as I thought. The only Cortez I know of is the great explorer and conqueror of this country.”

“That’s the boy. Didn’t you serve under him?”

“Please do not be ridiculous. It is quite useless for you to try to disarm my suspicions with silly remarks. My ancestor—the first Emile Perona—was one of Cortez’s lieutenants, but that is none of your business and has nothing whatsoever to do with your presence here—which, I may add, we consider not only unfortunate but undesirable.”

“Well, thanks,” said Doan.

Captain Perona pointed to Garcia. “We were warned that things like this happen when you are in the vicinity.”

“Somebody’s been kidding you,” said Doan.

“You shot this man.”

“Well, certainly,” said Doan. “But he shot at me first. Ask anybody. He shot at me twice, in fact, and was all set to go again. What was I supposed to do—stand here and make noises like a target?”

“He saved our lives!” Janet said indignantly.

Captain Perona looked at her, and his eyes sharpened suddenly. “Why were you so startled when you heard my name?”

“B-because we were just talking about the other Emile Perona on the way here.”

“Why?”

“I’d read about him—”

“Where?”

“In—in Cortez’s reports—”

“In that diary, too,” Doan reminded.

“Diary!” Captain Perona snapped. “What diary?”

Janet said uncertainly: “Well… Well…”

Captain Perona came a long, pouncing step closer to her. “What diary?”

Janet swallowed. “Gil De Lico’s diary.”

“Hah!” said Captain Perona, expelling his breath triumphantly. “I thought so!”

A soldier trotted wearily out of the alley across the square. He came to a sudden halt, half raising his rifle, when he saw the bus and passengers. He stood there peering uncertainly for a moment and then turned and yelled back into the alley

_”Aqui! Aqui esta el capitan!” _

He trudged toward them, bayonet glittering dangerously. Three other soldiers came out of the alley and trailed along behind him.

“Hey, pop,” said Mortimer. “This fella ain’t got no back to his head, and his mouth is all full of pieces of teeth and blood and stuff.”

“Mortimer!” Mrs. Henshaw warned. “You come right here! Don’t you look!”

“Why not?” Mortimer asked reasonably. “He ain’t near as sliced up as them two guys I saw in that auto wreck last summer.”

“Police!” Mrs. Henshaw screamed. “Police!”

Captain Perona looked at her impatiently. “Senora, please be quiet. I am the police.”

“What police?” Doan asked.

“The Military Secret Police.”

It seemed that this was true enough because the first soldier—Sergeant Obrian of the red mustache and the evil temper—came up and saluted Perona and stood waiting for orders.

Captain Perona pointed absently to Garcia. “Take that away somewhere.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Obrian.

“What army is this, anyway?” Doan inquired.

“The Mexican Army, dumbness,” said Sergeant Obrian. “I can speak your lingo on account I used to be a waiter in double New York.”

“Where?” Doan said.

“New York, New York. It ain’t New York City—didn’t you know that? It’s New York. Just like Mexico City is Mexico.”

“Take that body away,” said Captain Perona.

_”Si. Capitan!” _ said Sergeant Obrian.

He snarled at his three soldiers. One of them—Private Serez—had a black eye and a limp. They slung their rifles and picked Garcia up and carried him down the street. One of his skinny legs swung loose, and his heel dragged on the pavement with a sly, grating sound.

Captain Perona hadn’t taken his eyes from Janet. “Where is that diary, senorita?”

“What?”

“You have it, eh? Give it to me.”

“Why, I—I don’t—”

“I think you lie.”

“I bet this is that old-time Mexican courtesy,” Doan observed.

Captain Perona said shortly, “Be quiet. This is important to me. That diary belongs to my family. It is a very precious heirloom. I want it.”

“Inquire at the Wisteria Young Ladies’ Seminary,” Doan advised.

“At what?” Captain Perona asked blankly.

“I didn’t believe there could be such a joint, either, but there is, and she teaches in it. That’s where she read the diary. It belongs to the school.”

“It does not. It belongs to me. Is it true that you found the diary at the school, senorita?”

Janet nodded. “Yes.”

“Where is the school?”

“Valley View, Ohio.”

“I will go there at once,” said Captain Perona.

“Wait a minute,” Doan said. “Before you go, suppose you sort of explain this and that.”

“Eh?” said Captain Perona.

Doan made a wide gesture. “The shooting and the soldiers and the dead man and where all the people are hiding—”

There was no longer any need to ask about the people. They appeared as suddenly and as thickly as a mob on the stage. Every door and most windows on the street disgorged a few, and they scurried around breathlessly, slamming up wood shutters, hauling counters of goods out on the pavement. Someone clanged a gong, and a little girl shrieked shrilly.

“Is American speaken in this store very nice! Is prices guaranteed cheapest on anything! Here, here, here! Beautiful, beautiful! Cheap, cheap!”

“Feelthy pictures?” a sly little man whispered in Doan’s ear. He saw Captain Perona looking his way and disappeared in the crowd like a puff of smoke.

A fat, thick-shouldered woman tackled Mrs. Henshaw. “Serape! See? Hand wove most pretty! Cheap!”

Three mongrel dogs came up and barked at Carstairs. Carstairs closed his eyes and looked bored. Doan rapped him sharply on top of the head with his knuckles and said:

“None of that, now.”

“What did he do?” Janet demanded.

“Nothing, yet. He hates mongrels—especially ones that bark at him. He was just getting ready to tear a leg off the nearest one. Carstairs. Relax.”

Carstairs opened his eyes and leered malignantly at the three mongrels. They went away quickly.

“Come this way, please,” said Captain Perona. He took Janet’s arm and led her through the crowd, fending off storekeepers and souvenir salesmen by merely scowling at them. Doan trailed right behind.

Clear of the crowd, Captain Perona said to Janet: “Please pardon the way I spoke to you. I am very anxious to recover that diary. For many years we have been trying to trace it.”

“I hate to interrupt,” said Doan, “but how about that bird I killed?”

Captain Perona shrugged. “You should not have done that, really. It is annoying.”

“No doubt,” said Doan. “But who was he?”

Captain Perona shrugged again. “He called himself Garcia most of the time, I believe. He was of no importance in himself. He was allowed to escape from the Islas Tres Marias.”

“The what?” Doan asked.

“You heard me,”

Janet said: “It’s a Mexican prison. It’s on an island like Alcatraz. It’s for the most dangerous confirmed criminals.”

Captain Perona nodded. “Correct.”

“You say he was allowed to escape?” Doan inquired.

“Yes. At my orders. I wanted to follow him in order to find a confederate of his. I followed him here successfully, but then his confederate threw a rattlesnake at one of my men and frightened him so badly that he shouted and thus let Garcia know that he was being watched.”

“A rattlesnake?” Doan repeated. “Threw it?”

“Yes.”

“That confederate must be sort of a tough bimbo,” Doan observed. “No wonder you wanted to find him. Did you?”

“Did we find him? No. But now we are positive he is here somewhere in Los Altos, so we will soon. I had hoped that if we kept chasing Garcia back and forth through the town long enough his confederate would try to help him, but of course you spoiled that possibility.”

“Who is this confederate, anyway?”

“It is a military matter,” Captain Perona said, politely but definitely.

“Oh,” said Doan. “Well, what should I do now? Go and lock myself in jail?”

“No. I will make the proper reports to the authorities. This is a military district. You may go and see the Senor Eldridge. He lives on the Avenida Revolution—three streets up and south one block. I will talk to the senorita.”

“Okay with you?” Doan asked Janet.

She nodded, a little uncertain. “I wanted to look at a little church—”

“I know the one you mean,” Captain Perona said. “It is no longer a church, but it is kept as a museum. I will take you there.”

“So long, then,” said Doan.

Captain Perona said: “One moment, please. As I told you, we have been expecting you. You may go and see Senor Eldridge, but you are not to strike him or beat him or torture him in any other manner to persuade him not to return to the United States as he wishes to do. If you harm him, you will be held very strictly to account.”

“Me?” said Doan. “Torture him?”

“We have heard of your methods of detection,” said Captain Perona stiffly. “They are not allowed in Mexico. You are warned.”

“I am warned,” Doan admitted. “Come on, Carstairs.”