by W E Johns
At the time he was struck Bertie was wearing a sombrero, and being fortunate in having a thick crop of hair, these together may have absorbed enough of the shock to prevent his skull from being fractured. But they did not save him from slight concussion, wherefore he still looked groggy and was obviously in no state to do anything. It was evident from the number of mosquito bites that he must have lain unconscious for a long time before he was picked up. And it is not surprising that at first he was thought to be dead.
Biggles went over and knelt beside him. ‘All right. Take it easy,’ he said. ‘Don’t try to talk now.’ Turning to the police officer he went on: ‘I think he’d be more comfortable in his own bed, where I can look after him. Could you get someone to help me to get him there?’
‘Sin duda, señor. It would be better so. We haven’t much room here.’
‘Did the doctor put that bandage on his head?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say anything about coming back?’
‘No. He said he could do no more.’
‘Then there’s no damage apart from his head?’
‘No.’
‘By the way, who was the young woman who found him? I must thank her.’
‘The girl they call Dolores.’
Biggles’ eyebrows went up. ‘You mean the girl who works at the desk in the hotel?’
‘The same. Excuse me.’
The Intendente went off, presently to return with two of his staff who apparently he had fetched from their sleeping quarters. Between them all they got Bertie to his bed in the hotel, where his clothes were taken off and his pyjamas put on. Actually, he was able to walk, but he was still unsteady on his legs and needed support. This was watched by the patron, who reappeared with the pot of coffee he had promised. He did not stay.
Having seen Bertie comfortable, the police officer was about to go when he turned and eyed Biggles shrewdly. ‘I will find the man who did this,’ he said. ‘Tell me, señor. Were you expecting this attack?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Are you sure you have not made an enemy since you came to our country?’
Biggles hesitated as an idea struck him. He took a chance. ‘There was a little trouble with a man named Neckel. Do you know him?’
The Intendente thought for a moment. ‘No. I cannot recall that name.’
‘You would have known of him had he come here?’
‘But yes. He must come to me for his papers to be stamped.’
‘Then it couldn’t have been him,’ said Biggles casually, brushing the matter aside as of no consequence.
Saying he would look in again later, when Señor Lissie was well enough to make a statement, the Chief of Police departed.
Left alone with Bertie, Biggles sponged the blood spots of the mosquito bites from his face and arms and gave him some coffee. ‘Don’t try to talk until you feel like it,’ he said.
‘I’m feeling better every minute,’ declared Bertie.
‘Try to get some sleep.’
‘I couldn’t. My head’s opening and shutting. Someone certainly fetched me a real wallop on the boko.’
‘Now tell me, who did it?’
‘I haven’t the remotest idea.’
Biggles looked taken aback. ‘You really mean — you haven’t even a suspicion?’
‘Not a bally inkling.’
‘Hadn’t you noticed anybody in the street?’
‘Street? I wasn’t in the street, or near it.’
‘You were found in the street.’
‘The deuce I was! Then somebody must have dumped me there.’
‘Where were you, then, when you were coshed?’
‘Getting on for a mile beyond the end of the street; not far from Salvador’s house, and that’s outside the town.’
‘So you got as far as that.’
‘Yes. I was watching the house for a while. I was on my way home when someone came up behind me. With trees on both sides it was dark. I heard a sound and looked round just too late. I caught the merest glimpse of a shadowy figure, and wham. All I can say is, it was a man.’
‘When you’re well enough you can tell me all about it.’
‘I can tell you now.’
‘Sure you feel up to it?’
‘Absolutely. That coffee has worked wonders. The mosquitoes didn’t half have a go at me. Do I itch!’
‘You must have been out for a long time. You weren’t found until about an hour ago. What time do you reckon it was when you took the knock?’
‘It couldn’t have been much after twelve.’
Biggles pulled a face. ‘As long as that!’
‘I’d better tell you the whole story; then you see what you can make of it.’
‘Go ahead. Take your time. Don’t overdo it.’
Thereupon Bertie described in detail everything that happened from the time he left the Bar Francisco to the moment he was struck. ‘One thing I can tell you is this. In the Bar I got the impression that Salvador was drunk.’
‘So did I.’
‘He wasn’t. That was an act he put on. As soon as he was outside he walked as straight as a guardsman on parade.’
Biggles shook his head. ‘What a mix-up. This’ll take some sorting out. Bogosoff and his pal followed you out of the Bar — or maybe they were tailing Salvador. I don’t know. Did you see anything of them?’
‘No.’
‘Did you see anybody?’
‘Not a soul except the party at Salvador’s house.’
‘You know who found you?’
‘No.’
‘Dolores.’
‘You don’t say! How could that happen?’
‘She must have been on her way home. She could have had nothing to do with the coshing or she wouldn’t have reported it. She certainly couldn’t have carried you to where you were found — anyway, not without help.’
Bertie agreed.
‘It looks as if three people were behind you when you tailed Salvador to his house. Bogosoff and his pal and that dancer, Maria, who turned up after you were there.’
‘But why should any of them go for me?’
‘Bogosoff may have had a reason. They say he’s a Russian. He could be a spy. He might be here on the same job as ourselves, and has realized why we’re here. Russia may know about Neckel absconding. Neckel may have been in touch with them. It’s no use saying how could Russia know Neckel was here. How do spies find these things out? If it comes to that, we still don’t know if Neckel is here. We think he may be Salvador. But we only think. We don’t know. We may be barking up the wrong tree. I’d like to see him in daylight.’
‘Where does Maria come in?’
Biggles shrugged. ‘Search me. But it rather looks as if Salvador has been amusing himself with two women with the inevitable result that now they’ve got wise to it the balloon has gone up. You say that in the middle of the row Maria said something to Salvador which caused him to go into the house?’
‘That’s how it looked to me.’
‘I wonder if she spotted you before she joined the others? Is that what she told Salvador? If so he may have gone into the house to send a manservant out to find the prowler, and deal with him. Mind you, we mustn’t lose sight of the possibility that this was an ordinary robbery, nothing to do with why we are here. You know your pockets are empty?’
‘No. I didn’t know that.’
‘That may mean nothing. It could be your money was pinched to make the thing look like common thuggery.’
‘What I don’t understand is, if the intention was to bump me off, why didn’t they throw me in the river? Why go to the trouble of lugging me all the way to the town?’
‘You make a point there. They may have thought you were dead. The Intendente told me he thought you were a goner when you were brought in. Salvador wouldn’t want a corpse lying near his premises. Had he, or whoever was responsible, thrown you in the river, you would have been reported missing. That would have resulted in the police
paying a visit to Salvador, because I would have told them you’d left the Bar Francisco to follow him. Salvador, whoever he may be, wouldn’t want the police at his house asking awkward questions. I wonder how much Dolores knows. She may know what he’s doing here. This isn’t a tourist resort, so he must have a definite object in being here.’
‘People could say that of us.’
‘No. Provision was made for that by bringing in Don Pedro. We’re here to do business with him in orchids, and he’d confirm that if he was questioned.’
‘Why don’t you have a word with Dolores?’
Biggles looked dubious. ‘I doubt if she’d tell me anything even if she knows something. She’d be more likely to let something drop if she was chatting with José. Pity he isn’t here. It might be worth while sending a message to him asking him to come in. Another thing I might do when it gets light is have a look at the spot where you were coshed. There might be a clue there as to who did it. It could do no harm to have a dekko, anyway. Where exactly did it happen?’
‘The last thing I remember I was standing at the place where the road forks, as I told you it did. I was just turning away from the broad track to walk back to the town. You can’t miss the place.’
‘Was the ground soft?’
‘Very.’
‘Then there should be footprints.’
‘There’s likely to be too many. I fancy the track is well used.’
‘I’ll have a look at it,’ decided Biggles. ‘Also, I’ll send a note to Don Pedro telling him we’re having a spot of bother so could he let José come in. You try to get some sleep. I shan’t be away longer than is necessary.’
‘Okay, old boy.’ Bertie closed his eyes.
While he was waiting for daylight Biggles sat on his bed and devoted his thoughts to the problem confronting them. The first question was, who had struck down Bertie, and why? Ruling out plain robbery by a common thief — for he felt that the fact of Bertie’s pockets being emptied could be ignored — the possibilities pointed to Salvador or Bogosoff, or men employed by them. The two women in the case were hardly worth considering. Their interests lay entirely in themselves, and however much they wanted money they were hardly likely to resort to brute force. Neither would carry a heavy weapon, anyway. If they used a weapon it would be a knife or a stiletto.
Dolores was doing certain work for Salvador, so she had a reason for being at his house. With Maria it was different. It looked as if Salvador had been carrying on with her. She had become suspicious of Dolores and had simply played the part of a jealous woman by following the couple to the Casa Floresta. She could have nothing against Bertie sufficient to warrant an attack. Coming face to face with Dolores she would naturally fly into a temper.
There was no indication of where Bogosoff had gone when he had left the Bar Francisco. It was only surmise that he had followed anyone. It was true Biggles hadn’t seen him come in while he was waiting for Bertie. In that case where had he gone?
Biggles concluded that the man most likely to have been responsible for the attack was Salvador, or one of his men, assuming he had servants. Even then it did not necessarily follow that he knew the identity of the man man who had been coshed. He may have supposed him to be some casual Peeping Tom. He didn’t want anyone near the place or he wouldn’t have put up the notice ‘No admittance’. It was dark at the time. If Maria had reported an intruder she may not have recognized Bertie. That went for Salvador himself, had he gone out.
The whole business was disturbing because it suggested that they themselves were being watched. Why? Did someone know what they were really doing there? Be that as it may, decided Biggles, the important thing was they now knew where Salvador lived. The next thing was to establish his identity. If it turned out that he was in fact Luis Salvador they could forget about him and continue the search for Neckel. That the Intendente knew no one of that name implied that the absconding scientist was living under an alias, anyhow.
He was certainly in the district, or why should he have asked for letters to be addressed to him there? If it could be established that Salvador was Neckel then they could proceed with the task that had brought them to such an outlandish place.
Meanwhile, time was running out. A plan of some sort would have to be made without delay, and that meant chances would have to be taken. To wait for something to happen would lose more time. It would obviously be useless to approach Salvador direct. Nor did there seem any point in following him now they knew where he lived. He would soon become suspicious — if he wasn’t already.
Boiled down it seemed that two lines of investigation were open. Dolores and Maria. How much did they know about Salvador? That could only be ascertained by questioning them. Dolores could not be expected to talk willingly; but money might buy her. With Maria it was different. If, as there was reason to suppose, she was a jealous woman, she might talk out of pique.
Bertie had dropped off to sleep, so Biggles got up and quietly left the room. Downstairs he found the patron in his untidy little sitting room and put the question to him: had he a man who would take a message to Don Pedro? He would go himself but he did not want to leave his friend for any length of time.
The patron said he understood that. How was Señor Lissie? Biggles said he was much better. All he needed now was rest. The patron said he had a boy who would take the message with pleasure. Whereupon Biggles wrote a short note in which he said they were having a little trouble. Could José run over and help them to get it sorted out? Addressing the envelope to Don Pedro at the Villa Vanda Biggles handed it to the patron saying he was going out for a walk but would be back for lunch.
The patron, with the letter in his hand, went out the back way to the yard. Biggles went out of the front door into the plaza, noticing on the way that Dolores was not at her desk. But it was still only seven o’clock.
CHAPTER 7
JOSÉ COMES IN USEFUL
FOR a minute or two Biggles was tempted to wait for Dolores to come in and try his luck with her, for he was sure she could tell him quite a lot if she could be persuaded to talk; and he thought she would do that if it was made worth her while. Whether or not she would tell the truth was another matter. She had told José she didn’t know where Salvador lived, but in view of her visit to the Casa Floresta that was obviously a lie — unless of course that was her first visit. Not that Biggles held that against her. Making allowances for her up-bringing and where she lived, she was not to be judged by his own standards.
There was one thing he was sure she must know, and that was if Salvador was Neckel, or had any connexion with him. He worked it out like this. She had told José she collected Salvador’s letters at the post-office and took them to him. Why was that necessary? If the letters were addressed to Luis Salvador why didn’t he collect them himself? Was the answer because the letters were addressed to someone else? Neckel, for instance. Air Commodore Raymond had said that a letter was being sent to Neckel to say his proposal was under consideration. That letter would certainly be addressed to Mr Harald Neckel. Neckel would be expecting a letter from London. How could he collect it without going to the post-office? He would send someone else. Was this what Dolores was doing?
Again, how much, if anything, did the girl know about the assault on Bertie? She couldn’t have been far away at the time. She told the police she had found Bertie lying in the street. Was this really the first she knew about the affair, or did she know, from being at the Casa Floresta, that the attack was intended? Was her finding of Bertie part of a scheme arranged by Salvador?
Deciding that Dolores could be dealt with later, either by himself or José, Biggles walked on down the now almost deserted street. He passed the Bar Francisco, now closed. It reminded him of the dancer, Maria, who in some way appeared to be associated with Salvador. If he had dropped her in favour of Dolores she might be in a mood to talk if she thought it would embarrass him. But that, too, could wait. The first thing was to have a look at the place where Bertie had been
attacked. It was important to know who had been responsible for that, for if it turned out to be Salvador it would imply he was suspicious of them.
He had no difficulty whatever in finding the junction of the two tracks as it had been described by Bertie. But even before that he perceived that footprints were not likely to tell him much, if anything, for the mud was trampled by such marks, both male and female, going in both directions.
A small area of disturbed ground on the nearside of the fork he took to be the actual spot where Bertie had fallen. It was surrounded by footmarks. One set, deeply imprinted, were conspicuous. They showed a latticework sole of cane, or straw, or some such material. He thought these might have been made by the person who had lifted Bertie’s body, presumably the assailant, and carried it to the town, or at least to the near end of the main street. But this he knew was the type of footwear, a sort of home-made moccasin, commonly worn by the poorer sorts of people in the district; so apart from the fact that they came up the narrow track, evidently from the house, they told him nothing.
All was quiet. Under the forest trees it was still dim twilight. There was not a soul about, so he made a close examination of the place, thinking he might perhaps come across some object that had been dropped by the attacker; but he found nothing. He considered reconnoitring the house, the Casa Floresta, while he was there; but he did not proceed with it, fearing that if he was seen he was likely to do more harm than good. So, abandoning the search, he made his way back to the town, deciding on the way to try his luck with Maria, if she was available for an interview. She, he was sure, would be as interested in money as Dolores. He would at least test her reactions to a few questions. He realized that the dancing girl did not necessarily live at the Bar Francisco, in which case there should be no difficulty in learning where she was to be found. If she refused to talk — well, that would be that. If she was on visiting terms with Salvador she would know something about his private life. There was an obvious danger that she would tell Salvador that questions were being asked about him, but that was a risk he was now prepared to take. He had his excuse for the interview ready.
