by Various
CHAPTER IV
_The Mine in the Cauldron Depths_
I was awakened by the tinkling, buzzing call of the radio-diaphragmbeneath my shirt. I had left the call open.
It was Hanley. I lay down, eyeing my window which now was illumined bythe flat light of dawn.
Hanley's microscopic voice:
"Phil? I've just raised President Markes, there in Nareda. I've been abit worried about you."
"I'm all right, Chief."
"Well, you'd better see President Markes this morning."
"That was my intention."
"Tell him frankly what you're after. This smuggling of quicksilver fromNareda has got to stop. But take it easy, Phil; don't be reckless.Remember: one little knife thrust and I've lost a good man!"
I laughed at his anxious tone. That was always Hanley's way. A devilhimself, when he was on a trail, but always worried for fear one of hismen would come to harm.
"Right enough, Chief. I'll be careful."
He cut off presently.
I did not see Jetta that morning. I told Spawn I was hoping to seePresident Markes on my petroleum proposition. And at the proper hour Itook myself to the government house.
* * * * *
This Lowland village by daylight seemed even more fantastic thanshrouded in the shadows of night. The morning sun had dissipated theoverhead mists. It was hot in the rocky streets under the weirdoverhanging vegetation. The settlement was quietly busy with itstropical activities. There were a few local shops; vehicles with theHighland domestic animals--horses and oxen--panting in the heat; anoccasional electro-automatic car.
But there were not many evidences of modernity here. The street andhouse tube-lights. A few radio image-finders on the house-tops. Anautomatic escalator bringing ore from a nearby mine past the governmentcheckers to an aero stage for northern transportation. Cultivated fieldsin the village outskirts operated with modern machinery.
But beyond that, it seemed primitive. Two hundred years back. Streetvendors. People in primitive, ragged, tropical garb. Half nakedchildren. I was stared at curiously. An augmenting group of childrenfollowed me as I went down the street.
The President admitted me at once. In his airy office, with safeguardsagainst eavesdropping, I found him at his desk with a bank of moderninstruments before him.
"Sit down, Grant."
* * * * *
He was a heavy-set, flabby man of sixty-odd, this Lowland President.White hair; and an old-fashioned, rolling white mustache of the sortlately come into South American fashion. He sat with a glass of iceddrink at his side. His uniform was stiffly white, and ornate with heavygold braid, but his neckpiece was wilted with perspiration.
"Damnable heat, Grant."
"Yes, Sir President."
"Have a drink." He swung a tinkling glass before me. "Now then, tell mewhat is your trouble. Smuggling, here in Nareda. I don't believe it."His eyes, incongruously alert with all the rest of him so fat and lazy,twinkled at me. "We of the Nareda Government watch our quicksilverproduction very closely. The government fee is a third."
I might say that the Nareda government collected a third on all themineral and agricultural products of the country, in exchange for thenecessary government concessions. Markes exported this share openly tothe world markets, paying the duty exactly like a private corporation.
He added, "You think--Hanley thinks--the smuggling is on too large ascale to be any illicit producer?"
I nodded.
"Then," he said, "it must be one of our recognized mines."
"Hanley thinks it is a recognized mine, falsifying its productionrecord," I explained.
"If that is so, I will discover it," he said. He spoke with enthusiasmand vigor. "For you I shall treat as what you are--the representativeof our most friendly government. The figures of our quicksilverproduction I shall lay before you in just a few days. Let me fill upyour glass, Grant."
* * * * *
The lazy tropics. I really did not doubt his sincerity. But I did doubthis ability to cope with any clever criminal. His enthusiasm for actionwould wilt like his neckpiece, in Nareda's heat. Unless, perhaps, theknowledge that the smuggler was cheating him as well as the UnitedStates--_that_ might spur him.
He added--and now I got a shock wholly unexpected: "If we think thatsome recognized producer of quicksilver here is cheating us, it shouldnot be difficult to check up on it. Nareda has only one large cinnabarlode being worked. A private individual: that fellow Jacob Spawn--"
"Spawn?" I exclaimed involuntarily.
"Why, yes. Did not he mention it? His mine is no more than tenkilometers from here--back on the southern slope."
"He didn't mention it," I said.
"So? That is strange; but he is a secretive Dutchman by nature. Hespecializes in prying into the other fellow's affairs. Hm-m."
He fell into a reverie while I stared at him. Spawn, the big--the onlybig--quicksilver producer here!
* * * * *
The President interrupted my startled thoughts. "I hope you did notintimate your real purpose?"
"No."
We both turned at the sound of an opening door. Markes called, "Ah, comein Perona! Are you alone? Good! Close that slide. Here is Chief Hanley'srepresentative." He introduced us all in a breath. "This is interesting,Perona. Damnably interesting. We're being cheated, what? It looks thatway. Sit down, Perona."
This was Greko Perona. Nareda's Minister of Internal Affairs. Spawn hadmentioned him to me. A South American. A man in his fifties. Thin anddarkly saturnine, with iron-gray hair, carefully plastered to cover hishalf-bald head. He sat listening to the President's harangue, twirlingthe upturned waxen ends of his artificially black mustache. A wave ofperfume enveloped him. A ladies' courtier, this Perona by the look ofhim. His white uniform was immaculate, carefully tailored and carefullyworn to set off at its best his still trim and erect figure.
"Well," he said, when at last the President paused, "of a suretysomething must be done."
Perona seemed not excited, rather more carefully watchful, of his ownwords, and of me. His small dark eyes roved me.
"What is it you would plan to do about it, Senorito?"
An irony was in that Latin diminutive! He spread his pale hands. "YourUnited States officials perhaps exaggerate. I am very doubtful if wehave smugglers here in Nareda."
"Unless it is Spawn," the President interjected.
* * * * *
Perona frowned slightly. But his suave manner remained. "Spawn? WhySpawn?"
"You need not take offense, Perona," Markes retorted. "We are discussingthis before an envoy of the United States, sent here to consult with us.We have nothing to hide."
Markes turned to me. And his next words were like a bomb exploding at myfeet.
"Perona _is_ offended, Grant. But I promise you, his natural personalprejudice will not affect my investigation. Of course he is prejudiced,since he is to marry Spawn's daughter, the little Jetta."
I started involuntarily. This pomaded old dotard! This perfumed, ancientdandy!
For all the importance of my mission in Nareda my thoughts had beensubconsciously more upon Jetta--far more--than upon smugglers ofquicksilver. This palsied popinjay! This, the reality of the specterwhich had been between Jetta and me during all that magic time in themoonlit garden!
This suave old rake! Betrothed to that woodland pixie whose hand I hadheld and to whom I had sung love songs in the magic flower-scentedmoonlight only a few hours ago! And whom I had promised to meet thereagain to-night!
This, then, was my rival!
* * * * *
Nothing of importance transpired during the remainder of that interview.Markes reiterated his intention of making a complete governmentalinvestigation at once. To which Perona suavely assented.
"_Por Dios Senorito_," he said to me,
"we would not have your greatgovernment annoyed at Nareda. If there are smugglers, we will capturethem of a certainty."
From the Government House, it now being almost time for the midday meal,I returned to Spawn's.
The rambling mud walls of the Inn stood baking in the noonday heat whenI arrived. The outer garden drowsed; there seemed no one about. I wentthrough the main door oval into the front public room, where first I hadmet Spawn. He was not here now, nor was Jetta.
A sudden furtiveness fell upon me. With noiseless steps I went thelength of the dim, padded interior corridor to my own room. Mybelongings seemed undisturbed; a vague idea that Spawn might have seizedthis opportunity to ransack them had come to me. But it seemed not;though if he had he would have found nothing.
I stood for a moment listening at my patio window. I could see thekitchen from here; there was no one in it. I started back for the livingroom. That furtive instinct was still on me. I made no noise. Andabruptly I heard Spawn's voice, floating out softly in the hushedsilence of the house.
"So, Perona?"
* * * * *
A brief silence, in which it seemed that I could hear a tiny aerialanswer. Then Spawn again. A startled oath.
"De duvel! You say--"
I stood frozen, listening.
"She is here.... Yes, I will keep her close. I am no fool, Perona."
Spawn's laugh was like a growl. "Later to-day, yes. Fear not! I am nofool. I will be careful of it."
Spawn, talking by private audiphone, to Perona. The colloquy came to anabrupt end.
"... Might eavesdrop? By hell, you are right!"
I heard the click as Spawn and Perona broke connection. Spawn came fromhis room. But he was not quick enough. I slipped away before he saw me.In the living room I had time to be calmly seated with a lightedcigarette. His approaching heavy footsteps sounded. He came in.
"Oh--Grant."
"Good noon, friend Spawn. I'm hungry." I grinned at him. "I understandmy bargain with you included a noonday meal. Does it?"
He eyed me suspiciously. "Have you been waiting here long?"
"No. I just came in."
He led me to the kitchen. He apologized for the informality of his hotelservice: visitors were so infrequent. But the good quality of his foodwould make up for it.
"Right," I agreed. "Your food is marvelous, friend Spawn."
* * * * *
There was a difference in Spawn's manner toward me now. He seemed farmore wary. Outwardly he was in a high good humor. He asked nothingconcerning my morning at the Government House. He puttered over hiselectron-stove, making me help him; he cursed the heat; he said onecould not eat in such heat as this; but the meal he cooked, and the wayhe sat down opposite me and attacked it, belied him.
He was acting; but so was I. And perhaps I deceived him as little as hedeceived me. We avoided the things which were uppermost in the thoughtsof us both. But, when we had very nearly finished the meal, I decided totry him out. I said suddenly, out of a silence:
"Spawn, why didn't you tell me you were a producer of quicksilver?" Ishot him a sharp glance. "You are, aren't you?"
It took him by surprise, but he recovered himself instantly. "Yes. Areyou interested?"
I tried another shot. "What surprised me was that a wealthy mineowner--you are, aren't you?--should bother to keep an unprofitablehotel. Why bother with it, Spawn?"
I thought I knew the answer: he wanted Nareda's visitors under his eyes.
"That is a pleasure." There was irony in his tone. "I am a lonesome man.I like--interesting companionship, such as yours, young Grant."
It was on my tongue to hint at his daughter. But I thought better of it.
"I am going to the mine now," he said abruptly. "Would you like tocome?"
"Yes," I smiled. "Thanks."
* * * * *
I wanted to see his mine. But that he should be eager to show it,surprised me. I wondered what purpose he could have in that. I had ahint of it later; for when we took his little autocar and slid up thewinding road into the bloated crags towering on the slope behind Nareda,he told me calmly:
"I shall have to put you in charge of my mine commander. I am busyelsewhere this afternoon. You will see the mine just as well withoutme."
He added. "I must go to the Government House: President Markes wants areport on my recent production."
So that was what Perona had told him over the audiphone just before ournoonday meal?
It was an inferno of shadows and glaring lights, this undergroundcavern. As modern mining activities go, it was small and primitive. Nomore than a dozen men were here, beside the sweating pudgy minecommander who was my guide. A voluble fellow; of what originalnationality I could not determine.
We stood watching the line of carts dumping the ore onto the endlesslifting-belt. It went a hundred feet or so up and out of the cavern'sascending shaft, to fall with a clatter into the bins above the smelter.
"Rich ore," I said. "Isn't it?"
The cinnabar ran like thick blood-red veins in the rock.
"Rich," said the mine commander. "That it is. Rich. But who does it makerich? Only Spawn, not me." He waved his arms, airing his grievance withwhich for an hour past he had regaled me. "Only Spawn. For me, a doleeach week."
The smelter was in a stone building--one of a small group of mine houseswhich stood in a cauldron depression above excavations. Rounded domes ofrock towered above them. The sun, even at this tri-noon hour, was gonebehind the heights above us. The murky shadows of night were gathering,the mists of the Lowlands settling. The tube-lights of the mine, strungbetween small metal poles, winked on like bleary eyes.
"Of a day soon I will fling this job to hell--"
* * * * *
I was paying scant attention to the fellow's tirade. Could there besmuggling going on from this mine? It all seemed to be conducted openlyenough. If the production record were being falsified I felt that thisdissatisfied mine commander was not aware of it. He showed me thesmelter, where the quicksilver condensed in the coils and ran with itssmall luminous silver streams into the vats.
He was called away momentarily by one of his men, leaving me standingthere. I was alone; no one seemed in sight, or within hearing. In theshadow of the condensers I drew out my transmitter and called Hanley.
I got him within a minute.
"Chief!"
"Yes, Phil. I hoped you'd call me. Didn't want to chance it, raising youwhen you might not be alone."
I told him swiftly what I had done; where I was now.
And Hanley said, with equal briskness: "I've an important fact. Just hadMarkes on secret wave-length. He tells me that Spawn has been saving uphis quicksilver for six months past. He's got several hundred thousanddollar-standards' worth of it in ingots there right now."
"Here at the mine?"
"Yes. Got them all radiuminized, ready for the highest priced markets.Markes says he is scheduled to turn them over to the government checkersto-morrow. The Nareda government takes its share to-morrow; then Spawnexports the rest."
I heard a footstep. "Off, Chief! I'll call you later!"
I clicked off summarily. The little grid was under my shirt when themine commander rejoined me.
* * * * *
For another half hour or to I hovered about the smelter house. Atreasure of quicksilver ingots here? I mentioned it casually to mycompanion. He shot me a sharp glance.
"Spawn has told you that?"
"I heard it."
"His business. We do not talk of that. Never can I tell what Spawn willchoose to take offense at."
We rambled upon other subjects. Later, he said, "We work not at night.But Spawn, he is here often at night, with his friend, the SenorPerona."
That caught my attention. "I met Perona this morning," I said quickly."Is he a partner of Spawn's?"
"If he is so, I never
was told it. But much he is here--at night."
"Why at night?"
The fellow really knew nothing. Or if he did, he was diplomatic enoughnot to jeopardize his post by babbling of it to me. He said:
"Perona is Spawn's friend. Why not? His daughter to marry: that willmake him a son-in-law." He laughed. "An old fool, but not such a fooleither. Spawn is rich."
"His daughter. Has he a daughter?"
"The little Jetta. You haven't seen her? Well, that is not strange.Spawn keeps her very hidden. A mystery about it: all Nareda talks, butno one knows; and Spawn does not like questions."
Spawn abruptly joined us! He came from the black shadows of the luridsmelter room. Had he heard us discussing Jetta? I wondered.
