by W E Johns
Schultz, with an ugly expression on his face, lost no time in opening the conversation, and his first words more or less explained the situation.
‘Where has your friend gone in the car that does not belong to him?’ he demanded brusquely.
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Biggles, to gain time.
‘Last night Brabinsky’s car was stolen,’ challenged Schultz.
‘Indeed? Who says it was stolen?’
‘Mr Brimshawe. Last night he left the car outside his house. This morning it had gone.’
‘So what? Are you suggesting that I stole it?’
‘Yes. I know you tried to buy it.’
“That’s a dangerous accusation to make,’ warned Biggles. ‘What gives you the idea that I had anything to do with it?’
‘Your friend has gone off in it.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Lorenzo. He filled the tanks with oil and petrol. You were there. You paid. Don’t deny it.’
‘I’ve no intention of denying it because it happens to be true,’ retorted Biggles. ‘But because I filled the petrol tank doesn’t mean that I stole the car.’ He glanced at Nifty, who was looking anywhere but at him. So, he thought, to save his face the treacherous little cockney had said the car had been stolen. He turned back to Schultz. ‘What has this to do with you, anyway? The car isn’t yours.’
Schultz ignored the question. To Juan, who was looking from one to the other as if he couldn’t understand what all this was about, he said: ‘Arrest this man. He has stolen my friend’s car.’
Biggles kept his temper. ‘You’ve got a nerve, giving orders to the police,’ he said curtly. ‘Before you jump to any more conclusions and make a fool of yourself you’d better hear my side of the story.’
Actually, Biggles could see only one course open to him, and that was to state the facts. He had no intention of lying to protect the shifty-eyed Nifty; and he was not prepared to see Ginger on his return arrested for having stolen the car.
Speaking calmly to Juan he said: ‘The car was not stolen. Señor Brimshawe told us we could borrow it.’
‘Why?’
‘To allow my friend to go to the United States to get the spare part we need for our own car. He’s coming back. He shouldn’t be away long.’
‘Are we expected to believe that?’ sneered Schultz.
‘I don’t care what you believe,’ snapped Biggles.
‘Why should Brimshawe allow you to have the car?’
‘Because he was stuck here without any money. I paid him two hundred dollars for the hire of it. Now you know. If you doubt that take a look at Brimshawe’s face. Ask him to show you his wallet.’
Schultz looked hard at Nifty, but to the cockney’s obvious relief ignored the invitation. Turning to Biggles, in a different tone of voice he inquired: ‘Where has your friend gone in the car?’
‘I told you. To the States.’
‘I mean by which road?’
‘The same one we took to get here. He’ll cross the border at Sonoyta. He should be there by now.’
‘I doubt if he got far last night,’ put in Juan.
‘Why?’
The rain was too heavy for the land to take it. It would run off. Every wash, every arroyo and canyon, would be full of water.’
‘How long would those conditions last?’
‘A few hours, perhaps.’
Schultz said no more. With a sign to his assistants to go with him he strode away to the Cadillac which drove off at high speed.
Juan shrugged. He shook his head. ‘You gringos are all mad,’ he observed, sadly. Having delivered himself of this opinion he walked away.
Biggles, who had stared at the vanishing car in astonishment, turned back to Nifty. ‘What are they going to do?’ he asked, wonderingly. ‘Why all the hurry?’
‘Search me,’ replied Nifty, still looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry I ‘ad to say you pinched the car; but I ‘ad to say something, didn’t I?’
‘Why did you have to say anything?’
‘Because I was in the cart good and proper.’
‘What are you dithering about?’ demanded Biggles. ‘What’s happened? Come on man, out with it.’
‘That lot got back from Hermosillo about an hour ago.’
‘What of it?’
‘They brought Ritzy with ‘em.’
Biggles stared. ‘Ah! So that’s it. How did they manage that?’
‘I dunno and that’s a fact,’ said Nifty wearily. ‘They didn’t say. I reckon they must have got ‘im out on bail. The first thing Ritzy says when he sees me is, where’s the car? What could I say? I told you he didn’t even like me or Corny using the blarsted car. He was in such a flaming temper that I daren’t tell ‘im the truth. I said it must ‘ave been pinched. You ought to ‘ave seen ‘im. He behaved like he’d gone off ‘is rocker. I slipped out and came down ‘ere to tell Lorenzo to keep ‘is mouth shut about what really ‘appened ‘ere last night; but I was too late; Schultz was ‘ere first in the Cadillac and Lorenzo had spilt the beans.’
‘Where’s Ritzy now?’
‘I ain’t seen ‘im so I suppose he must still be at the villa.’
An alarming thought struck Biggles. ‘Did you see him and Schultz do any sort of deal?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t see Schultz give Ritzy any money?’
‘Not while I was there. I told you. All they could talk about was that perishing car.’
‘Can you think of any reason why Schultz should tear off as he did just now?’
‘Maybe he was scared and decided to pull out.’
‘Scared of what?’
‘You.’
‘Why should he be scared of me?’
‘They say you’re the Bigglesworth from Scotland Yard.’
‘Who told them that?’
‘One of Schultz’s pals had seen you before somewhere. Is it right?’
‘It is.’
‘Listen, guvnor,’ said Nifty anxiously. ‘I didn’t do that shooting in London. I’ll take me oath on it.’
‘Who did?’
‘Corny,’ It was obvious that Nifty’s nerve had given out when he went on: ‘I reckon you know what Schultz was ‘ere for.’
‘I have an idea,’ admitted Biggles, seeing that having gone so far there was nothing to be gained by denials. He went on: ‘Well, now you see which way the wind blows you’d better make up your mind which side you’re on. I can’t promise anything, but if you care to turn Queen’s Evidence it may help you when you stand trial, as you will if ever you go back to England. Of course, you may care to spend the rest of your days here —’
‘Not me. I’d sooner be in gaol. I reckon it was that rat Tricky Adamson who blew the gaff we was ‘ere. I told Ritzy he’d squeal if ever he got ‘ome.’
‘We brought him home.’
‘I suppose he told you Ritzy had still got the sparklers.’
‘He did.’
‘But he didn’t know where they was hid. None of us knew. Ritzy kept that to ‘imself.’
‘You still don’t know?’
‘I wouldn’t be ‘ere if I did,’ admitted Nifty, frankly.
‘As far as you know Ritzy has still got the diamonds?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘Then why has Schultz gone?’
‘He might be coming back for all I know.’
Biggles was puzzled. The situation was clearing. Some facts were emerging, but there were still some missing. That Ritzy had come to some arrangement with Schultz was almost certain. Now he wanted his own car to get away. That was why he was furious when he found it had gone.
There was no time to lose, and he could see only one way to get the information he wanted.
‘I’m going to the villa to see Ritzy,’ he told Nifty.
‘You be careful what you’re up to,’ warned Nifty. ‘Ritzy’s got another gun.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ returned Biggles, and set off up
the street with Nifty trailing along behind him like a whipped cur.
Arriving at the villa Biggles walked straight in. He could see no one. ‘Ritzy,’ he called.
There was no reply.
‘Come on, Ritzy, the game’s up,’ shouted Biggles. ‘I want to talk to you.’
There was no answer, but a dusky female appeared from the back premises. ‘Señor Brabinsky not here,’ she said.
‘Where is he?’
‘He gone, señor.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Don’t know, señor. He went in car.’
‘What car?’
‘The big blue car, señor.’
Biggles spun round to Nifty. ‘You heard that! She says he went in the Cadillac. Did you know that?’
‘No, guvnor. S’welp me.’
‘Did you see him in the car?’
‘No. But he might have bin in it, if he was on the floor. Maybe that was why Schultz put the car where he did, instead of outside Lorenzo’s place. I didn’t see inside the car.’
‘Neither did I.’
‘I bet yer that’s what happened,’ muttered Nifty. ‘The dirty twister. Slipped out and left me to carry the can. Just like ‘im.’
Understanding dawned in Biggles’ eyes. Schultz’s sudden departure was explained. He had gone and taken Ritzy with him. If they had both gone it could only mean that the diamonds had gone with them. But there was still one flaw in that theory. That Ritzy, if he was out on bail, would not want to be seen, was understandable. But why had Schultz, if he was heading for the States as presumably he was, bothered to stop to question Lorenzo?
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Nifty anxiously.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Biggles, grimly, feeling that the diamonds had slipped through his fingers after all. Without a car to follow there was nothing he could do. Never had he felt so helpless.
He left the house. Nifty stayed with him. Walking down the street they met Juan, another policeman with him. Both, conspicuously, wore revolvers.
‘If you’re looking for Brabinsky he isn’t at his house,’ Biggles told them.
‘After what has happened I didn’t think he would be,’ answered Juan.
‘What has happened?’
‘When he escaped at Hermosillo he shot and killed a man.’
‘Escaped,’ echoed Biggles.
‘How he got the pistol we do not know,’ explained Juan. ‘But the big blue car was in Hermosillo yesterday and the gringo who owns it was given permission to see Brabinsky for a minute. He may—’
‘How did you learn this?’ asked Biggles.
Juan indicated his companion. ‘This officer has come on a motor-cycle to bring the news and to look for Brabinsky, and the blue car.’
‘The car has gone. It took the road to the border,’ informed Biggles.
He was thinking of something else, and thinking fast. So Ritzy had escaped. He had been on the floor of the car when it stopped at Lorenzo’s. That left only one question to be answered. Why, if Schultz and Ritzy had been so anxious to get out of the country, as they certainly would be if they had shot a policeman, had they worried about Ritzy’s car? Was it because Ritzy wanted the car? Was it because, having either the diamonds or the money that had been paid for them in his pocket, he wasn’t keen on travelling with three men who might shoot or abandon him while crossing the desert and so get away with both the money and the diamonds? Ritzy would have felt safer in his own car, with or without Nifty. Not that he would worry about Nifty. Could that be the answer to the question? Did that explain the interest in Ritzy’s car? Outside Lorenzo’s Schultz had behaved as if the car was vital to him. Why should he be so concerned? If he had got the diamonds...
It was at this point in his efforts to untangle the mystery that Biggles found a loose end; and having found it the knots fell apart. His solution was still only surmise, but he was sure he was right. Now he understood Ritzy’s exasperation when he returned home to find the car was not there. Why he would allow no one to use it but himself.
He looked at Nifty. ‘Did Ritzy ever give you the slightest hint of where he might have hidden the stones?’
‘No.’ Nifty thought for a moment. ‘Once, when I asked him what would happen if we had to get away in a hurry, he said I needn’t worry about that. When we went the stones would go with us.’
‘That,’ said Biggles succinctly, ‘is exactly what I wanted to know. Didn’t it occur to you to wonder what he meant by that?’
‘No. Why should it?’
Biggles smiled bitterly. ‘Quite. Why should it? I’ve been as slow in the uptake as you were.’
‘You mean — you know where he hid the stuff?’
‘I think so.’
‘Where?’
‘They were somewhere in the car.’
Nifty’s jaw sagged foolishly. ‘By Cripes! You’ve got it!’ he exclaimed. ‘If we ‘ad to leave in a hurry—’
‘He wouldn’t have to dig the stones up out of the garden, or anything like that. They were already in the car. They always were.’
‘That must be how he got ‘em through the Customs when we crossed the border into Mexico. Me and Corny wondered about that at the time. Do you reckon Schultz knows that?’
‘Of course he must know. Why else would he bother about a car that didn’t belong to him? That was why he tore off after it. You realize what that means?’
‘No.’
‘You’re not very bright this morning, are you? Have you forgotten that my friend, who also by the way is a detective, is in that car? The storm last night would delay him. Ritzy, Schultz and his gang, are now after him. If they overtake him, no matter on which side of the border, you can imagine what will happen.’
‘They’ll knock him off.’
‘Without the slightest doubt whatever,’ said Biggles, grimly. ‘Another murder, more or less, can mean nothing to them.’
‘It’s a good place for one,’ opined Nifty, with criminal intelligence.
CHAPTER 12
A FRIEND IN NEED...
BIGGLES stared down the dusty street, trying desperately to think of something he could do. On the face of it, without any form of transport, there seemed to be nothing he could do. Only a fast car might possibly overtake the Cadillac, which would be travelling at top speed to overtake Ginger in Ritzy’s car.
The two police officers were still standing there. They had listened to the conversation probably wondering what it was all about, for their knowledge of English, if they had any at all, would be of the soft, southern American drawl. Nifty’s clipped, cockney accent, they would not understand at all. Biggles considered suggesting to the officer from Hermosillo that he should go after the Cadillac on his motor-bike; but what good would that do? He would be one against four, and probably get himself shot. He even considered asking the man to lend him his motor-bike. Either way, that would mean explaining the whole situation.
As Biggles gazed helplessly down the sun-drenched road he saw a station wagon, usually called in England a shooting brake, pull up outside the village shop. A man, a slim Mexican by his dress, got out and went into the little store. He thought he recognized José.
‘Who does that car belong to?’ he asked Juan.
‘Señor José Fonderi,’ was the answer.
Biggles walked quickly down the street. He reached the brake as José came out of the shop with a bag of provisions.
‘May I have a word with you, señor?’ asked Biggles.
‘With pleasure, señor,’ said José, putting his bag in the back of the brake.
‘May I borrow your car? It might be a matter of life or death for my friend, the young man you’ve seen with me.’
José looked astonished by the request, as well he might; and his reply was the natural one. ‘Why do you want my car?’
‘It’s of vital importance that I overtake the blue Cadillac you’ve seen about, now on its way to Sonoyta. Brabinsky is thought to be in it,’ answered Biggles.
&n
bsp; ‘But he’s in prison in Hermosillo!’
‘He was. Last night he escaped and came here. He shot a policeman. He is now in pursuit of my friend. If he overtakes him he’ll probably shoot him, too.’
‘I don’t know what’s been going on, or what you’re doing here,’ returned José. ‘But one good turn deserves another so get in. I’ll drive you myself.’
That’s very kind of you, but I don’t like to put you to that trouble,’ said Biggles. ‘But for the fact that my own car is out of order —’
‘Never mind. Let us go. I’ll drive. I know this car and what it will do on these desert roads better than you do.’
They got in and Jose set off. ‘How long has the Cadillac been on the road?’ he asked.
‘About an hour.’
‘We might just catch it. Having lived here all my life I know many short cuts to Sonoyta. My business — I have a ranch — often takes me over the border. When I was a boy Indians showed me where the sand is hard and may be trusted.’
‘Good,’ said Biggles. ‘If those men in the Cadillac reach the frontier before us we’re likely to lose them unless I call on the United States police for help, and I’d rather not do that yet, if it can be avoided. You say you don’t know what all this is about, so I’d better tell you. You will then understand exactly the position I’m in.’
Then, as the brake raced on across the inhospitable landscape, often leaving the road for the open mesa where the mesquit and cactus were more widely spaced, Biggles told his companion who he was and gave him an outline of his reason for being in Mexico. He told him all that had happened since his arrival, which meant, of course, revealing the character of the men in the Cadillac. In view of the help he was receiving, and probable danger if the blue car was encountered, he felt he couldn’t do less.
The only signs of the overnight storm were occasional spots where the sand was sticky, but even these became fewer as the sun mounted.
‘I was always suspicious of those men,’ said José. ‘I thought they were up to no good. I told Juan some time ago that they might be criminals on the run from the United States. As you may know, many make for the border when the police are after them. I have no wish to see my country become a haven of refuge for crooks. They think they can do what they like here, but they are wrong.’
