by Todd Downing
“Inquiries?” Fogarty shot at him.
Rennert knew it wasn’t his fancy; that the man’s eyes had lost their good humor and grown suddenly wary and sharp.
“To begin with, Doctor, I’d like to have the history of those skeletons from the moment they were uncovered under the lava to the time they were sent to the railway station.”
Fogarty answered readily enough: “They were found about two weeks ago. I have the exact date in my notes. My assistant, Karl Weikel, made the actual discovery. Biggerstaff and I helped get them out. They were cleaned and reinforced for shipping. That took some time, as they were in a rather bad condition. Then they were packed in plaster casts and boxed—”
“When was that done? And where?”
“Last week. All the work on’em was done in the coach house yonder. We use it as a laboratory.”
“The skeletons remained there from the time they were dug up until Biggerstaff took them away?”
“Yes.”
“Guarded?”
“Well, not exactly guarded. But they were safe enough. The doors to the old stables were padlocked. And Marta, the family servant, sleeps in a room next to them. Besides, there’s not much danger of any prowlers about here. The natives shun the vicinity of the Pedregal at night. It’s a haunted spot, they think.”
“Mr. Biggerstaff takes these shipments of yours to the border frequently?”
“This is the second time. He took some pottery about two months ago.”
“I understand there was some trouble about it.”
Fogarty’s frown and pursed lips evidenced his perturbation.
“Yes,” he said, as if weighing his words with extreme care. “There was. Almost half of it consisted of forgeries.”
“Did you learn who was responsible?”
“No. It wasn’t discovered until the stuff got to the museum in San Antonio. They were very good imitations, but they wouldn’t have fooled an expert for a moment. I decided that a band of expert forgers must be at work and that the substitution must have been made at the station.”
“You’re sure it couldn’t have been made here on the grounds?”
“I don’t see how.”
“Do you employ workmen?”
“No. We hired some natives at the start, to get the tunnel driven under the lava. But this spring my two assistants and I have done all the work. It cuts down the expense.”
“This last shipment bore the stamp of the Mexican Department of Archaeology. It was signed by one of their inspectors, Diego Echave. What was the extent of his examination of it?”
Fogarty cleared his throat noisily.
“Echave examines all our finds,” he said with a trace of peremptoriness. “He visits the excavations daily and takes out the government’s share. Certainly he examined those skeletons.”
“And the previous shipment as well?”
“Yes. He would have detected it at once if there’d been any forgeries when the cases left here.”
“You say he visits your excavations daily. Has he been out today?”
Fogarty frowned and kicked at a stone. “Why no, he hasn’t.”
“But you’re expecting him?”
“Well… I don’t know. I don’t really think so. We haven’t been finding a great deal lately.”
“If he comes, I wonder if you would have him see me. I’m staying with the Faudrees for the present.”
Fogarty stared at him for a moment. “See here, Mr. Rennert, are you investigating those pottery forgeries too?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a rather late date to be doing that. I’m afraid I haven’t any more information to give you. The specimens were genuine when they left here. Now if you gentlemen will pardon me…? I’m very busy right now. I must remove these specimens to the coach house before the rain starts.”
As he bent over, Rennert signaled to Roark. “Let us help you, Doctor. I don’t think you can carry all that by yourself.”
“No, no, don’t bother.” Fogarty made a motion of the hand as if to brush them away. “I can carry’em. They’re very fragile.”
With an attempt at casualness which didn’t, Rennert felt, deceive the archaeologist, he and Roark knelt down and assisted him to pick up the dusty fragments of clay.
Fogarty said nothing, but ill-concealed vexation darkened his face as they straightened up and walked toward the coach house.
This seemed to be divided into halves. On the left two large sliding doors were pushed back to reveal the dim interior of what had been the stables. Windows indicated that a lower and upper room occupied the right section.
Fogarty tramped a few feet ahead of them until he arrived in front of the doors. Here he turned. “It’s rather dirty inside, gentlemen. Thank you very much. Just put the things down on the ground.”
But Rennert had already stepped inside.
The removal of the stalls had left a great deal of space. The floor was of brick, overlaid by a thick layer of dust. There were trestle tables ranged along the walls, most of them piled high with odd-shaped stones and pottery. In the corners were packing cases, sacks, spades, shovels and picks.
Two men who had been leaning against one of the tables straightened as they entered.
Fogarty followed Rennert in and stood for a moment as if uncertain of his next move. Finally he dumped down the pottery which he had been carrying (with great disregard, Rennert observed, for the fragility of which he had warned) and said, “Lay the things any place.”
When they had obeyed there was another strained pause.
Fogarty slapped at his sleeve and sent a little cloud of dust into the still air.
“Hello, Echave,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t know you were here. This is Mr. Roark. And Mr. Rennert.”
He added very distinctly, as the man came forward, “Mr. Rennert is from the United States Customs Service.”
13
Loft
“The United States Customs Service.”
The words were an echo, soft and full-voweled, of Fogarty’s consonantal ones.
The Mexican hesitated for an almost imperceptible instant, then held out a manicured hand. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Rennert.”
He was a small man, rather dapper, in a dark suit from whose buttonhole peeked a tiny white carnation. His face was oval and delicately featured, with well-cared-for, dark-olive skin. His teeth gleamed in white even rows beneath a diminutive waxed mustache.
“And Mr. Roark, of the United States Embassy,” Fogarty continued.
The man turned a little sharply to Roark, and it was a moment before he extended his hand.
His quick black eyes roved over the other’s face. “Ah yes, Mr. Roark. I think that I have met Mr. Roark, no?”
“Yes,” the latter said evenly, “I met you here about six weeks ago.”
“Certainly. You are interested in archaeology, Mr. Roark?”
“Not a great deal. Mr. Rennert here is.”
Echave turned slowly to Rennert as if he were on a pivot, but Fogarty had forestalled him.
“And this is my assistant, Mr. Weikel, gentlemen.”
Weikel rubbed his palm on his corduroy trousers before he extended it. Rennert could see now that his tanned face was blotched with pimples and that there was a reddish glint to his bristlelike hair.
He said not a word as he shook hands with them, but his small, deep-set, china-blue eyes met theirs in a blank, hostile stare.
Rennert broke the silence by turning to Echave. “I’m glad of this opportunity to talk to you. I’m down here to check up on the shipments which Dr. Fogarty has been sending to the Teague Museum. There was an accident to the last one, and some of the cases were broken.”
He paused to observe the effect of his words.
Echave had turned so that his back was to the door, but even in the gloom Rennert had detected the sudden narrowing of his lids.
“I understand that you examine all specimens sent to the United States,” he went on, “and s
ign the permit for the Department of Archaeology. Is that correct?”
“That is correct,” without inflection.
“You examined personally the last shipment and the previous one, which went to the border about two months ago? I believe you said two months ago, Doctor?” Rennert turned unexpectedly to Fogarty.
The latter, caught off guard, wasn’t able to clear away the frown which corrugated his forehead.
“Yes, yes,” he nodded, “about two months ago.”
“I examined those two shipments,” the Mexican said imperturbably.
“You knew about the forgeries of pottery which were discovered?”
“Dr. Fogarty told me of them, yes.”
“How do you account for them?”
An eloquent shrug. “I do not account for them. A band of thieves, without doubt, who substitute these forgeries at the railway station or on the train.”
“Has your department been notified of other instances of the kind?”
“There are always such cases here in Mexico.” He raised a hand to finger the white, perfect flower in his lapel, glanced down at it for a second, then raised his eyes to Rennert’s in the same level stare. “Was there a forgery in the last shipment, Señor Rennert?”
“It might be called a forgery.”
“What?” Fogarty thrust himself forward. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
Rennert smiled. “You were in such a hurry, Doctor. One of the skeletons was not that of a prehistoric man.”
Fogarty blinked. “Are you sure of that?”
“Positive.”
Very deliberately and slowly Dr. Fogarty loosed a stream of profanity which, Rennert thought, came near to being a master-piece of extemporaneous composition. He fell silent abruptly and sank back onto a workbench. His lips were set tightly, and his eyes roamed the dark corners of the room.
Rennert took occasion to shift his position so that he could get a better view of some sacks piled at the bottom of what had evidently once been a chute leading from a hay mow. They contained lime.
Lime….
He turned suddenly to Weikel, who stood motionlessly a little distance away, and surprised the young man’s eyes fixed with an unpleasant glint on Echave.
“Can you be of any assistance to us, Weikel?”
The heavy head moved back and forth, and the blue eyes came slowly to Rennert’s face.
“No,” he said, as if it were an exhalation of his breath.
Fogarty swung himself off the table and said in an obvious endeavor to be conciliating:
“See here, Mr. Rennert. This matter is more serious than I thought. We can’t go into all the ins and outs of it here. You say you’re staying with the Faudrees? Well, suppose you let us finish up our work here. I’ll see you tonight or in the morning, and we’ll talk it over. It’s getting dark in here, and we won’t be able to work much longer. Satisfactory?”
“Very well, Doctor. My room is across the hall from yours. Good evening, gentlemen.” He let his eyes rest for a moment on Echave’s face, then on Weikel’s, and turned away.
He and Roark paused at the north end of the coach house. The young man was eying him curiously.
“I’d like to know what you saw in that figurine to interest you so,” he said.
“Didn’t it remind you of anything?”
“I can’t say that it did.”
“The head? The buttocks?”
“Oh, my God!” Roark swore softly. “Sure! The drawings on those letters.”
“Exactly. The tormentor and the tormented in one piece of clay.”
Unnecessarily, Roark passed his hand again over his smooth hair. “We don’t have far to look for the artist, then, do we?”
“Not very far.” Rennert’s voice was grim. “Shall we move on?”
Ahead of them and a few feet to the left was the bougainvillaea-draped wall which marked the eastern boundary of the Faudree property. At its base the rains had cut a deep gully, exposing some-what lighter soil.
Rennert walked over to this, considered, then jumped down into it. He spent several minutes in an examination of the bottom and sides, stooping, prodding stones with the toe of his shoe. He climbed out and stood dusting his hands.
“Roark,” he said with a faint smile, “are you as incurably romantic as I am? Always hoping that one of these buried treasures will materialize?”
The other laughed. “You can’t live in Mexico long and not get the fever. I once invested in a project to hunt for Montezuma’s gold. But you don’t mean to say you actually believe Monica’s story?”
Rennert shook his head sadly. “I’d like to. I don’t doubt that Echave found a coin here. But the Mexicans are right. One swallow doesn’t make a summer—and one coin doesn’t make a treasure.” He glanced at the stairs set against the wall of the building. “I think that a look at Voice’s belongings is next on our list, isn’t it?”
They climbed to a small rickety landing at the second-floor level. Rennert took out the key and opened the door.
They entered a square room with bare walls and flooring. There was a window on the north, almost hidden by boxes and bulging sacks, trunks and broken furniture, stacks of ancient newspapers. It was the customary litter which accumulates from years of housekeeping, but there was an orderliness about the arrangement of the objects unusual in a place where things are thrust hazardly. Rennert remembered the former attic transformed by Cornell into living quarters. Its refuse must have found a haven here.
In a cleared space before the south window stood a table and chair. In a corner were a wardrobe trunk, a battered suitcase, a brief cage and a portable typewriter.
The windowpane was dusty and festooned with cobwebs, so that a dreary half-light filtered through.
Directly opposite was another door. Rennert walked over and tested the knob.
It opened, and he peered into an empty loft, which had probably been the storage place of hay in the days when a family carriage rested below.
He recalled the ladder set in the wall of the former stables beneath. With a gesture to Roark to remain where he was, he ventured out upon the boards and tiptoed to the trap door above the chute. He knelt down there, his nostrils pricked by the dust, and listened to the murmur of voices which came up.
He inserted a finger in the handle of the door and very carefully raised it a fraction of an inch. It didn’t loosen as much dust as he had expected.
Lying almost prone on the floor he held his ear to the crack.
He could hear Fogarty’s voice, rather high and nervous: “About through, Karl?”
There was some response from Weikel and a brief period of silence.
Then Fogarty laughed and said:
“Let the rest go until morning, Karl. It’s too dark in here to work.” After a moment he added, “Señor Echave and I will finish up.”
Rennert heard Weikel’s boots thump over the bricks. Then, just as they died away, came Fogarty’s fierce:
“Listen here, Echave, we’ve got to be careful. Careful as hell. Somebody has got suspicious. This fellow Rennert’s not interested just in those forgeries. He’s got something else up his sleeve.”
The Mexican’s Yes came slowly and deliberately. “He has, as you say, something up his sleeve. There have been inquiries—very discreet inquiries—from the United States Embassy about your shipments.”
“There have? Good God! When?”
“Within the last few days.”
Another long silence.
“Echave,” Fogarty asked in a quiet voice, dangerously soft, “are you being perfectly square with me?”
“Square?”
“Yes. Honest.”
The Mexican’s laugh had a taunt in it. “And if I were not, my dear Doctor, what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” Fogarty said slowly, “just what I would do.”
“There would be nothing to do. You are in my country, remember.” Another laugh. “But let us not quarrel. I am—what is it?—s
quare with you.”
“I’ll take your word for it—for the present. See here, we can’t talk now, with Rennert snooping about. Meet me here tonight. Nine o’clock, say. We’ll talk over what we’re going to do.”
“It is a long streetcar trip from the city, Doctor. I might prefer that you meet me there.”
“With the negrita in the next room sleeping alone? Or have you tired of her?”
Echave’s laugh was more pleasant. “Very well. I shall meet you here. At nine?”
“Yes. The door will be unlocked.”
Rennert got up and walked back to the other room.
14
Shot
Roark was standing, hands thrust into his pockets, and regarding him with a fixed one-sided smile.
“We’ll have to requisition a new suit for you at this rate.”
Rennert brushed himself off and told of the conversation which he had overheard.
Roark’s eyebrows went up. “So! I thought Fogarty didn’t like the idea of our escorting him in. He knew Echave was there and didn’t want us to see him.”
Rennert nodded.
“If I had access to a telephone,” he said, “I’d be tempted to throw diplomacy overboard and ask the police to help us.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to have Echave followed. My bet is that he’ll be active in the next few hours.”
“Think I could do it?”
“No aspersions on your skill, but he knows you. What about that chauffeur of yours?”
“He always keeps detective magazines in the pocket of the car. He ought to have learned something.”
“Suppose we let him try. There’ll be no great harm done if he loses him. Echave evidently came out in a streetcar. If the man hurries he can catch the same car back to Mexico City.”
“Good. I’ll go tell him.” Roark hastily consulted his watch. “I’ll drive up to the plaza with him and bring the car back. I don’t have to be in Mexico City for an hour or so yet. While I’m at it I can get your bag at the San Angel Inn. I’m not helping any by standing here.”
Left alone, Rennert looked about him.
From a corner he dragged an old feather mattress, propped it against a stack of yellowed newspapers and stepped back. He brought out the revolver which Cornell had given him, took aim and fired.
