Taking out the remaining jewels that he had worn as Quetzalcoatl, he looked them over. In addition to the beautiful jewelled serpent, there were five thick gold bracelets studded with fair-sized but ill-cut gems. As he examined them they brought back to his mind the treasure he had found in Scotland when a boy. So many things had happened to him since that that seemed a whole lifetime ago, although, actually, it was only a little over fourteen years. Crude as they were, these stones were much larger and, if recut, would be worth a lot of money. But no buyer would be such a fool as to remove the stones from their settings. As genuine antiques the bracelets must be worth a small fortune and the serpent symbol be almost priceless. To dispose of them, though, was another matter. No jeweller would consider such a purchase unless he had first checked up on where they had come from, so to sell them in Mexico was impossible. With a sigh, Adam put the jewels back in his pocket.
That evening he set off north along the coast, hoping that Vera Cruz lay in that direction. Here on the sea, villages were much more frequent. At the first he came to, lights in all the houses told him that the inhabitants were taking their leisure after the long, hot day. Having for close on a fortnight gone to great trouble to avoid contact with anyone, he felt considerable reluctance to enter the village. But the plunge had to be taken some time, so he nerved himself to walk on to the little piazza.
In it there was a small eating house. No-one had taken any notice of him, so the temptation to enjoy a hot meal proved irresistible. The fare offered was simple, but included freshly caught fish; and he ate voraciously, enjoying the meal more than he would have a carefully-chosen dinner at the Ritz.
As he paid his bill he got into conversation with the waitress and told her that he had hiked from Puebla with the idea of getting a job as a seaman, but had lost his way the preceding night, so had only a vague idea were he was. He learned from her that Vera Cruz was about fifteen miles further north.
Proceeding on his way, he passed through three more villages and covered two-thirds of the distance to the great port, then dossed down for the remainder of the night in a hut on the beach. Next morning, another two miles brought him within sight of the steeples of Vera Cruz, but immediately in his path there lay a smaller town. On entering it, he found it to be called Boca del Rio. It had quite a good harbour and, lying off it were three ships, one of which was flying the Stars and Stripes.
As he stood on the quayside looking out at them, it occurred to him that there would be many fewer officials in a small port like this than at Vera Cruz; so he would stand less risk of detection if he made his attempt here to get aboard a ship and stow away.
To do so would require careful planning and might take several days; so, although he was loath to register at an hotel, he decided that it would be better to do that than to spend the nights on the streets and risk being picked up by the police.
Choosing a small inn that looked fairly clean, he gave his name as Sancho Bracero and enquired for a room. When he was asked for his papers, he said that the previous night he had got drunk in Vera Cruz, gone to a brothel and been robbed of his wallet; then he produced some money as evidence that he could still pay his reckoning. The fat landlord shrugged, deducted the price of a room for the night, said Adam had better see the police about getting new papers, then took him upstairs.
Adam would have given a great deal for a bath, but had to make do with sluicing himself down with water from a tap in a stone-floored washroom at the end of the passage. He then went out again to reconnoitre the harbour and find out where each of the three ships was bound for.
From a wharf-hand with whom he got into conversation he learned that one ship was only a coastal trader, another was taking aboard a mixed cargo for Havana, and that the United States tramp had come across from Campeche with a cargo of sisal; she was now calling at Boca to load fruit on her open decks before proceeding to New York.
The American was obviously the best choice if he could get aboard her, as in New York he would at once be able to get money from his American literary agents and, on their vouching for his identity, he would have no difficulty in securing a new passport from the British Consul General. But, as she was not alongside the dock, there could be no easy business of slipping over her side in the middle of the night; so to stow away in her presented a major problem. It seemed that his only chance was to persuade one of the crew to help him.
After a hearty midday meal and a siesta, he returned to the dock, sat on a bollard and kept watch on the ship. In due course, as he expected, several of the crew put off in a boat to come ashore for an evening’s amusement. On landing they formed two groups of nine seamen or stokers and three officers, then separated, the officers evidently heading for a somewhat better place than the ratings would patronise. Adam had intended to scrape acquaintance with the members of the crew, but he chanced to overhear a fair-haired, freckle-faced young officer with the rings of a Second Engineer speak to his two companions in a broad Scottish accent. Following a hunch, he tailed the three men to a café that looked about the best the small port had to offer.
Giving them a few minutes to settle down, he went in, took up a position near them at the bar, ordered himself a Scotch and soda and plonked down a hundred-peso note to pay for it. As he did so they gave him a curious glance, for his appearance was that of a down-and-out Mexican who would not ordinarily have ordered such a drink or have been able to afford it. Then they went on talking and took no further notice of him.
Having waited until the glasses of two of them were empty, he looked along at the Engineer and, reverting to the accent he had had before going to Marlborough, he said, ‘M’ name’s Adam McTavish, an’ seeing we baith hail fra north o’ the border, I’d like tae stand ye an’ ye’re friends a drink.’
They looked at him in some surprise, then readily accepted. Other rounds followed and they were soon all talking in a most friendly fashion. The young Engineer, whose name was Bruce Sinclair, came from Glasgow; the others—the ship’s First Officer and ‘Sparks’—were Americans. Adam gave them a partially true and partially false account of himself. Having spoken of his time in the Royal Navy, he post-dated his trip as a supercargo who had been left high and dry at Recife, then spun a yarn that he had worked his way north through Venezuela, Panama and Guatemala to Mexico, where, for the past few months, he had acted as a foreman in a silver mine.
Later they all had a meal together, during which Adam drew lavishly on his novelist’s imagination to recount amusing fictitious happenings in which he had played a part while on his way up from Brazil. After they had eaten, he found an opportunity to leave them for a few minutes, get an order slip from one of the waiters and write on it:
‘I have a good proposition to put up to you if you can meet me here alone for a meal at two o’clock tomorrow.’
By that time they were all half seas over, so he had no difficulty in slipping the note into Sinclair’s hand unobserved by the others. The young man read it under cover of the marble-topped table to which they had adjourned, and nodded. Round about midnight, Adam, by then well loaded himself, saw his new friends off from the dock with mutual expressions of undying friendship.
Next day he went to the café well before two o’clock and wondered anxiously whether Sinclair would turn up or if, having been decidedly tight the previous night, he would have forgotten their appointment. But on the hour, with his nautical cap at a jaunty angle over his freckled face, the young Engineer joined him.
Until they had enjoyed a good meal, Adam refused to satisfy his companion’s curiosity. Then he said, ‘See you, Bruce, I’m in trouble. While I was working in that mine I came on a cache of old Indian jewellery, really valuable stuff. I didn’t see why I should turn it in to the management, so I decided to make off with it. Unfortunately. I was rumbled and there was one hell of a row. They ran me for stealing antiques rightly belonging to the Mexican government, and I was given six months. Five weeks later I had a lucky break and managed to escape from p
rison. Being a cautious chap, I had hidden a few of the things I had come upon; so they didn’t get them all back, and I collected the rest. But they had taken away my passport; so, although I’ve got several thousand pounds’ worth of loot in my pockets, I can’t get out of this damned country. Now, if I make it well worth your while, are you game to help me?’
Sinclair considered for a moment. ‘I’d like to, but it would be taking a big risk. What is there in it for me?’
Fishing out of his trouser pocket the least valuable of the bracelets, Adam showed it under the table and said, ‘This. I’ve friends in New York to whom I’ll take you and I’ll guarantee that they’ll give you at least a thousand quid for it.’
As the young man looked at the jewel, he drew a deep breath. Considering their responsibilities, the officers in small ships are about the worst-paid class in the world, and there was a bonnie lass in Glasgow that Bruce Sinclair was saving up to marry.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘but how is it to be done?’
‘That’s for you to say,’ Adam replied. ‘But there can be nothing against your asking me on board some time when things are quiet, and it won’t be noticed if I don’t go ashore again. You’ll have to think of a place where I can hide for twenty-four hours. I’ll come out then, and I’m quite capable of working my passage.’
‘What about when we dock in New York?’
‘Leave that to me. I’ll find a way of getting ashore. Maybe in one of those crates of fruit you are loading. Or, if you lay off, I’m a good swimmer and could swim ashore.’
Again Sinclair remained thoughtful for a minute, then he said, ‘Coming aboard at night would look a bit fishy. Tomorrow at about three in the afternoon would be best. Everyone will be having a shut-eye then, even the deck watchman who is supposed to keep a look-out while we are in port. We don’t want any of the crew to see you come aboard, though; so you’d better get a boatman to take you out to the ship and I’ll be waiting for you.’
So the matter was arranged, and an hour later Adam saw Sinclair off from the dock.
The following afternoon, hopeful but nervous about the outcome, he hired a small motor-boat which chugged with him out to the President Cleveland, as the American ship was named. When he reached her, he told the boatman that he might have to remain on board for some hours, and that when he had done his business one of the ship’s boats would bring him ashore; then he paid him off.
Sinclair, looking far from happy, received Adam as he came over the side. But after they had had a few drinks in the deserted Mess under the stern deck, he cheered up considerably and said, ‘There is a spare cabin not far from mine which should be occupied by a Fourth Officer. But in this tub we don’t run to one, and I don’t think anyone has even looked into it for weeks; so you should be quite all right there.’
A quarter of an hour later, Adam was installed, lying in the narrow bunk and, delight of delights, after being without books for so long, starting to read one of half a dozen which he had bought that morning. With him he had also brought food enough to see him through the next forty-eight hours; and the President Cleveland, having completed her loading, was due to sail on the tide early the following morning.
After reading until sunset he had a meal, then undressed, got under the blankets and went to sleep. A few hours later he was rudely awakened by the door of the cabin being unceremoniously pulled open. Starting up, he blinked a few times, then saw that a big heavy-jowled man who, from the rings on his sleeves, he knew must be the Captain of the vessel, and a much gold-braided Mexican Customs officer, were framed in the doorway. Behind them were grouped several other men.
‘What’s this?’ the Customs officer snapped at the Captain. ‘You told me this cabin was empty.’
‘So it should be,’ retorted the American in atrocious Spanish. Scowling at Adam, he demanded, ‘Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?’
Adam’s mind jumped to it that he had been caught in a search that Sinclair could not have foreseen. Instantly he decided that he must protect the young Scot who had befriended him, so he refused to explain how he came to be there. His stubborn refusal to answer all the subsequent questions fired at him resulted in the gold-braided Customs officer drawing a revolver, covering him with it and ordering in a junior to search his belongings.
Within two minutes the Customs man came upon the jewelled serpent-head and the bracelets. With a cry of triumph, he held them aloft.
‘Now what have you to say?’ sneered the senior Customs officer at the unhappy Captain. ‘We were tipped off that your ship was smuggling out valuable antiques which should belong to the Mexican government. Evidently the people for whom you are acting do not trust you, so sent this man to carry the most valuable pieces himself, and keep a watch on you. I have no doubt now that we will find many lesser Mexican objets d’art hidden among your cargo.’
Adam was then locked into the cabin and left to brood on his extraordinary bad luck in having tried to get away in a ship which was under suspicion as an antique-runner. Hours later, two policemen came to the cabin, handcuffed him and took him up on deck.
There, under the arc-lights, he saw that many of the fruit crates had been broken open and set out on the deck were a score of pieces of fine pottery, several small jade images of gods, obsidian axe-heads, knives and other items which had evidently been destined for antique dealers in New York; and the Customs men were still searching.
He was taken ashore and, half an hour later, put in the local lock-up. Next morning he was questioned but refused to give an account of himself. That afternoon he was transferred to the police headquarters in Vera Cruz. Again he was questioned and again he refused to talk.
They photographed him, took his fingerprints and sent them to the capital with a full description of the jewels that had been found in his possession, to find out if he could be identified as an habitual criminal.
Two days later he was brought from his cell to face the ex-pugilist who had been his warder in Mexico City after he had been brought there from Mérida. In vain he denied that he had ever before set eyes on this human gorilla. His denial was ignored. That night he was sent back under guard to Mexico City, to stand his trial as the man who had incited rebellion in the role of Quetzalcoatl.
22
Out on a Limb
For the second time Adam made the flight to Mexico City handcuffed and under guard. Soon after he arrived at Police Headquarters, he was brought before the bald General Gómez, from whom he had last parted after a convivial supper. He was then formally charged with: conspiring against the government; subversive activities; inciting the civil population to rebellion; breaking out of prison; inciting the Armed Forces to mutiny and creating a public disturbance. It seemed a formidable list, but he had little doubt that, to their own satisfaction, they would be able to prove the lot.
On this occasion he was not subjected to prolonged and searching questioning, which, he rightly guessed was due to the authorities already having all the evidence they needed to convict him. He was simply asked if he wished to make a statement.
All he could do was to tell a near-enough version of the truth, although he did not expect to be believed, and, during his long recital, the Police Chief showed by his bored manner that he considered listening to it a waste of time. However, he agreed to Adam’s request that the British Embassy should be informed of his situation.
The following morning the Embassy solicitor, a Mr. Wilkinson, who was a partner in a Mexican firm, came to see him, and they went over in detail a copy of Adam’s statement.
Wilkinson obviously took a dim view of his prospects. Now that Hunterscombe could not vouch for Adam’s innocence, the only ways in which his guilt could even be brought in doubt was (1) by testimony from Chela, (2) by evidence that he had been held in the monastery against his will, and (3) that he had, belatedly, fought the priests on the top of the pyramid; but Chela’s testimony would be regarded as biased in his favour, it was very unlikely that anyone
at the monastery would be inclined to speak in his defence and it would be urged that he had only turned against the priests when he had found that, by taking the role of Quetzalcoatl, he had fallen into a trap which was about to cost him his life.
The lawyer could give him no information about Chela, but he was able to tell him about the results of the abortive ceremony at the pyramid.
The government was maintaining its policy of belittling the movement, in order to discourage possible risings in the provinces. It had been given out that a group of fanatics who dabbled in occultism had held a type of Sabbath, their object being to reintroduce the worship of the old gods. The leaders had dressed themselves up as priests and endeavoured to impose on the credulous by again producing the English eccentric who had played the part of Quetzalcoatl at Uxmal and later escaped from prison. The movement had been condemned as anti-social and liable to lead to breaches of the peace. On these grounds it had been made a penal offence to belong to it.
‘You will no doubt be surprised to hear,’ Wilkinson added, ‘that, according to the official statement, the crowd was simply dispersed and no arrests were made. That, of course, is quite untrue. All those rounded up were screened; the small fry were allowed to go, but the leaders, among whom were a number of Militia officers, were detained and they have since simply disappeared. No doubt by this time several of them have been induced to talk and the Security Service is hard at it rounding up people in the provinces who were involved. The only warrants issued, as far as I know, were for Monsignor Alberuque and yourself. He is believed to have escaped and still be in hiding. According to your statement, you and Hunterscombe took him prisoner and later, while struggling with you, he fell out of the helicopter. But I don’t think they will believe that for a moment. Their theory is that you and he took Hunterscombe prisoner and made off in the helicopter. So they will assume that you are trying to cover up for him and that he is still at large.’
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