Vultures in the Sky

by Todd Downing

  “That will be all now,” Rennert dismissed him. “Ask the waiter in the diner to come in here.”

  The porter turned toward the door and for an instant, as his eyes met Rennert’s, the latter saw in them an unguarded look of fear.

  Rennert turned to the soldier. “How many of you are there on this train?”

  “Eight, señor.”

  “You received orders at Saltillo to assist me?”

  “Yes, señor.”

  “Very well, then. I want one of you to remain posted on the observation platform of this car. He is to see that no one leaves the car. Another is to remain upon the ground by the steps as long as the train remains here. His duty is the same. One of you will search this compartment at once, the other the smoker. You are looking for a hypodermic needle.” Rennert tried to read the other’s expressionless face. “Do you know what that is?”

  “No, señor.”

  Rennert explained. “As soon as your search is finished, come into the Pullman. You will search it then, the luggage of the passengers and the passengers themselves.”

  “Very well, señor.” The man inclined his head slightly and marched stiffly from the room.

  At the door he passed the waiter from the diner. The latter was able to maintain almost unruffled his obsequious demeanor. His nervousness betrayed itself only by a continuous passing of his right hand over his polished black hair.

  “You recognize this woman?” Rennert asked him, with a motion toward the berth.

  “Yes, señor,” the fellow responded readily.

  “When did you last see her?”

  “In the diner.”

  “She was there when the train stopped?”

  “Yes, señor.”

  “How long did she stay?”

  “I do not know. I was in the kitchen when she left.”

  “When did you next come into the diner?”

  “In about ten minutes, señor.”

  “Who was there then?”

  “No one, señor.”

  “How many people had been in the diner when the train stopped?”

  The man thought a moment. “Five, señor, I think. This woman and a young man at the table with her, two men at the table across the aisle and a man at the table by the door.”

  “Very well,” Rennert said rather abstractedly, “that will be all.”

  The conductor had been standing to one side.

  Rennert turned to him and said: “When these soldiers finish their examination of this compartment it is to be locked until we arrive at San Luis Potosí. The authorities there will then take charge.”

  “Very well, señor.”

  Rennert met the two soldiers at the door.

  He left them to their task and stepped into the passage.

  Radcott and Searcey stood in the doorway of the smoker, regarding him with questioning faces.

  “What’s all the excitement about?” Radcott queried.

  “Something has happened,” Rennert said, “which requires the presence of all of us in the Pullman. Will you gentlemen be kind enough to step in there?”

  “Sure,” Radcott stared at him, his round face suddenly serious.

  He stepped forward, followed by Searcey. The latter glanced quickly at Rennert as he passed, seemed about to pause, then strode on toward the door of the Pullman.

  Rennert stood in the doorway and glanced down the length of the car.

  Mr. King sat next to the aisle, nervously tapping a folded timetable against his crossed knees. Jeanes turned his face slowly from his contemplation of the darkness outside the window and stared intently at Rennert’s face. At the rear sat Miss Talcott. Her head rested against the back of her seat but her eyes looked down the car with a queer brightness in them.

  Searcey and Radcott sat down side by side across from Jeanes.

  “Where’s Spahr?” Rennert asked, his eyes traveling about the group.

  For a moment no one spoke. Radcott, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, shook his head.

  “I believe,” came Jeanes’ quiet voice, “that the young man is out there beside the track.”

  Rennert turned and made his way down the passage to the steps. He made out the motionless figure of Spahr, sitting on the ground a few feet away. He called him.

  Spahr turned his head, rose and walked slowly toward the train. “What’s the matter?” he asked in an unsteady voice.

  “I want you to come into the Pullman,” Rennert said. He let the young man pass him, glanced at the figure of the soldier who stood at the foot of the steps, then returned to the Pullman.

  Spahr awaited him at the door. “What do you want?” his bloodshot eyes met Rennert’s.

  “If you will sit down, Mr. Spahr,” Rennert said in a voice that carried down the length of the car, “I have something to say to you—and to the others.”

  There was a spasmodic twitching of the muscles about Spahr’s lips as he stared at Rennert. He dropped into the seat by the door.

  A taut silence fell upon the car.

  Rennert stood in the center of the aisle, facing them, and said: “What began as a pleasure or a business trip for most of us has turned unfortunately into an unpleasant and serious affair. I think the time has come for all of us to put aside our circumlocutions and acknowledge openly the fact that one of us in this car is a murderer.”

  13

  Alibi (7:50 P.M.)

  Paper creaked as King’s fingers twisted the timetable. The rest sat motionless and silent, staring at Rennert’s face.

  “When we passed through that tunnel this morning,” he went on, “one of you plunged a hypodermic needle filled with nicotine poison into the body of the man who sat in this seat at my left. Tonight that same person plunged the same or another needle into the wrist of the woman who occupied the compartment behind me. Last night that person did the same with a man who stood upon the station platform at San Antonio. Three murders in twenty-four hours! I don’t wish to alarm you unnecessarily but I see no reason to doubt that we stand in danger of a repetition if this murderer feels for any reason that his security is threatened. That, I am convinced, is why Miss Van Syle was killed.”

  He let his eyes travel from one face to another.

  Miss Talcott rose quietly and slipped down the aisle to the next seat in front. There was on her usually placid countenance an indefinable expression of eager interest. If her face had brightened, that of Jeanes had darkened, as if a shadow had clouded his line features. The eyes that met Rennert’s might have been those of a man who is suffering pain in silence. Across from him, Searcey and Radcott sat listening. Searcey’s small mouth was compressed into a straight grim line so that his face seemed longer and more grotesquely masklike. Radcott was perched upon the edge of his seat. His hands were held between his knees and were twisting and untwisting. The startled expression upon his round pink face might, in other circumstances, have been ludicrous. The color had drained entirely from King’s face as he sat with his fingers tight upon the ends of the twisted timetable and stared at Rennert. Spahr was bent forward in his seat so that his countenance was invisible. One hand was buried in his rumpled hair.

  “I am speaking to one of you alone now,” Rennert’s voice hardened, “the one of you who is guilty of these murders. I am asking you to confess. This car is guarded closely by Mexican soldiers, there is no escape. There will be no escape until we reach a place where the proper authorities can investigate this business. Your motive is known, your part in the Montes kidnapping case is known—”

  At his side there was a sharp agonized intake of breath. Spahr had raised his head and was staring wide-eyed at Rennert’s face. “Oh, my God!” came in a smothered undertone from his lips.

  Rennert waited. No one spoke.

  “Very well,” he said after a full half minute had passed, “you have made your decision. To the rest of you I am appealing for assistance. The Mexican authorities are not going to let this matter pass without investigation. That will mean detent
ion for all of us, endless inquiries and red tape. It would be much better if we settled it ourselves before it comes before them. There is also, I must remind you again, a personal danger involved for each of you unless the murderer is identified quickly. Now, does any one of you have any information, anything at all—however insignificant it may seem to you—to give?”

  Radcott’s rising was like a definite cracking of the strained silence that filled the car. He stood with both hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him and met Rennert’s gaze squarely. A flush—half of self-consciousness, half of anger—had mounted to his cheeks.

  “I hope, Mr. Rennert, that you won’t misunderstand me,” he spoke in a strained voice which would have been unrecognizable as his own. “I’m just saying what I’m sure some of the others here must feel. What right have you got to put all of us in the class of suspects, to be questioned by you? Why is it that you don’t come under suspicion yourself?”

  Rennert saw the eyes of all of them go to Radcott’s face, then come quickly back to his. The eyes of all of them, that is, except Miss Talcott. She gazed steadily at his face and he thought that a faint smile hovered for a fraction of a second upon her lips before she determinedly compressed them.

  Searcey spoke in an even voice: “I think, Rennert, that you’ll have to admit Radcott’s question is one that you ought to answer, though I think you’re perfectly right in saying that we ought to avoid any tangle with the Mexican authorities if we can.”

  Rennert smiled slightly. “Very true, Mr. Searcey. I have no objection at all to answering Mr. Radcott’s question. I have no authority here beyond that given to me by the authorities at Saltillo until this train reaches Mexico City. There are soldiers here to act under my orders. This authority was given to me in my capacity as agent of the United States Treasury Department. In this matter, however, I have of course no official standing. In case any of you feel a reluctance to answer any question or prefer to wait until we arrive at Mexico City, you undoubtedly have that right.”

  Radcott stood for a moment, as if uncertain. “Well,” a rather forced smile creased his cheeks, “in that case I suppose I’ll withdraw my objections. I’m ready to answer any questions you’ve got.” He sat down.

  “And you, Mr. Searcey?” Rennert looked at him. “Satisfied?” “Sure!”

  Searcey’s eyes seemed to narrow slightly behind the blank stare of his glasses. “I withdraw my objection. You ought to have told us at the beginning who you were.”

  “Is there anyone else,” Rennert asked curtly, “who has any objections to this inquiry?”

  King shook his head with determination, Spahr in a dazed manner. Jeanes sat motionless, without taking his eyes from Rennert’s face. Some of the tortured look had gone from them now.

  “Very well, then,” Rennert went on, “let us go back to last night at the station in San Antonio when a man fell down in what was supposed at the time to be a faint. This happened a few minutes before nine o’clock, when the Pullman was opened. Mr. King here saw the man fall. Did anyone else witness this?”

  There was no response. Out of the corner of his eye Rennert saw King pass a hand across his forehead.

  “Did any of you, except Mr. King, arrive at the platform before the Pullman was opened?”

  He waited. They sat like still wax figures. Even the ordinary bodily stirrings seemed devoid of their usual sounds.

  “I take this as a statement, then, by each one of you that he did not stand upon that platform before nine o’clock. If it can be proven that one of you did so, it will constitute a definite prevarication by that person and will put him under suspicion.” He turned to King. “Did you see any of these people upon the platform before the Pullman was opened?”

  King started. Without turning around to face the others he shook his head. “No,” he said in a small voice, “I don’t remember having seen any of them.”

  Rennert felt a bit of grim satisfaction. He felt that he had scored one point at least. One of the silent people facing him had admitted having been upon that platform before nine o’clock and now denied it. He wondered if this person remembered the admission made earlier in the day.

  “And now we come to this morning,” he said, “and the tunnel. You, Miss Talcott, were sitting in the seat back of the one which you now occupy. You, too, Mr. Searcey. The rest of you occupy the same seats as you did then. Is that correct?”

  Miss Talcott nodded. Her mild and slightly absent expression did not change but the brightness of her eyes and certain quick birdlike little movements of her body testified to her interest.

  (Rennert thought: She is exactly like a spectator at a play, interested not in the actors but in the parts they represent.)

  “Let me recapitulate your statements made this morning. Miss Talcott, Mr. Searcey, Mr. Jeanes, and Mr. King did not move from their seats while we were going through the tunnel. Mr. King and Mr. Jeanes both saw someone bending over the man who sat in the chair to my left. Mr. Jeanes felt some kind of material brush against his hand at the time. Mr. Radcott was upon the observation platform when the train started through the tunnel but came inside the door at once, remaining in the passage. Mr. Spahr was in the diner, the entire time. Does anyone wish to make any change in that statement of his own position or in that of others?”

  Searcey got to his feet, his large figure towering over the others. A pallor seemed to have come over his face, succeeded now by a flush which mounted angrily to his cheeks. The effect beneath the sunburnt skin was ghastly under the naked glow of the electric lights.

  “See here,” his soft even voice was edged with steel, “we’ve been over this once before. Let’s get it settled. You’ve eliminated, it seems, everyone except Miss Talcott and myself. My good friend Mr. Jeanes,” there was no mistaking the bitterness in the tone, “says that he felt my corduroy trousers against his hand. That—”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Searcey,” Miss Talcott spoke for the first time, “but Mr. Jeanes is not so sure now that it was your trousers which he felt. He admits the possibility that it was this fiber bag of mine.” She smiled slightly as she held it up.

  Searcey stared at the bag. His mouth tightened. He turned to Rennert. “Is that so?”

  Rennert nodded.

  Searcey’s eyes flicked the side of Jeanes’ face. “Still,” he spoke out of one corner of his mouth, “that leaves me in about the same position. I’m sure, Miss Talcott,” exaggerated gallantry was in his voice, “that you are not under suspicion.” He looked squarely at Rennert. “What I was getting at is this. I’ve said that I did not leave my seat while we were going through that tunnel. I could have done so, though. Radcott here and Spahr say that they did not come into this car. They could have done so, though. You are taking their word for it?”

  “Unless we have evidence to the contrary, Mr. Searcey.”

  “Yet you admit that it’s possible that either one of them did come in here?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a frantic look in Spahr’s eyes as he turned his head. “But the waiter back in the diner will swear that I didn’t leave it while we were in the tunnel!” He looked at Rennert. “Isn’t that so?”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Spahr, the waiter cannot swear to that. All that he can say is that he did not see you leave. While the train was in the tunnel and for several minutes after he was in the kitchen.”

  Spahr stared at him as the little remaining blood drained slowly from his cheeks. He reached into his pocket and drew out a package of cigarettes with a hand that trembled.

  “But,” he exclaimed suddenly, “Miss Van Syle was in there all the time. She—” he stopped and let the cigarette which he held fall to the floor.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Spahr, Miss Van Syle cannot verify your story,” Rennert said quietly.

  Spahr leaned forward again and buried his head in his hands.

  Rennert’s eyes met Searcey’s. “So, you see, Mr. Searcey, suspicion does not rest upon you alone.”

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nbsp; Searcey shrugged his shoulders and sank back onto his seat. “That’s all I wanted to know,” he said quietly.

  Rennert was conscious of the tension which filled the car. Now that the accustomed noises of the rain had ceased it was as if each person there were a tautened wire which vibrated to the least movement on the part of another. The steady monotony of the electric fans was becoming unendurable.

  Rennert waited a moment, watching the faces before him.

  “And now,” he went on in an unhurried voice, “we come to the death tonight of Miss Van Syle, who occupied the compartment behind my back. She was seen alive in the diner a minute or so after the train stopped. I am going to ask each one of you to reconstruct his actions from that time until we gathered here. I don’t need to impress upon you the importance of being as exact and as truthful as possible.” He paused. “Shall we begin with you, Miss Talcott?”

  She drew herself up and smiled. “Certainly. I was sitting here with you, you remember, when the train came to a stop. I did not leave my seat until a moment ago when I moved one seat forward.”

  “Was anyone else in this car during that entire time?”

  “No,” she shook her head meditatively, “not the entire time. Mr. Jeanes was in here most of the time, however.”

  “Most of the time?”

  “Yes, about twenty minutes after you left he got up, too, and walked toward the rear of the car—to the observation platform, I suppose. He stayed only a few minutes—probably not more than three or four—then came back and sat down. Mr. King had come in and sat down before he went out.”

  Rennert turned to Jeanes. “That is true, Mr. Jeanes?”

  The man met his gaze steadily. “Yes, that is true, I went, as Miss Talcott has suggested, to the observation platform. I remained there for not more than three minutes. I came back into this car at once.”

  “And may I ask why you went to the observation platform?” “Certainly,” Jeanes smiled slightly, “I was curious as to the reason for the stopping of the train.”

  Rennert kept his gaze on Jeanes’ face. There was something too fixed, too pleasant and beneficent about that smile.