Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 10]

by The Goggle-Eyed Pirates (v0. 9) (epub)

  “How do you happen to be here?”

  “It is unfortunate from your point of view, isn’t it?” she said. “I came back to pick up a portfolio of sketches I’d forgotten. When I found all the fights weren’t functioning I became suspicious and decided to investigate very quietly.”

  “Yes, you certainly are,” he agreed. “I’m wondering if you’re really in on this whole racket.”

  She laughed faintly. “This is delightful. Now you’re trying to turn the tables to make it sound as though I’m the crook.”

  “Possibly you don’t know what Napoleon and his friends are up to,” continued the Phantom. “It’s even possible Napoleon himself is simply an innocent dupe.” As he talked, he inched forward.

  “I really have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Walker,” Loris said. “Now, if you haven’t put the phone out of commission as well, I’m going to call the police. Stay exactly where you are.”

  “Of course.” He suddenly dived ahead, ducked low. He tackled the girl around the legs with one arm while his other arm flashed upward. Catching her wrist, he shook the silver-plated pistol from it.

  “That was a nasty ”

  Now in his right hand was one of his .45 automatics. He stood clear of the fallen girl, holding her flash in his other hand. “Sit right there for a moment.”

  “I ... I hesitated about actually shooting you,” she said. “That’s how you got the jump on me.”

  “It’s one possible explanation.” The Phantom had moved too swiftly for her to do much of anything. He backed to a low table, picked up a bolt of cloth. Tossing it to die girl, he said, “Tear it up into strips. We’ll need a half dozen.”

  “But this is one of Napoleon’s most expensive fabrics.”

  “Even so....”

  As she ripped the bright green-and-scarlet cloth, she asked, “What do you intend to do to me?”

  “Nothing very sinister. Tie and gag you.”

  'There’s really no need. I promise. . .

  “I have to pay a call tonight and I cant have you warning anyone,” he said. “Napoleon will find you in the morning.”

  “That’s a long time away.” She held out six strips of cloth to him.

  “Hands behind your back, please.” He set the flashlight on the floor before proceeding to tie her up and then gag her. “After I pay my call, I’ll let someone know you’re here.” He put his automatic away and left.

  From here, high in the hill section of Mawitaan, the bay was only a black half circle surrounded by tiny dots of colored light. The city itself was a crisscross of more tiny lights.

  Down a sharply inclining tree-filled stretch of land stood the mansion the Phantom was seeking. A huge sprawling house, built in the style of the late nineteenth century. Around it rose a six-foot-high stone wall.

  “The Countess dePalma has herself well fortified,” he said to himself.

  He moved down through the dark woods until he was within a yard of the backside of the stone fence.

  “At least there’s no broken glass on top.”

  He scaled a nearby tree, got a grip on a suitably high branch. He began swinging to and fro. After three complete swings, he let go and went sailing through the night.

  He landed on his feet atop the stone wall. “No alarm system, either.”

  The Phantom dropped to the grounds of the Countess dePalma’s five-acre estate.

  “Oh, oh,” said the Phantom to himself, “but there are dogs.”

  He heard now the galloping of a large guard dog as it came closer. It was a Great Dane, running silent, teeth locked in a snarl.

  The Phantom stood wide-legged, facing the charging animal.

  It did not bark. Apparently, it had been trained to attack intruders without warning. With an angry snarl, it leaped.

  The Phantom pivoted, swung out with one fist. He hit the animal a terrific clout between the eyes. “Sorry, old fellow,” he said. “But I don’t need my throat tom open at the moment.”

  The big dog seemed to deflate in midair. It slapped to the ground like a spent balloon.

  The Phantom moved on. “Now let’s find out about those pirate robes and why the countess ordered them.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The Countess dePalma was a tall, moderately plump woman of forty. Despite her name, she had a Scandinavian look. She wore her blonde hair in braids wound around her head. “One percent of a million dollars,” she was saying now. “What would that be?” She moved to a beige wood cabinet in her large studio, opened a drawer, and took out a pocket calculator.

  “Ten thousand bucks, Inger,” said Brupp, who was slouched in a canvas chair up on the model platform. His back was to the long, high studio window.

  With a faint pout, the countess dropped the calculator away. “I only bought this a week ago and no one ever_gives me a chance to use it.”

  ‘The best calculator you can have is up here.” The pudgy pink man tapped his skull.

  The countess crossed to her easel, studying the unfinished still-life canvas upon it. “Thank goodness I don’t have to paint you. You really look very much like a toad.”

  "Who ever head of a baby-pink toad?” chuckled Brupp. “All your joshing can’t rile me, Inger. You and me are buddies, you know.”

  “When can I expect my ten thousand dollars?”

  “A week to ten days,” he said, “possibly longer. We got to move slow, as always. Don’t worry, we always pay all our folks off.”

  “I’m wondering if I shouldn’t get more.” The tall blonde woman sat in a butterfly chair. “Giving you information on who’s traveling where, on what valuables they’re taking ... and this last time even providing your silly disguises.”

  '‘One percent is all you get, sweetheart.”

  She lifted both hands, let them drop to her lap. “I suppose I’ll have to make do with the ten thousand dollars then,” she sighed. “Oh, by the way, speaking of those pirate outfits of yours....”

  Brupp sat up straight. “What about them?”

  “Oh, this is of no great importance, I’m sure,” said the countess. “But that darling Napoleon called me this afternoon. He said that my party—that’s what I told him the robes were for, you recall—has caused ripples in the social pool.”

  Brupp was up out of his chair. “What the hell did he mean by that?”

  “He said someone had been in asking for similar

  robes and ”

  “What?”

  “A customer had come into his charming little shop

  to--

  “How in blue blazes did anyone know he’d made them? Was it a cop?”

  “There’s no need to shout or raise your voice. It was only some playboy or other, according to Napoleon.

  He had never met the man before nor read of him,

  but he had the distinct impression--”

  “Did this guy give him a name?”

  The countess blinked. “I believe so. In fact, I think I wrote it down.”

  “You nitwit, Inger. You sit here calmly and almost don’t tell me about this ... find that name!”

  “Don’t bellow in my ear.” She rose slowly from her chair. “I usually keep the memo pad on the phone table in the hall, but I distinctly remember carrying it in here this afternoon.”

  “Find it, find it.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. I remember stopping by the taboret to—yes, here it is.” She held it up veiy close to her face. “His name was ... Marcello. No, that isn’t it. Marcello is the new hairdresser at the ... yes, here’s the name you’re shouting about. Walker.”

  Brupp slapped his hands against his sides. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Immediately outside the studio window, watching through a slit in the tan draperies, stood the Phantom. He had been there for the past five minutes, listening.

  Now inside the studio Brupp was pacing angrily. “You know we’ve got another caper planned for just five days from today, Inger.”

  “Is it
five? I thought it was six, but you know how I am with—”

  “The damn wheels are already in motion,” continued the angry Brupp. “And now this Walker, whoever the hell he is, starts asking around. How’d he know about Napoleon at all?”

  “I really haven’t any idea!”

  “Oh, never mind. The important thing is he knows.”

  “Napoleon didn’t tell him a thing about me” the countess pointed out hopefully.

  “I better get down to that twit’s shop right now and make sure he didn’t put anything about your order on paper.”

  “Will you postpone the next job?”

  “No, Inger, we’re going to do it in five days,” Brupp assured the countess. “We’re already setting up certain things in Mawitaan harbor to get ready for our next luxury liner.”

  The Phantom waited no longer. He moved silently away from the window, went running rapidly across the dark estate grounds.

  He didn’t, therefore, hear Brupp say, “I don’t know where I can get my hands on Walker. But I think we can work something through that girlfriend of his.”

  CHAPTER 16

  A sea wind came cutting across the early morning. Lumbard parked their jeep against a low stone wall, pocketed the keys, and then rubbed his eyes. “An ungodly hour,” he said. “Nothing good can come of getting up so early.”

  “If you were married and had kids you’d be used to 7:00 a.m.” Bockman swung out of the passenger seat.

  Lumbard was gazing across at the whitewashed plaster face of the Oceanside Hotel. Once some sort of aquatic mural had decorated the front of the two-story building. Time and weather had taken away all but the hind end of a whale and the pegleg of a pirate. “I don’t see Serafim standing out front bright as a button and raring to go.”

  “Probably lurking inside; he’s-very cautious.”

  The lobby was small, cluttered with too many unmatched rattan chairs and an overabundance of small palm trees planted in red earthen pots and green-painted tins. There was no sign of Serafim.

  At the far side of the lobby, a varnished wooden

  door stood open. A heavyset black man with a shaved head appeared in the doorway. He wore a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of denim trousers. “Rooms?”

  “No,” said Lumbard. “We have an appointment with one of your guests.”

  Scratching his armpit, the clerk asked, “Who would that be?”

  “Guy named Serafim.”

  “Nobody by that name registered here.”

  Bockman wended his way through the chairs and trees to the clerk. “Small skinny guy about forty, pale, wearing an old navy-blue suit. Probably checked in some time yesterday.”

  “Sounds like it could be Mr. Gomes. You aren’t cops?”

  “Customers of his only.”

  Lumbard asked, “You seen this Gomes this morning?”

  Shaking his head, the clerk answered, “Naw.” “Would he still be up in his room maybe.”

  “Possible. I just came on "bout half hour ago. Saw him go out last night sometime after six. Haven’t seen him since,” said the clerk. “He’s up in 216 if you want to go up and bang on his door. I’m going to heat up some coffee.”

  The door to 216 was painted a bright green. Lumbard knocked on it three times. No one responded from inside the room. “Guess our one hundred bucks is long gone.”

  Bockman reached around his partner to turn the doorknob. The door was unlocked. “Let’s see what he left behind.”

  Serafim was sitting up on the bed, the sad smile on his pale face. He was still wearing the rumpled blue suit. There was an icepick stuck in his chest.

  “Damn,” said Bockman.

  “There goes our lead.”

  Fat black flies went scurrying into the air and away from the blood which streaked Serafim’s front as the two insurance men approached the bed.

  “Been dead a few hours, huh?” said Bockman after touching one of the dead man’s hands.

  “Sometime last night late, probably.” Lumbard stooped beside the bed. A wallet lay face down amid a scatter of cards and bits of paper. He gathered everything up. “No hundred dollars here. According to this, he wasn’t Serafim or Gomes. Joaquim Machado of Port Nyama.”

  Circling the bed, Bockman said, “Port Nyama’s only an hour down the coast from Mawitaan. So that can’t be where he was going to take us.” On the other side of the bed, the contents of the dead man’s lone suitcase had been dumped. Bockman squatted and began poking through the assortment of clothes and toilet articles. “Wonder if they were hunting for anything in particular.”

  “Wanted to make sure he didn’t have anything that would lead us to where that helicopter landed.”

  “You think this guy really knew?”

  “Okay, it’s possible he was simply a cheap hustler trying to hold us up with a con,” said Lumbard, nodding at the body. “In which case, his getting knocked off is only a coincidence. I really don’t think so, though.” Gingerly, he reached out to check the pockets in the dead man’s clothes. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing significant in the suitcase, either.”

  Lumbard turned his back on the corpse to survey the room. “Probably came in through that window.” “You could walk right through the lobby and up

  here carrying a shotgun under your arm and nobody would blink an eye in a hotel like this.”

  At the window, Lumbard said, “Nice view of the alley.” His foot clanged against the dented tin wastebasket. “Hey.” He scooped something up out of the can. It was a length of thin yellow paper with several holes punched in it. “They missed this.”

  “His train ticket?”

  “Must be, it’s dated yesterday,” said Lumbard. “According to this Serafim-Gomes-Machado boarded the ten-forty train for Mawitaan yesterday morning in Ngoma.”

  “Ngoma is a better bet. That’s roughly a hundred and fifty miles inland, a three-hour drive.”

  Lumbard said, “Ngoma’s not a thriving community these days, since the mines in that area closed down a couple years back. Plenty of abandoned camps and buildings in the vicinity, lots of nice thick concealing jungle in between.”

  “A good place to hide a copter, maybe.”

  “Let’s drive out there and see what we can find out.”

  “Going to report this murder to the police?”

  “Yeah, we’d better,” said Lumbard. “I’ll call Lieutenant Kiwanda from the lobby. But I’m not going to tell him anything about our contemplated jaunt to Ngoma.”

  “He’ll want us to stick around right here.”

  “He’s going to have to learn to live with disappointments. That’s part of being a good cop.”

  CHAPTER 17

  One window of Lieutenant Kiwanda’s office looked out on a market square. Already, at a little after ten in the morning, the square was rich with activity. Black women in bright full-length dresses filled the square, many with baskets balanced on their heads. Fruit was being vended from stalls and carts, as well as vegetables, five chickens who clucked protestingly in wicker cages, dried meats, and bolts of flowered cloth.

  “I have a suspicion,” the lean black policeman was saying, “you’ve been using some unorthodox methods, Mr. Walker.”

  The Phantom was seated casually in a chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk. “Not unorthodox for me.”

  Turning away from the window, Kiwanda said, “My R. and I. people will have the dossier on the Countess dePalma up to us shortly, if we have anything much on her. A few months hence we will have our new computer in. Then we’ll be able to get information much faster.” He sat behind his desk. “Still very orthodox, though, our computer will be.”

  “As far as you know, the countess has never been involved in anything?”

  “Nothing major enough to cause me to remember it,” said the lieutenant. “She married old dePalma some six years ago. He was a partner in several banks, all highly respectable institutions. He died about a year and a half ago. Perhaps the countess has grown res
tless since then.”

  “We should be able,” said the Phantom, “to figure out which liner they’re going to hit next.”

  “You think it would be best to allow them to go ahead with their planned raid?”

  “That way we get them all,” the Phantom pointed out.

  ‘It could be dangerous to the other passengers.”

  “If you pick up the countess now, you really don’t have much chance of getting the whole gang of goggle-eyed pirates,” said the Phantom. “It’s doubtful she even knows the real names and identities of most of them.”

  The lieutenant picked up an open felt-tip pen, began drawing small ovals on.his memo pad. “You say the man she was talking with had been a passenger aboard the Paradiso?"

  “Yes, an aggressively agreeable man. I remember noticing him in the ballroom. I asked Diana Palmer about him when I saw her for breakfast this morning. The name he was using on the cruise was Harlan Brupp.”

  “We’ll check that out, see if he’s registered at any of the hotels. I doubt he will be.”

  “No, these pirates shed identities the way a snake sheds skins.”

  “You overheard no further details?”

  “I didn’t think it was wise to stay too long on the countess’s grounds.”

  “I’ll check with the harbor authorities to get a list of the cruise ships and liners that will be docking here in four days.”

  “It could also be a ship that’s got Mawitaan as its initial departure point, some cruise that’s starting right here.”

  “I’ll get a list.”

  The Phantom asked, ‘What about Napoleon?” “Tremendous ego, but no criminal record,” replied the lieutenant. He concentrated on drawing a chain of linked circles down one side of a memo page. “Interestingly enough, he didn’t report your nocturnal visit to his establishment.”

  “That could be simply because he thinks it would be bad publicity for his dress business.”

  “I think Napoleon believes getting his name in the news is always good,” said Kiwanda. “At any rate, I’m going to have his establishment watched for the next few days.”