The Bamboo Blonde

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  "I'm glad you didn't," she said under her breath.

  The major might strike her; he wouldn't use such gentle persuasion on Con. She didn't want to think about that. She asked, "What do you want me to do?"

  "Get Walker Travis to the cottage tonight-alone."

  Her eyes lifted quickly. "That's not as simple as it sounds. Don't you know that he's disappeared?"

  "What?" He was so startled that his question was bullet-hard and Chang poked his rolling eyes in at once. Con walked over to her. "He couldn't disappear." He seemed so certain of it she hated to insist.

  "He has. Captain Thusby is investigating."

  "He couldn't disappear. Chang, get Thusby for me."

  "Be right back." He pounced for the garage door.

  "Now tell me." Con sank down again.

  She told him what she knew. He was up walking the room before she'd finished.

  "It couldn't happen. My God, Garth's had him guarded like the crown jewels."

  She said, "Garth's in Long Beach." She couldn't bear the sick look over his face. She forgot all fancied rancor, going swiftly to him. "Con, what's happened? What is it?"

  He asked harshly, "Where's Pembrooke?"

  "He went to San Diego today with Admiral Swales to—" She broke off. "They've found Mannie Martin."

  He said, "Mannie was found the night Shelley was murdered." That was where he had been that night, all night. Called to identify a friend. He knew all along that Mannie had been murdered.

  He said, "Garth suppressed it to give us more time. A fishing smack found the body, what was left of it. Off San Diego. It wasn't a convenient riptide. Riptides don't return a speed boat to Navy Landing when the pilot's gone overboard. And riptides don't leave bullet holes."

  He still didn't move to touch her; without touching him she sat on the floor in front of his chair.

  "That letter I had from Mannie—"

  She interrupted, "I've read it."

  "What did you do with it?"

  She didn't meet his eyes. "Kew burned St."

  He said after a moment, "It doesn't matter anyway. You know then. Some way or other Mannie caught on that Pembrooke's scheme was a lot of hot air."

  "You mean there isn't a plan for a Pan-Pacific network?"

  "That was a blind. We know that much. Mannie told Walker Travis that the night before he disappeared. But he didn't spill the whole story. Trivial as it may seem, he didn't have time. He had to get back to the studio for a big movie broadcast. He told Walker he'd meet him at Navy Landing the next evening, Monday, and give him the rest of the dope. Before he went to The Falcon. He realized something might happen to him there. But he also told him, as if it were a joke, Walker says, that he, Walker, was already in possession of all the facts.”

  He lit two cigarettes, handed one down to her.

  "And then, as you know, he didn't meet Walker. He called that he'd make it later after his appointment with the major, not before."

  "But he didn't meet the major either."

  "No, he didn't. The major's alibi is unbreakable. He sat there at the St. Catherine in view of the staff and guests from nine until after one. just as he says." His mouth was hard. "But Mannie might have met one of the major's men."

  She breathed, "Oh." Only, "Oh."

  He spoke loudly, "Maybe that did happen, I wouldn't know. One thing doesn't fit. Mannie's papers weren't taken from him. They were safe in the waterproof glove compartment of his launch. Garth's had them from the first. Nothing but contract and plans. Nothing incriminating to anyone." He looked at the tip of his cigarette. "We know that Mannie had the real dope on Pembrooke. He wrote that to me. We figure that in one of his last confabs with the major, possibly by mistake, he picked up the wrong notes. That's what the major has been after. If he had Mannie killed, he didn't get what he wanted. That's what we're after. A document that tells what Pembrooke's actual purpose is here."

  "But without that—if Lieutenant Travis has the facts—"

  "Garth's fishing trip was a blind," he broke in. "He's been shut up on that battleship with Travis since last Wednesday trying to work it out, trying to get Walker to remember. They've gone over Mannie's papers and Walker's notes until they've worn out the script, and they still haven't solved it. Codes and chemicals—everything known to the department-nothing works." He said. "Garth left me to take charge of things on shore."

  She stated simply. "That's why we came here."

  "That's why." He admitted harshly, "When I had Mannie's letter, I got in touch with Garth. He asked me to take over while he concentrated on Walker. Not that I'm any big shot but he can trust me, and he can't trust many, even those closest to him." He spoke without hope, "We've failed."

  She tried to comfort. "You can't be certain it's failure."

  "Can't I?" he demanded. "Garth's coming ashore doesn't mean success. Not with the major running loose. And if Walker's gone, it is failure. We'll never know. Pembrooke will go scot-free, free to carry out whatever his plan is."

  She cried out, "Well, what did you expect? Letting the lieutenant run around by himself at all hours."

  "There's always the Achilles heel," he admitted. He was staring into space. We had it. The human element of Walker Travis. But he simply couldn't function under the supervision Garth wanted. He went all to pieces when it was tried. The job they were doing is worse than any mental third degree, and added to it, to a Navy man, was the element that failure meant clanger to the country. We had to give in on one thing; Walker had to see that woman of his or he couldn't go on. He's been too near a complete breakdown since Mannie's disappearance not to coddle him to some extent. Don't think he wasn't guarded. An X chief and two of his closest Navy pals were always on the tender that brought him in to Navy Landing. The Naval Intelligence and the X picked him up there, without his knowledge. The only time he wasn't under their eye when on shore-was when he was in his own room with his wife. We couldn't do anything about that." He lit a cigarette. "Where the devil is Thusby?"

  She said, "Chang will bring him in. Even if he has to slip him a Mickey Finn or a blackjack, he'll bring him in." Ten-cent-store handcuffs! "But you haven't explained why Garth would let Lieutenant Travis run around loose carrying an envelope of dangerous documents if the whole Navy was guarding him. Or why it had to be brought to our cottage."

  "It wasn't what Pembrooke wanted, Griselda." But it was just as bad; the major thought it was. "I tell you we don't have that information, it was a report to me on what they'd been doing and some instructions from Garth. The envelope had to go to the shack for Chang to get it. That was the safest place with me in hiding. Neutral ground. Innocent ground. The major wasn't expected to join the party. He must have a stooge we don't know about. And it's still incredible that he'd force the issue instead of sending an underling with some plausible lie and forged credentials from me." He scowled horribly. "Maybe he has a weakness for bullying women."

  "Never mind that. Why have a duplicate envelope?"

  "In case someone tried to take that one from Chang before he could get it to me."

  She breathed. "You've been in cahoots with the police all along? On the murder charge and the escape?"

  He snorted, "You don't think that old shark Thusby would let a real prisoner escape? And it was essential to stage one when we heard of Sergei's murder. Otherwise I wouldn't be suspected."

  "Why let me worry about it? Why couldn't I know?"

  He said, "Pembrooke would spot a phoney. That's why. I wouldn't be telling you this now only that it looks as if I'm about to come out of retirement. It looks as if it's over the wrong way. Unless Garth's on shore to make a move, with or without evidence. I'll have to help."

  "Two—three—persons have bullet holes in them already." She wasn't certain that she kept her voice from quavering but she tried.

  "I duck well if that's any comfort to you." He put out his hand to touch her hair but he didn't. Sounds below thwarted the move, the creaking door, the peg tapping the stairs. He s
aid gently, "Take care of yourself. Don't trust anyone."

  Chang was announcing. "Did you think we wasn't going to get here, Con? I never thought of looking for Captain Thusby in the social dives. That's where I went wrong."

  Thusby in dress suit looked embarrassed. "Had to go. Big celebration. Admiral Swales's farewell party for Major Pembrooke."

  "Farewell?" Con was sharp.

  "It's all right." Thusby looked suspiciously at Griselda but Con signaled go ahead. Evidently no one was trusted without credentials. "Garth was there too." He sat down. "Pembrooke thinks he's sailing in the morning. Maybe he ain't. Maybe he is."

  Con was rubbing his forehead. "I don't get it."

  "Looks as if he's aiming not to stick around now that Garth's back from fishing."

  There was a more sinister explanation to offer. It was in Con's eyes. Pembrooke had learned that Mannie was found. He was no longer in danger from that source. If he had also silenced the only other person who might betray him, he was safe. He could go and come as he pleased; he could continue his secret plan.

  Con asked, "Travis?"

  Thusby was disheartened. He cased his peg leg. "Not a trace."

  "Could he be on The Falcon?"

  "Impossible. Government fishing boats watching it night and day. There's not been a person on or off it since Tuesday morning, and nothing delivered either."

  Con said, "Great God, don't be so close-mouthed. What's the dope? Who saw Travis last? Who was on him?"

  "Now don't you get het up." Thusby was soothing. "Don't know who saw him last. The. fellow's trailed him to the cottage he owned down at Huntington Bench. They parked near as they could, thought it was an all-night job. Then about midnight didn't he start hell-bent back to the city. Outrun them in the fog. They didn't pick the car up again till it was back in town going in the garridge. And Mrs. Travis was alone in it,"

  "Imbeciles."

  "She says she let him off at a drugstore to phone and she doesn't know which. We've checked the whole neighborhood but one sailor or another coming in didn't mean nothing to any of them."

  "Absolute imbeciles!" Con shouted. Chang's growl agreed.

  Con was trying to think, his face so haggard Griselda ached to touch him. But she sat quietly, daring not breathe lest she be run off.

  "What does Mrs. Travis have to suggest?"

  "Nothing." Captain Thusby breathed sarcasm. "She don't know nothing except how to go in hysterics. All she says is he was trying to get somebody on the phone and that's why he wanted to come back to town quick."

  Con was walking again, his hands dug in his pockets, his eyebrows together as if they could scowl out the answer. "He couldn't have sold out. It can't be that. I'd sooner believe it of Garth or myself." He pounded a fist on his head. "He can't be murdered. Not yet. Pembrooke wouldn't give up so easily. Not until he made an effort to wake Travis's memory. He knows we don't have the information yet or he'd be in Garth's custody, not dining with him. Just as we know he hasn't it or he'd have made a move."

  She said to the look on his face, "And now he's making a move."

  "Yes." The monosyllable was hopeless.

  He held out his hand suddenly, pulled her to her feet. "You want to help?"

  "Yes." She didn't. Her throat was closed by the lie. But she would, anything Con said.

  "I want you to relieve Dare on Kathie so she can take on the major long enough for Garth to come to me. Chang will see that they get the word."

  She said, "I don't understand. What am I to do with Kathie?"

  "Just stick by her side until Barjon gets back in the party. That's Dare's job now but I want Dare to stay with Albert George while Garth's away."

  She told him, "Kew's the one taking care of Kathie."

  He looked steadily at her. "Kew isn't one of us. No matter where his amatory instincts lead him, he doesn't belong. You might remember that."

  She denied it flatly, harshly, "He isn't a spy!"

  "I didn't say that. Get it straight. I only said he isn't one of us. For God's sake, don't tell him anything tonight." He put his hands on her shoulders, pleaded, "Just this once do it my way, will you? Don't think for yourself at all. Things are bad enough without any more upsets."

  Without reservations she said it, "Anything you say."

  He moved away from her, not answering what was in her eyes. "Chang, take Mrs. Satterlee to dress and wait for her. You go home masked, Griselda, by cherce or ferce." His mouth touched a half-hearted smile at that. "Wait and drive her to the hotel. Get Garth." He took a key from his pocket. "Then go to Dare's and search through Kathie Travis' things. See if Walker left any message at all for me, no matter how hidden."

  Griselda saw him pass Dare's doorkey to Chang. Dare and Chang belonged. Kew didn't. She didn't. She asked, "After Garth returns what do I do?" His look was quizzical. "After that you're on your own. I doubt that you'll be lonely."

  Even if he didn't know that you could be surrounded by Kews and still lonely, this was no time to argue. Not with Thusby in a dour fog and Chang worrying Dare's key. She had promised to be good like any minor cog. She followed Chang into the garage below, placed the mask over her eyes without a word.

  * * *

  She dressed with quivering fingers listening to Chang's restless dissonantal humming in the living room, wondering where Walker Travis was. Poor ineffectual little man; he'd been of no more value to the secret service than to his wife. There was nothing now to interfere with Kathie having what she wanted through Kew. Nothing except Kew himself, and he'd have a harder time escaping her than he'd had with less determined women. Poor rabbit. The poor fish. If Mannie Martin hadn't been so smart with his jokes, he wouldn't have brewed this caldron of fear and destruction. The poor fish. The pink fish. Her eyes met her startled mirror eyes. Her lipstick posed in the air. Feverishly she applied it, crammed it into her organdie evening bag. It hadn't been easy deciphering Mannie's scrawl. It was possible. Walker had given Kathie the fish. When? Where did he get it? Chang had the key to Dare's. Kathie wouldn't be wearing it tonight; she wore it only with Walker.

  Griselda returned to the living room. Chang stopped his discord, looked at her as if unable to believe that anyone could take so long to don so little. She said with urgency, "I'll have to stop by Dare's. You can loan me the key. I left something there this afternoon." To his hesitation she insisted, "It won't take a moment."

  She left him in the car, ran up the flight of stairs, without caution let herself into the blackness of the apartment. She found the unfamiliar light switch, made her way into the guest room. Kathie's belongings littered the bed, the bureau, the chairs. There was no pink fish. Frantically she pawed through the few things again, ran her hands over the cheap dresses in the closet. It was gone.

  Kathie might be wearing it tonight. But someone else might have thought of it first. It would account for Dare's surprising invitation to someone she despised, for the major's success. Con hadn't taken the mote of Dare out of his eye. It wasn't until that moment that nervousness overtook her at this search. Suppose the apartment hadn't been empty.

  She turned out lights behind her, locked the door, fled back to the grimly impatient Chang. She spoke-above the dispirited cough of the starting motor, "Tell Con the pink fish wasn't there."

  * * *

  The difficulty in remaining by Kathie's side was that Kew too remained there. The lieutenant's wife was certain that Griselda was trying to take him from her and she didn't like it. She assumed possession of Kew's arm the moment Griselda entered the room. But Griselda stuck. Minor jobs were seldom pleasant. Grimly she tagged them.

  The preliminaries had been smooth. She had crashed the party, even as Kew and Dare and Kathie must have crashed it, to a welcome of her with implication that she was overdue in her starched white organdie. She stated, hoping her face had that eager party look, which Kathie's wore, "I was bored sitting alone in that dismal shack. I wish someone would find Con."

  The major didn't believe her. He was a
realist. He believed it less when Garth excused himself to answer the phone. His eyes were glacial, not leaving her face even when Dare moved beside him with animated trivialities. And a new fear struck. He would have read the false contents of the envelope, known their falsity. It was beyond hope that he would believe her innocent of the exchange. She was Con's wife. Her hands clenched. Garth and Con and Thusby were in conference at this very moment. They could move swiftly against him before he could do her more harm. Con wouldn't let him kill her. But without the information of the fish, what could they pin on him to keep his brutality away from her? He continued to enjoy the diplomatic immunity of the British. Unless he were apprehended tonight, he would come to her. She must not be alone; this one night she must make certain that Kew would be with her, not Kathie.

  She'd been thinking too hard, watching the wrong person. Kathie and Kew had left the table. She trailed quickly after them. Kathie sat on the low parapet, gardenia tulle, doubtless borrowed from Dare's wardrobe, in ballet moonburst about her. No pink fish ruined the ensemble. She was exquisite, leaning over to watch the panorama of the Pike below. Her eyes resented the intrusion; Kathie's suspicion couldn't help but seem rational; Griselda had no valid excuse for intruding on a tete-a-tete. And she didn't have the courage to speak before the girl. She asked instead, "Cigarette, Kew?"

  He put his hand into his pocket. "Left my case on the table."

  She said, "Don't bother," but he'd already gone for it. Before she could step back from the ledge, Kathie had reached out and caught her hand, caught it and pulled.

  "Look!" she whispered. Her eyes were malicious with no man to observe, as if she recalled Griselda's once spoken fear of high places. And then a sudden terror paralyzed Griselda. There was more than malice on Kathie's face; there was evil. A quick jerk and release could send her catapulting over that low unguarded rail, down to smash into the vacation crowds below. That soft-looking hand was tightening on hers with menace and purpose. She didn't dare turn to call for help of the others half across the sky terrace. Moreover, her throat could make no sound. She could only stand there desperately trying to thwart the steel, to draw back from that almost maniacal force.