She had left the boat now and was plodding purposefully up the bank. If she got to a taxi before we made the dock we were sunk.
“Cucurucu…”
I shouted again, and the three girls mimicked me from behind now, like an echo. I took out a white handkerchief and waved it wildly as if I was at a bull-fight. Lena Snood’s back was to me. She did not turn.
She was half-way up the bank now, easily distinguishable in the throng by the vivid green of her suit. Suddenly she stopped. I saw her turn and talk to someone who had addressed her.
I couldn’t see who it was. Not at first. A large woman in black with two children blocked my view. I saw Lena gesticulating and shaking her head, bargaining. Either she was buying something or she was dickoring for a taxi. I prayed that she should be buying something.
Then the woman, dragging a child in either hand, lumbered away, and I saw who it was that Mrs. Snood was talking to.
I saw the glossy black hair gleaming with brilliantine in the sunshine. I saw the chunky man’s shoulders on the short, kid’s body. I could even see the smooth, high, pretty curve of the cheek.
I wasn’t near enough to see the eyes—the big, swooning, beautiful eyes. But I felt a cold shiver up my spine.
Junior….
Our punt had got caught up in another snarl of craft around a mariachi boat. We were at a standstill. The bass viol grunted. The guitars pulsed in a frenzied Veracruzana-Cubano rhythm A high tenor voice was screaming:
Se Murió, mi gallo twerto.
Se murió, mi gallo twerto….
Solo yo, en la gallina….
“Lena,” I shouted. “Lena Snood….”
I could hear my voice sucked into the music and tossed away. I thought wildly of jumping into the water and swimming. It wouldn’t have helped. There was nothing I could do about the distance and the racket and the crowd.
Lena Snood was noddng her head in agreement with Junior. She had okayed the taxi fare.
She started up the bank again. Junior went respectfully a few paces behind her.
Vera was at my side in the bow now. She had seen and caught on, too.
“Mrs. Snood,” she shrieked. “Mrs. Snood. Leeeena…” “See murio….”
Junior caught up with Mrs. Snood at the top of the rise. They walked off together out of sight….
XIV
It took us five minutes to get to the dock. I threw the sweating, incredulous boatman fifty pesos and ran up the bank. Vera came after me. There was hardly a chance that the light-blue sedan should still be in sight. I realized that. And I was right.
I hurried to get to the station wagon while Vera inquired through the crowd. They had seen Junior drive off, but it did not help, because there was only one road from the quay to the centre of the town. At the market-place they could have turned in any direction. I drove like a demon down the ruined street back to the centre of town. Vera got out again to ask among the flower-sellers. They tried to woo her with violets; they brandished carnations at her. Some of the girls ran to the car and, smiling, cozening, pushed posies of sweetheart roses and forget-me-nots at me through the open window.
“Lindas flores, jovencito. Finas rositas. Frescitas, marchancito.”
They hadn’t seen anything. They were only interested in pesos.
From there the roads led in three different directions—one back to Mexico City, the other two into the country. I got out, too. We stopped everyone and asked. After a while I knew it was hopeless. Those five minutes had done as much damage as five hours.
I toyed desperately with the idea of calling the police, but I abandoned it almost at once. The danger for Lena was mortal, but it was immediate. Even if we were able to convince the police with our unlikely story, it would be far too late to stop what was happening or going to happen in that light-blue sedan.
The only possible lead I had was Halliday’s apartment on Calle Dinamarca. It seemed improbable that they would take Lena there, but any objective was better than none. I started to drive furiously back to Mexico City.
That bad morning had done one good thing. It had swept away the last cobwebs of my suspicions of Vera. If she’d been in this thing with Halliday, she’d never have answered my call to arms so promptly. Or be so worried now.
On the drive back I told her everything I knew. It could do no harm. Certainly I wasn’t getting anywhere playing the lone wolf. She was intelligent, and much less dramatic about it than I had expected, and I found it a great relief to have an ally. She had a gun, she said—a relic from the “poor old man” who had been neurotically afraid of burglars. We decided to pick it up before I went to Halliday’s.
She wanted to go with me. But I vetoed that.
We passed my apartment on the way to her house. My pant’s leg was still unpleasantly wet. I stopped off to change, and arranged for her to bring the gun there. As I opened my apartment door, I saw a piece of paper lying on the carpet. I picked it up. It was the confirmation of my flight. The New York plane left at seven-thirty in the morning. I was to be at the airport at six-thirty.
As I changed my suit, anxiety for Lena was almost unbearable. Soon the buzzer sounded, and Vera hurried up the stairs.
“Got it?” I asked.
“Yes, yes.” She came into the apartment and took a little colt thirty-two out of her pocket-book. She handed it to me. “Is all right?”
I examined it. It was loaded. I slipped it into my pocket.
As I did so the telephone rang. I hurried to pick up the receiver.
“Peter Duluth here.”
A voice sounded at the other end of the wire. I stiffened. It was a very familiar voice with a thick New York twang and it was gay and sprightly as ever.
“Peter, thank heaven you’re in.”
“Lena! Where on earth…?”
I heard Vera gasp. Lena Snood’s voice rattled on: “Really, it’s most mortifying. I’m a damsel in distress. If you can be a damsel after fifty.”
I glanced at Vera. “What is it, Lena?”
“Well, I did go to Xochimilco this morning, and there was still plenty of time, so I decided to do the pyramid at Tlalpam, too. You know? Cuicuilco. It’s in the guide-book. It’s supposed to be worth while. I think it stinks.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m stuck, Peter. The driver tried to gyp me, tried to charge double for waiting while I saw the wretched pyramid, so I sent him away. Now I can’t get another one. It’s miles from anywhere. I guess there’s buses, but I can’t make people understand. Oh, I’m just a helpless old hag. But how about getting hold of Vera and the station wagon and coming to rescue me?”
It was a lie, of course. I could feel danger bristling around the phone. But what sort of a lie? Had my wild hunch been right? Had Lena from the beginning been the real antagonist? Was she there at the phone with Junior at her side, luring us into a trap?
Or was Junior there, yes—but with a gun in her ribs?
I didn’t dare put the question up to Lena. If she was a crook, it would be disastrous to let her know I was suspicious.
I said cautiously: “What do you want me to do, Lena?”
“Just rescue me, please. I’m calling from some store. Heaven knows where it is. It… Oh, I can’t explain. I’d better walk back to the pyramid. That’s easier. I’ll wait for you on the pyramid.” She laughed. “After all, if it’s a beauty spot I might as well get my money’s worth.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s a cinch. Take the road to Tlalpam. Just before you hit it there’s a little dump called Peña Pobre. It’s right there. Ask anyone.” Her voice became rueful. “Peter, I hate to be so stupid. You sure you don’t mind?”
I’d tried to catch some sort of a hint from her voice. I couldn’t. Maybe—just maybe—it was a little feverish in its gaiety. I couldn’t be sure. I had to make my decision. I made it.
“Okay, Lena,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
“Shouldn’t take you more than half an hour. I’ll be wa
iting on the pyramid.”
“Okay.”
“And Peter?”
“Yes.”
“You can see it from the road. It’s got a figure like mine—like a cinnamon bun. You can’t miss it.”
“Sure. I’ll be there.”
“Thank heaven.” She gave a squeaky laugh. “Will I be pleased when as and if I ever get back to Newark?”
I put the receiver back on the stand. That last sentence lingered on in my mind. When as and if. Was that a cry for help? Was that the gun in the ribs?
Vera said: “Tell me.”
I told her.
She said: “It’s a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap.”
“And they want me, too?”
“I guess they’ve figured you’re my buddy. I’m a dangerous guy to be around.”
“This Snood! She does not know we see her at Xochimilco with this boy. She is all the time the villain. She thinks up this excuse to lure us.”
“Could be. Could be they forced her to call, too. That’s why I’m going.”
“Going? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe. It’s a fifty-fifty chance they’ve kidnapped her. I’m not letting that poor little woman take my rap.”
“But, Peter…”
“Shut up!” I said. “You stay here. I’ll take the station wagon.”
She tossed back the thick black hair. “If you go, I go.”
“Now, Vera…”
“I go, I say.” She stamped her foot again. “You know what you want. I know what I want. You need the driver. Anything may happen.”
“Exactly. Nothing’s going to happen to you because of me.”
“I go.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“If you take the car, I scream ‘Thief’ for the police.”
I knew when I was licked. I liked her for it. My new ally was crazy, of course, but she had guts.
“Okay, honey bunch, let’s go.”
“What is it, this…?”
“Darling,” I said.
XV
Wild evening clouds, which often come in Mexico City, were spreading gustily across the sky. Daylight was fading. By the time we started towards Tlalpam the city was sliding into a cold, colourless dusk.
Vera was driving. She knew the city and its outskirts well. She even knew the pyramid at Peña Pobre. Cuicuilco.
I had seen a photograph of it once, and it had given me the creeps. It isn’t really a pyramid. It is a low, squat mound built out of field stones, with broad ramps spiralling up it. None of the archæologists agree as to when it had been built or why, but it is the oldest building in America. Some sort of horrid civilization must have thrived there until an eruption poured lava over it centuries ago. Only the mound remains. An occasional conscientious sight-seer takes a trip out, but it has never made the tourist grade. It is too cheerless.
As we sped through the ominous twilight down the Acapulco highway we worked out a plan. Vera told me that the mound was dumped down in the middle of barren lavaland. There was a shack where the caretaker, provided by the Department of the Preservation of National Monuments, collected entrance fees. Otherwise there were no buildings within a half-mile. A single track led there from Peña Pobre.
Since they had no reason to know we were suspicious of them, they would almost certainly be expecting us to arrive up the regular track from Peña Pobre. But Vera knew there was another road which ran past the back of the mound, and came within less than a quarter of a mile of it. I decided to park the car there and slip up on foot to the pyramid from behind.
The nearer we got to our destination, the more I realized how crazy I was being. I was deliberately heading into a trap, and a trap set by an unscrupulous man with the mind of a Machiavelli.
If I hadn’t been stubbornly sure of my own ability to tell an honest person, I would probably have turned back.
But the more I thought about Lena Snood, the more I liked her, and the more certain I was of her honesty. I liked her generosity. I liked her kindness. I even liked her messed-up hair and her terrible taste in corsages. I convinced myself that she had been forced into making the telephone call. I was certain, too, that, knowing what she must know about them by now, she was only being kept alive as bait for Vera and me.
I’d never be happy in New York with Iris if, because I’d walked out on her, Mrs. Snood didn’t get back to her lovely intellectual daughters and her lovely home in Newark.
We were out in the country now, passing through that dusty, ugly landscape with which so much of the city is surrounded. Night was closing down. Lights were already blinking in the straggle of buildings which marked the outermost fringes of Mexico City. It was a grey, amorphous period, not day, not night.
Soon all houses dropped away. Sparse vegetation, tufted weeds, sickly scrub bushes and cactus thrust up from a rocky waste-land. A little canal trickled at the roadside, and beyond the canal was a fringe of eucalyptus trees.
“We’re almost there,” said Vera.
She turned off the headlights. A minute or so later she eased the car into the shadow of a clump of eucalyptus. She pointed across the lava plain, but I had already seen Cuicuilco. It loomed a couple of hundred yards away, fat, bulging, black against the sky in the gathering darkness.
I took the gun from my pocket and got out of the car. “Keep the engine running and wait.”
“Be careful—for the God’s sake.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I jumped the little canal and headed into the scrubland. My clothes were dark. They merged into the vague surroundings. I doubted if anyone had seen the car’s approach. The only thing to do was to ease as near as possible and hope that Lena Snood would be visible. If they were using her as a bait, she probably would be. Perhaps I could signal her to try to escape.
After about a hundred feet of rough territory which I crossed bent low, the ground dropped into a shallow gulley like a miniature canyon. I ducked into it gratefully. I could walk upright there without risk of being seen from the mound. It was even darker down here—almost night. Crickets, or some sort of evening insects, were humming like telephone wires around me. It was bleak, dead, dismal country. It went with Cuicuilco.
As I moved cautiously forward, skirting the gnarled roots of stunted trees and the viciously spined low cactuses, I started for the first time to feel jittery. I was banking everything on Lena Snood’s innocence. If I was wrong about her, God knew what could happen
The gulley took a sharp turn to the left, away from the mound. It was no more use to me. With the gun in my hand, I crept up the sloping side until the mound came into view. I judged it to be less than a hundred yards away. It wasn’t high. Only about fifty feet. And I could see no detail—just the walls that supported the ramps. It was evil. That was the only word for it.
I swung myself out of the gulley, lay flat on the coarse, prickly grass, and peered through the gloom at the prehistoric hulk. There was no visible movement except for the listless swaying of a thin shrub etched against the sky. I wondered what they’d done with the caretaker, or whether the caretaker went somewhere else after dark.
And then, after a moment or so, I thought I detected a faint movement in the shadows on the third ramp nearest the top. My heart skittered. I peered more intently, and was sure. Something had come round the curve of the ramp and was moving towards the right. Suddenly it stopped. A match flared and was extinguished. The red point of a cigarette showed in the gloom.
It was a person all right.
Tersely I watched the cigarette tip move to the right. I tried to gauge from its height whether the smoker was tall or short. I decided he or she was short. Lena Snood was short. So was Junior. But since they were setting a trap and expecting us any minute, they wouldn’t be fools enough to let a lighted cigarette show unless they wanted us to see it.
I banked on that. Although I could see nothing but the vague impression of movement and the moving cigarette, I decid
ed that the cigarette was Lena Snood.
The bait….
I waited until the cigarette had disappeared round the curve of the ramp. Then I began to ease my way over the rugged scrubland. I’d done some jungle-fighting in New Guinea in the war. The technique of stealth came back to me. The crickets were yelling as if conscious of my movements and giving a warning.
As I came nearer to the base of the mound the figure appeared again from the left. I could see it now in dim outline clearly enough to recognize it as a human being. After a few steps it stopped, and the cigarette dropped to the ground. I heard a cough and a little exclamation:
“Ho, hum.”
Excitement fizzled in me. Even from those meaningless monosyllables I could recognize the voice.
It was Lena Snood all right.
Pressed silent against the ground, I made a plan. Lena was the bait, I told myself—a poor little woman who had tried to get her money’s worth out of her Mexican trip and who had been tossed into life-and-death danger by forces outside her control.
She had been forced to walk around the ramp, on view, with her cigarette. At the top of the mound were excavations. Vera had told me that. They would make an ideal ambush. Junior was probably up there with a gun aimed on her. If there were two of them or more, another man would be waiting on the far side of the mound to cover the orthodox track from Peña Pobre, waiting for our car.
Another match flared and faded on the ramp. Another burning cigarette glowed. Lena Snood started again on her circular tour. I wondered what was in her mind up there with a gun trained on her, knowing she was being used to inveigle her friends into a trap. Was she thinking about me? Or Newark? Or….?
Anger swallowed up the rest of the thought. She shouldn’t be here. She should be drinking Daiquiris in the Reforma lounge, telling other people how expensive they were.
A great, cheerful star was blazing in a night sky. Venus? It hung to the right of the mount. I started forward again, slithering over shrub roots, skirting high thorny cactus.
I almost reached the base of the mound and cursed under my breath. The archæologists had dug a dry moat through the lava to expose the mound base. It separated me from the lowest wall. It wasn’t particularly deep or particularly wide, but it made a real hazard against Lena’s getaway.
Run to Death Page 12
