“Mi Teniente” became melancholy over this prospect—and over the whisky—and confided to his American friend that the staff was in a hellish state because of what had happened at Guadalajara. “You have no idea how bad it is,” he declared, and the other allowed himself to be told and promised not to pass on the distressful word. Finally he said that he was tired after his trip and took his departure. The last words he heard from the dark-eyed and dark-haired son of a don was the remark: “I wish I had known it was possible to earn so much money by studying old paintings and ruins. I would surely never have entered the military academy.”
VI
In his own room, with the door locked, Lanny stretched out to rest, but did not sleep. He was rehearsing a conversation in his mind—many conversations, for each had a tendency to branch out and take unexpected courses. Some of these were alarming; but Lanny kept insisting to himself: “I cannot go away without one try.”
He got up and packed a suitcase. At the bottom he laid the civilian suit which he had had made for Alfy, and on top of that the Italian uniform which Vittorio had had made. In one corner, wrapped in a towel, he put a safety razor, a tube of shaving-cream, a piece of soap, and a bottle of water. He looked at the suitcase and then, at ten minutes before ten in the evening, he carried it to his car. He drove around several blocks, to make sure he was not being followed, and then stopped in the shadow of the oak tree just beyond the alcalde’s house. He got into the back seat of his car, leaving the door unlatched, and then sat still.
Almost at once he became aware of a dark bulk climbing in beside him. The car creaked and bent slightly under the weight, and the seat beside Lanny sank under sudden pressure. He never did get a look at the Capitan Vazquez; what he got was a deep bass voice and a heavy penetrating odor which Lanny had come to think of as the odor of army. Men on the march, or crowded into barracks and other uncomfortable places, do not use water so freely as they had been taught to do in civilian life. Bathing is an artificial practice, easily unlearned.
“Buenas noches, Senor,” whispered the American, and the greeting was returned. “El Capitan Vazquez?” he inquired, and the reply was: “Si”—and then silence.
“Mi Capitan,” began Lanny, “I am an American art expert visiting Caceres to inspect your ancient masterpieces, and to purchase paintings which I may dispose of in my home country. Quite by accident I happened to hear one of the officers talking about the prisoners who are confined under your charge, and I heard the name of a young man, the son of an old and very dear friend of mine. I ventured to ask for a meeting with you, wishing to ask your advice about the possibility of my seeing this young man, or at least being able to make sure that he has medical attention, if he needs it. I hope that you will pardon me for taking the liberty of seeking this interview.”
“May I ask why you picked out me?” inquired the deep voice.
“Senor, I asked who was in charge of the prisoners, and was told that you had such charge over twenty-four-hour periods.”
“It would have been better to come to my Jefe de Dia.”
“I hope that I have not committed an impropriety. I am a stranger in a strange land, and my position is difficult. I am here through the courtesy of distinguished friends in Seville; General Aguilar was kind enough to act in my behalf, and I am traveling on a pass from the office of General Queipo de Llano. If now I take measures on behalf of a Red prisoner, I am apt to embarrass many of my friends, and expose myself to the suspicion of being in sympathy with the prisoner’s ideas. I have long watched the tragedy in this young man’s family. You perhaps know here in Spain, mi Capitan, of young men of good family who take up perverse notions which of late seem to have become the rage among the so-called intellectuals. That is the case with this English lad—he is no more than that.”
“What is his name?”
“Alfred Pomeroy-Nielson.”
“Yes, I know about him. I was told that there was something in the papers about his case.”
“I did not know, because I have been traveling. But the name is an unusual one, and I am sure it must be the same person. His grandfather belongs to the nobility.”
“That is the One.”
“He is a young loco who lost his head, and is paying a dreadful price for it. Do you know if he is well or ill?”
“He was wounded, but has recovered. He is as well as the average, I suppose.”
“His family is well-to-do; not rich but moderate, and of course they must be deeply concerned, because he is in line of succession to the title, which is an old one. It was my thought that while I am here in Spain I might discuss with your authorities the question of a possible exchange of prisoners.”
“That is a matter wholly outside my range, Senor Budd. I am merely one of the keepers of a prison.”
“I understand, mi Capitan; but you are a Spaniard while I am an extranjero, and I very much need advice. While I have no authority to speak for the parents of this boy, I know them well, and assure you that they would not leave anyone unrewarded who might give help, however slight, toward the ending of this distressing situation.”
So there it was; very tactfully put—but an ex-gangster from Barcelona wouldn’t fail to glimpse the possibilities suddenly spread before his eyes. He would realize that he was dealing with one who understood strategy, and how to make advances while keeping open his line of retreat; a person of influence, who was not to be intimidated or betrayed; a person of wealth, with whom it was much better to co-operate than to quarrel.
VII
Said the Capitan: “You must understand that our country is being attacked by vicious enemies; and we did not ask a rich young Englishman to come here and drop bombs upon our people.”
“I understand that fully, mi Capitan. You are entirely right, and the young loco is entirely wrong, and has deserved everything he has got. I say that to you and I shall say it to him. But if he were to be exchanged, you might get back some man of your own who would be of greater use to you.”
“As I have told you, I have nothing to do with any question of exchange, and could not even give you advice about it.”
“What has occurred to me is that nations at war always need money, especially foreign exchange. There is a well-known practice called ransom”—Lanny had looked up the Spanish word, rescate, and suggested that it might be revived. That was a still clearer hint, and the speaker in the darkness waited with strained attention to learn how it was going to be taken.
The reply might have come equally well from a military man or a gangster. “It would take a great deal of money to make up for the damage which a trained aviator might do to our armies and our towns.”
“Again you are correct, mi Capitan, and I hasten to assure you that my suggestions and inquiries are based upon the certainty that this young man will have learned his lesson, and that there will be no more support given to the Reds by him, either by flying or by agitating.”
“How can you promise that, Senor Budd?”
“I have known the family since I was a small boy, and I have known the young man since he was a baby. If he should obtain his release through my pledges, he will be in honor bound to keep them. I do not know whether you have any acquaintance with Englishmen of the ruling classes; one of the things they rarely do is to cheat or break their word.” Lanny said that, and then waited, thinking to himself: “If he’s a military man he will pursue the subject. If he’s a gangster, he’ll drop it.”
What the deep voice said was: “Let us speak plainly. You are proposing to pay me to help get your friend out of prison?”
“I repeat, mi Capitan, I am a stranger here, asking for advice. All that I can say beyond that is to pledge my word of honor as a gentleman that anything you suggest to me will be a secret that I shall carry to my grave. I would like to have the same assurance from you, if it seems consistent with your honor as a soldier.”
There was a long silence. The time for a showdown had come now, and Lanny realized that his interl
ocutor was weighing the chances. At last the voice broke the silence: “Very well, Senor Budd. I accept your word on that basis and I give you mine.”
In Lanny’s mind was a flash of joy. “He’s my man!”
VIII
Without further sparring they got down to business. “You might get your friend out of the tower,” said the Capitan de Guardia. “I might help you, but what good would it do? He would be missed, there would certainly be an alarm, and how could you expect to get him out of the country?”
“If it was an escape, I admit that the chances would be slim,” replied Lanny. “I have tried to think of some other way, and it has occurred to me that he might die and be carried out.”
“But that is not so easily arranged. If a man dies, a physician examines the body, and he is not carried out until that has been done.”
“I have tried to imagine how it might happen, mi Capitan, but it is difficult because I have never been inside your premises and know nothing about your routine. I have thought out a possible way of escape for my friend, but I am aware that my ideas may seem crude to one who knows the details of your system. However, it would not take long for me to outline a little story, and it might be the means of suggesting some better ideas to you.”
“Go ahead and tell it.”
“Let us assume that my friend has been complaining about his treatment, and you wish to question him. You have one of your guards bring him to a cell or room apart from anyone else, and you send the guard outside. You whisper to my friend a message which I will give you, so that he will know that you are to be trusted. Then you explain that you are going to pretend to kill him. First he is to scream and curse you, and then you are to draw your gun and fire a shot, or perhaps two or three. When the young man is lying on the floor you spill a bottle of animal’s blood over his face. He looks quite horrible, and no one will have any doubt that you have fired into his face. By his side there lies a pocket knife, and you say that he attacked you with it. If you would make a slight cut in your hand or your cheek, that would help. You follow me?”
“So far it is all right—except that the bullets striking the walls of the cell would make plain marks, and be flattened as they would not be if they were fired into a man’s face.”
“I have thought of that, having had experience with bullets—my family is Budd Gunmakers, which manufactures the Budd automatic and the Budd machine gun, with which you may be familiar.”
“I have heard of them.”
“Perhaps there is a blanket in the cell, and you make it into a bundle and fire your shots into that. It would have much the same effect as a human body. You might use the blanket to spread over the body later on, and the fact that there were many holes in the blanket would not be noticed in dim light.”
“That sounds reasonable enough.”
“Now I come to the part about which I cannot be sure, since it depends upon regulations and also upon persons I do not know. It would be necessary for you to have the body carried out to be buried that night under your supervision. I picture you in a state of great excitement; perhaps that would not be difficult to enact, and it would cover any real anxieties you might be feeling. You would curse the dog of an Englishman, you would protest that you had shot him in self-defense, you would enact the scene and shout the story to whatever guards came running. Then you would say that he had made a mess of the cell, and it would occur to you that your Jefe might be greatly annoyed; you would suggest saving further annoyance by getting the pig’s carcass out of the way at once. Is it conceivable that you might have such an impulse, and that afterwards, if you were rebuked for a breach of regulations, you would be able to plead the intense excitement of the moment?”
Lanny couldn’t tell from the Capitan’s voice whether he was smiling or not, but his words suggested it. “You do not need to trouble yourself so much about a killing in one of our prisons, Senor. Such things have happened and may happen again.”
“Then I may assume that this part of my story is plausible?”
“It would be unusual for me to take so much trouble with a dead body, but if I did it, I would not expect any rebuke.”
“You have a cart or something in which a body would be carried?”
“We have a stable in our courtyard.”
“Would you put the body into a coffin, or just dump it into the cart?”
“Either way.”
“A coffin or box would be necessary in this case.”
“I would give an order.”
“You would take a couple of men to dig the grave?”
“We have graves already dug; but I would have to take men to do the burying. It would not be easy to find men who could be trusted with a secret such as this.”
“I would not plan to trust them, Senor Capitan. On the way to the cemetery you feel ill, and need what we Americans call a ‘bracer,’ say a glass of aguardiente. You suggest stopping in a taberna, and invite the men to accompany you inside. Would that be possible?”
“It would not be according to my practice; but in view of the excitement, it might be made all right.”
“Very well, then; you get the men half drunk; and while that is going on, the prisoner steps into my car, and I put a few flat stones inside the blanket in the coffin. If you get the men drunk enough, they will not do any investigating, and you can keep them busy listening to your rebukes. They bury the stones, and don’t even remember which grave it was in.”
“Basta!” exclaimed the Spaniard. “I believe you have it.”
IX
The Capitan de Guardia was not a man of many words. He wanted to think these ideas over, and Lanny let him do so. After a long interval he said: “There is one question which you have not taken up, Senor Budd; an important one for me.”
“I know that,” replied the American. “But there is no use talking about terms unless I know that something can be done.”
“I believe your plan might be carried out; but it would be extremely dangerous, and a man does not take such risks unless he is sure it will be made worth his while.”
“Claro, mi Capitan. To begin with, put this present into your pocket.” He slipped a wad of bills into the other’s hand; it must have felt right, for the man said: “Mil gracias, Senor.”
“You have guessed the amount,” smiled Lanny. “You will find ten one-hundred-peseta notes. I chose small denominations because they are easier to spend in a small town. Consider this as compensation for your coming here this evening. Even if we do not arrive at an agreement, I should not wish you to feel that you have been imposed upon.”
“It has been a pleasure to meet you, Senor.”
“The same to you, mi Capitan.” The Spaniards are extremely ceremonious, and Lanny assumed that gangsters would be like the rest. “And now,” he continued, “we have the difficult task of deciding upon the money value of a risk. There is no standard price for such a service, and the agreement will have to be a compromise between what you would like to have and what I can afford. My father is a rich man, but I myself have to earn what I spend; moreover, you must understand that I have only what I brought into Spain for buying pictures, and I have made certain commitments which bind me.”
“But I understand that young Englishman’s family is rich.”
“The grandfather owns an estate which has been heavily taxed and mortgaged since the war. I have known him for some twenty-five years, and can certify that he has always spent more than he has had. I tell you all this so that you may not be cherishing ideas of English and American millions, and if you do so it will be necessary for me to drop the project and let a young loco take his chances with the others.”
“What is your offer, Senor?”
“I am assuming that you will bring out my friend alive; that is, you will not have missed your aim in the prison.”
“You may assume that.”
“You will not park the car in front of the taberna, but in a dark spot a little way beyond. When you have started your
men to drinking you will suddenly have to go outside, and will tell them to sit there and finish the bottle. You will come to the cart, and I will there place into your hands ten more notes; but this time they will not be hundred-peseta notes, they will be United States hundred-dollar notes, and at the present official market they are worth close to twelve thousand pesetas; on the illegal market they are worth much more, and make a sum on which a Spaniard can have many enjoyments. It would not do for you to exchange United States notes in Caceres, but I assume that you could get leave and take a trip to Seville, or to one of the resorts near the French border in the north where the money-changers are used to foreign currency.”
“That part is all right, Senor Budd; but the sum is very small for what amounts to saving the life of a rich young man.”
“I am not through yet. I shall have the task of taking the young man out of the country; and when I return to Caceres, I will arrange to meet you again, and will hand you five more such notes, in gratitude for your help in keeping the matter quiet in the meantime.”
“You surprise me, Senor,” said the man. “I assume that you expect to take your friend into Portugal. Do you mean that you would then return to Spain?”
“I mean that I would not leave Spain. I have obligations in this country. I have rented this car from the family of General Aguilar, and am in honor bound to return it to Seville and pay the agreed rental price. Also, I am negotiating for some paintings here in Caceres which I hope to buy if I can get permission to carry them out of the country.”
“You certainly must have confidence in your ability to get your man out.”
“Of course it might happen that something would go wrong, and I should be obliged to flee with him. In that case I should be embarrassed, because I would seem to have broken my word to you; it would be all the worse because I would be powerless to write and explain the matter. I can only assure you that I am a man of my word and will make it my duty to see that you get the money at the first possible moment, even if I have to send some trusted person from France to bring it to you.”
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