Miss Shumway Waves a Wand

Chapter ONE

I HADN’T been in Manolo’s Bar five minutes, when Paul Juden, head of Central News Agency, blew in.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” I thought and tried to duck out of sight, but he was too quick for me. He came towards me like a herd of buffalo on the last lap home.

“Why, hul-lo, P.J.,” I said, like I was glad to see him, “How are you? Sit down and rest your brains. You look as if I needed another drink.”

“Never mind the funny stuff, Millan,” he said, waving to the waiter. “I’ve been hunting all over the place for you. Where the hell have you been? I’ve got something for you.”

He didn’t have to tell me. When the boss of C.N.A. runs across a bar room floor, looking like he’d swallowed the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder, it doesn’t mean he’s glad to see me, it means he wants me to work.

“You’ve got something for me?” I repeated bitterly. “That’s what they say to a dog. Then they feed him poison.”

The waiter came up and Juden ordered two large whisky sours.

“Now, listen, P.J.,” I said, when the waiter had gone away, “I want a little peace. I’ve stuck around the Mexican desert for six months with a string of vultures waiting to pick my bones. I’ve had more cactus needles sticking in me than a porcupine has quills. Every time I blow my nose, sand flies out of my ears. Okay, I’m not squawking, but I want a little relaxation and, brother, am I going to have a little relaxation.”

Juden wasn’t even listening. He had taken out his wallet and was fiddling with a bunch of cables. “Maddox’s has a job lined up for you, Millan,” he said. “I had a cable this morning. It looks like a copy of ‘Gone with the Wind.’”

“Maddox?” I sank further into my chair. “You don’t have to worry about him. He’s just a fallen arch in the march of time. Tell him I’m sick Tell him you can’t contact me. Tell him anything, but give me a break, will you?”

Juden sorted out a bunch of flimsies as the waiter brought the drinks.

“Well, here’s a clot in your bloodstream,” I said and lowered twp-thirds of the whisky sour.

“Here we are,” Juden said, waving the flimsies at me. “It certainly looks like a swell assignment to me.”

I waved them right back at him. “I don’t want ’em,” I said. “I want a little relaxation. I’m catching a train for New Orleans to-morrow. I’ve had enough of Mexico to last me a lifetime. Tell Maddox to send some other stooge out here.”

“Not a chance,” Juden said. “This is a rush job. Now, don’t waste time, Millan. You know you’ve got to do it, so why make things difficult?”

Of course, he was right. Was I getting tired of this newspaper game, or was I? I’d been chasing bandit stories for six broiling months and in this country, bandits were a dime a dozen. Ever since Zapata had started the fashion, every damn Indian who could grow a six-inch moustache had turned bandit. It had taken all my time to coach them how to do the job so that I could give the great American public a story worth reading. Well, I had had enough of it. Besides, one of these amateur Dillingers had tried to shoot me. It got so I began to think some other punk would get the same idea.

But Maddox was my bread and butter. If I turned him down, he’d become a piece of toast. You couldn’t argue with Maddox. He had the kind of nature that made snakes cross the street when they saw him coming.

“What’s the story?” I said. “Don’t ask me to read those cables. I want the news broken gently.”

Juden dug into his whisky sour. Now, there’s a guy who’d landed a sweet job. All he had to do was to open envelopes and pass the baby to someone else.

“Okay, here it is,” he said. “The story is entitled ‘A Blonde Among Bandits,’ or ‘Get Up Them Stairs.’”

I finished my drink. “You don’t have to be funny,” I said, firmly. “All I want is the unvarnished truth. When I want to laugh, I’ll tune into the Bob Hope programme.”

“A fella named Hamish Shumway called in to see Maddox a couple of days ago,” Juden went on. “He’s lost his daughter, last heard of in Mexico City. She’s vanished into thin air. Shumway thinks she’s been kidnapped by bandits. Maddox wants you to find her.”

“Well, go on,” I said. “What does he want me to do?”

“He wants you to find her,” Juden repeated patiently.

“Well, all right, it’s a good gag. Remind me to laugh next time we meet. But, what’s the assignment?”

“Don’t start that stuff, Millan,” Juden said, looking like a hunk of chilled beef. “I’m telling you. He wants you to find this girl.”

“You mean he wants me to search the whole of Mexico for one particular girl who’s stupid enough to lose herself?” I said slowly, hardly believing my ear.

“Something like that. I don’t care how you do it so long as you find her.”

“You don’t care?”

“No… I don’t care a damn.”

“Oh, well,” I stared at him thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t like to cut my throat and save a lot of time, I suppose?”

“Now, wait a minute. It’s not as bad as that. Let me explain,” Juden said hurriedly. “The stuff you’ve been turning in recently is enough to make a dog vomit.”

“Can I help it if your dog’s got a weak stomach?”

“Never mind about the dog. Maddox wants to cover your expenses, so he’s thought up this stunt. It’ll be a great newspaper story. Look at it this way. A poor old guy without a dime comes to the New York Reporter and asks their help. His daughter’s missing. He wants to know if they’ll find her for him. What does the Reporter do?”

“Kick the old guy’s teeth out and toss him down the elevator shaft after taking his socks off to make mittens for Maddox,” I replied promptly.

“The New York Reporter says, “All right, brother, we’ll find her,” Juden went on, frowning at me. “They put the story on the front page with a photo of the girl. They print a photo of the old man as well, just to show there’s no catch in it: ‘Blonde Kidnapped by Mexican Bandits. 25,000 Dollars Reward. Father of Missing Girl Grief Stricken. New York Reporter Begins Nation-wide Search.’ Get the idea? Then you find the girl, write the story and bring the girl back to New York. Maddox has the father waiting at a civic reception and you hand the girl over to the father. The Reporter gets the credit. It’s a swell idea.”

“So poor old Maddox’s gone nuts at last,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me. I always thought his rivets would shake loose in time. How’s Mrs. Maddox reacting? It must be a big shock for her. And his daughter. The nice looking one with the squint and pimples. That reminds me, has one of her best friends had a little chat with her yet?”

Juden finished his drink and lit a cigar. “Well, Millan, that’s the job. You can be as funny as you like, but there’re no two ways about it. Maddox says if you don’t find her within a week you’ll be working for someone else or not working at all.”

“He said that, did he, the puff adder,” I returned, sitting up. “Well, you can tell him what he can do with this job. If he thinks he can threaten me, he’s mistaken! Why, I could get any of the plum jobs in this game just by asking. I wouldn’t even have to ask. I only have to pass a newspaper office and the publishers come running after me. Maddox! Everyone knows the kind of rat he is. Telling me that I can quit! That’s a laugh! Where would he get another guy with my brains— well, how the hell do I find this girl, anyway?”

“It shouldn’t be difficult,” Juden said, grinning. “I’ve got a picture of her, she owns a big, dark green Cadillac, she is a magician by profession and swell looking. Her name is Myra Shumway and she was last heard of right here in this town.”

“Now look, P.J.,” I said earnestly. “There must be hundreds of girls in New York who’ve got themselves mislaid, why not let’s find one of them? I want to get back to Broadway.”

“Sorry, Millan,” he returned. “You’d better make up your mind about it. The story hit the front page this morning.”

I took out my notebook wearily. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have it. Name, Myra Shumway. What did you say she did?”

“Magician,” Juden returned with a broad grin. “That’s unusual, isn’t it? She worked the Vaudeville circuit with her father until they quarrelled. Then she went off on her own. Now, she works night clubs so I understand. Her pa says she’s pretty good at the job.”

“I never believe what parents say about their children,” I returned coldly. I made a few more notes and then put my notebook away. “What makes Maddox think bandits have got hold of her?”

Juden shrugged. “That’s his story. You’ve got to play this properly, Millan, if they haven’t got hold of her, it’s up to you to see that they do. Haven’t you any tame bandit who’d do the job for a few bucks?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, stating at him.

“Well, she may be enjoying herself some place and forgotten to send her old man a line. We can’t afford to let this flop, you know. If she isn’t kidnapped, you’ve got to get her kidnapped. I don’t have to draw you a map, do I?”

This began to worry me. “If I thought you were serious, P. J.,” I said, “I’d have someone examine your head.”

“There’s nothing the matter with my head,” Juden said shortly. “But there’ll be a lot wrong with your job, if you don’t get some action and get it soon.”

“Do you honestly mean that if this girl’s just having a good time, I’ve got to fix some greaser to kidnap her?”

“Yep, that’s the way it is. It shouldn’t be difficult. We’ll cover the expenses.”

“You’ll do more than that,” I said. “You’ll send me a signed statement. If I get picked up there’s a bell of a rap tied to kidnapping.”

“You won’t get a statement, but someone’s got to win the 25,000 dollars reward.”

“You mean I stand to pick that up?” I asked, interested for the first time.

Juden closed one eye. “It depends if you claim it,” he said. “Maddox doesn’t expect you to, of course, but if you jumped him at the civic reception, I guess he couldn’t very well back out of it.”

And I was thinking Juden was a two-faced grafter and he turns out to be a real pal.

“I’ll remember that,” I said “Have another drink?” He shook his head, “I’m off home. It’s the children’s night out and I’ve got their nurse to look after.”

I laughed. It didn’t cost me anything and if the guy thought he was funny, who was I to discourage him?”

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll get after Myra Shumway. What kind of a name’s that, anyway? And, where’s her picture?”

He took a print from his briefcase and tossed it on the table. “If there was a fire in that dame’s bedroom,” he said, “We’d take a firemam five hours to put it out and five strong men to put the fireman out.”

I picked up the print. By the time I’d got my breath back, he’d gone.

Chapter TWO

BEFORE I go any further, I want you to know how Myra Shumway first met Doc Ansell and Sam Bogle, and as I wasn’t there at the time, I’ll just tell the story as I heard it later.

Doc Ansell and Bogle were in Lorencillo’s café. Have you ever been there? It’s a little place hidden behind immensely thick stone walls. The patio is a fine example of the old Mexican régime, so the guide bock tells me. If that means nothing to you, it also means nothing to me, so what the hell?

In the centre of the patio is a carved stone fountain around which stand iron tables and benches. Overhead a canopy of leaves from the ancient cypresses and banana trees blot out the sky. You can imagine that it’s a pretty nice spot. There are a number of wooden cages along the verandah which house various coloured parkeets who squawk and whistle at you and if you’re new to the country you get a great kick out of the typical Mexican atmosphere.

Well, these two guys, Doc Ansell and Bogle, were sitting at a table drinking tepid beer when Bogle glanced up and spotted an egg-yolk blonde who had suddenly appeared from behind a bunch of Indian peddlers. He had one quick gander before she disappeared in the crowd again.

“Sam!” Doc Ansell said sharply. “Do I have to keep telling you women are poison!”

“Was that a mirage?” Bogle asked scrambling to his feet and gazing anxiously into the dimly lit shadows. “Did I see what I thought I saw?”

Doc Ansell laid down his knife and fork. He was a wizened little man with a shock of untidy white hair. “You’ve got to watch your glands, Bogle,” he cautioned. “There’s a time and place for everything.”

“You’re always shooting your mouth of about a time and place for everything. What time do I get? And when in hell do we stay in one place long enough to do anything?” Bogle returned, sitting down again.

“The trouble with you—” Ansell began, but Bogle raised his hand.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, pushing his plate away in sudden disgust. “I know. It’s getting so I’m imagining things. How much longer are we stickin’ in this country? I’m sick of it. What’s the matter with grabbing a train and getting the hell out of here? Couldn’t you do with the smell of Chicago for a change?”

“It’s a little too soon yet for you to go home,” Ansell reminded him gently.

Bogle frowned. He was a big, powerful man and his dirty drill suit fitted him badly. In the past, he had been a gunman, working for Little Bernie during the prohibition period. After repeal, he went to Chicago and tried to pick up a living as a heistman, but he was not smart enough to organize anything big enough to pay dividends. Then one night, he was involved in a gun battle with the police. Two of the police officers were hurt and Bogle did a lam act. He did not stop running until he reached Mexico. There, he felt comparatively safe. For the past six months he had been working with Doc Ansell, selling patent medicines to the Maya Indians.

Ansell and Bogle made an incongruous couple. They lived in different worlds. Bogle was always yearning for the fleshpots of life. He found Mexico insufferably dull after Chicago. He hated the food, the dust and the heat. The native women appalled him. Both socially and financially the small colony of American and English women were out of his reach. Even the whisky was bad. He hated Mexico nearly as much as he hated the police.

On the other hand, Ansell was happy in any country. So long as he was able to sell his various remedies to the gullible he did not mind where he lived.

Before Bogle became his partner, Ansell often had trouble with his patients. Sometimes, he even found it dangerous to return to the same town. But with Bogle at his side, he had no qualms in facing irate patients or going to the lowest native quarters in the various towns he visited. Bogle was an excellent bodyguard, as Little Bernie had discovered.

One look at his massive fists and hard little eyes was enough to cool any hasty temper. So it was then, that Ansell and Bogle had worked together for six months. They drifted from place to place, spending their morning dispensing coloured water in mysterious looking green bottles and, in the afternoons, selling them by quickfire sales talk to anyone foolish enough to listen.

Ansell represented the brains of the concern and Bogle the brawn. It was Bogle who set up the small tent and the collapsible platform. It was Bogle who set out the green bottles in neat rows and beat a small drum to attract attention.

The drum was Bogle’s own idea and in some districts it produced considerable dividends. Ansell would sit inside the tent, smoking a battered pipe, until Bogle’s hoarse whisper: “A big bunch of suckers waitin’” brought him to his feet. Then he would sweep majestically from the tent, his eyes blazing with fanatical enthusiasm and, cast spells over the bewildered audience.

Bogle would display his gigantic muscles, built entirely by Doctor Ansell’s Virile Tablets (a box of fifty for three dollars). Pictures of a drearily scraggy woman would be passed round the crowd with a comparison picture of the same woman equipped with a figure that made the natives’ eyes grow round. Doctor Ansell’s Bust Developer (a box of twenty- five pills for two dollars fifty) was responsible for this attractive transformation.

Ansell and Bogle preferred Lorencillo’s café to any other eating place. Few Americans came to the café and after the noise and bustle of the City, it was somewhere to pass a peaceful evening.

Bogle swished the last two inches of beer round in his glass. “The cops’ll have forgotten me by now,” he said. “It’s nearly a year ago. That’s a long time. Besides, you never saw those two guys. I was doing the State a service.”

“Talk sense,” Ansell returned. “How do you think we’d live? Can you imagine anyone buying my Virile pills in Chicago?”

Bogle was no longer listening. He was stating with eyes like organ-stops at the egg-yolk blonde who had come out of the café and was standing on the steps looking round the crowded

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he said, clutching at the table. “Take a look at that!”

Ansell sighed, “She’s certainly nice to look at, but she’d begin by stroking your hair and wind up with your scalp. You’re moving out of your class, Bogle.”

Bogle paid no attention. “Holy Moses!” he exploded suddenly. “She’s on her own, Doc. Get her over here before some greaseball snaps her up.”

Ansell regarded the girl doubtfully. She was slight. Her hard little face was full of character. Her eyes and mouth were large and her nose, Ansell decided, was her best feature. Her silky blonde hair fell to her shoulders and gleamed like burnished copper in the hard light of the acetylene flares. She was dressed in a neat white tailored suit over a dark red shirt.

Bogle was whispering with hoarse urgency in Ansell’s ear, “Get after her, Doc. Didja ever see such an outline? It’s like a blue print for Coney Island’s roller coaster!”

Two well-dressed Spaniards, sitting near them, were also showing interest in the girl. They had been muttering to each other the moment they had seen her and now one of them pushed back his chair and stood up.

Bogle whipped round, “Don’t get yourself in an uproar, pal,” he snarled. “Repark your fanny! I gotta date with that dame… so lay off!”

The Spaniard stared at him blankly, hesitated, then sat down again.

Ansell, anxious that there should be no trouble, rose to his feet.

“Watch your blood pressure,” he said sharply.

“To hell with my blood pressure. Get after that dame before I wreck this joint.” Ansell approached the girl rather self-consciously. Everyone in the patio watched him.

The girl leaned against the verandah rail and watched him come. Her eyes were watchful, but friendly. As he came up to her, she suddenly smiled. The large crimson mouth showed white teeth.

“Are they?” Ansell said, a little bewildered himself.

“I think so.” She met Bogle’s unwavering stare coolly. “Have you a tendency to hernia?” she asked him abruptly.

Bogle screwed up his face. “What’s she talking about?” he asked feebly.

“Maybe I’m being too personal,” she said. “Let me put it this way. During an arboreal existence in the Miocene epoch of the Tertiary era, man, or I should say, pre-historic man lost his tail. He acquired an upright gait and a tendency to hernia. I just wanted to see how far you’d got. Think nothing of it. It’s only idle curiosity.”

Bogle’s face went a dull red and his eyes flashed viciously. “So you’re a smart dame, eh?” he snarled. “We had a flock of ’em in Chicago. But, get ’em in a corner and they yell murder.”

“I’m fussy who I take in corners,” the girl replied briskly. Then she smiled at him. “Don’t get mad. I was just fooling. What’s your name?”

Bogle looked at her suspiciously, but her frank smile disarmed him. “Sam Bogle,” he said.

“And listen, sister…”

“That’s a lovely name,” she broke in. “Was your mother Mrs. Bogle?”

Bogle blinked. “Yeah,” he said. “What of it? Who else do you think she’d be?”

“I just wanted to make sure. Some of the funniest things do happen.”

“Well, nothing funny happened to me,” Bogle said angrily. “So don’t go putting ideas into people’s heads.”

She laughed, raising her shoulders and glanced over at Ansell, “Never mind,” she said.

“You mustn’t take me seriously. And who are you?” she went on to Ansell.

He introduced himself.

“A real doctor?” she-seemed quite impressed. “Well, I’m Myra Shumway. How do you do, Mr. Bogle? How do you do, Doctor Ansell?”

Bogle sat back heavily. “I don’t get this,” he sdid. “She must be crazy.”

“Don’t be a churl, Bogle,” she said sharply. “Just because you don’t understand my appeal, you don’t have to be rude. Who’s going to buy me a drink?”

“What would you like?” Ansell asked, slightly dazed.

“I think a Scotch might be nice.”

Ansell signalled a waiter. “Now, we’ve got to know each other,” he said, “suppose you tell me what you are doing here?”

The waiter came and took the order for drinks. He seemed to know Myra Shumway. They smiled and nodded to each other.

When he had gone, Myra opened her handbag and took out a silver cigarette case. She lit the cigarette, and leaned back, looking at them thoughtfully. “Would it interest you?” she said. “I wonder. Still, I am accepting your hospitality. I’ve no secrets. Until yesterday, I was foreign correspondent to the Chicago News. I’ve been cast aside like a worn-out glove.” She turned on Bogle. “Do I look like a worn out glove?”

“Not a glove,” Bogle said heavily.

Myra absorbed this. “I think I asked for that,” she said to Ansell, “I led with my chin.” Bogle was pleased with himself. “I can be funny too, sister,” he said.

She nodded, “You can, but you don’t have to try.”

“All right, all right,” Bogle said hastily, “we won’t fight. I know something about newspaper guys. They’re poison if you cross ’em. I recollect once I didn’t fix one of ’em with a case of Scotch. Did that guy turn sour? He smeared my mug right across the front page. Got me into a helluva jam.” Bogle scratched his head mournfully, “Mind you, that’s some time ago, but these guys don’t change.”

“It could be that,” she returned. “My boss kept silk-worms. You wouldn’t believe the number of girls he interested. I guess they thought the silk-worms were going to give them silk stockings, but it turned out to be a modem version of the Etching gag.”

The waiter came with the drinks.

“He lost interest in me when I told him I was allergic to silk-worms. Maybe, that’s why I’ve been tossed out.” She picked up her drink, “Here’s gold in your bridge work!” she said and drank.

The others drank too.

“Well, you can’t be interested in me,” she went on. “What do you do for a living?”

Ansell fiddled thoughtfully with his glass. I’m a healer,” he said simply. “I’ve studied the secrets of herbal medicine for years and I have perfected several remarkable remedies. Bogle is my assistant.”

She looked at him admiringly, “Isn’t that cute,” she said. “And what are these remedies?” Ansell had an uneasy suspicion that she was laughing at them. He looked at her sharply, but her admiration seemed genuine enough.

“Take my Virile tablets for instance,” he said. “If you’d seen Bogle before he had taken a course of these pills you wouldn’t have believed that he’d been alive to-day. He was thin, weak and depressed…”

She turned and regarded Bogle with interest. Bogle smirked. “Well, he certainly looks like he takes his daily dozen with a knife and fork now,” she said. “He’s a credit to you.”

Ansell pulled his nose thoughtfully. “Then there’s my bust developer,” he said and exchanged a quick glance with Bogle. “That in itself’s a remarkable invention. It’s brought happiness to hundreds of women.”

Myra looked at him in astonishment, “Psychologically, I suppose?”

“What’s she say, Doc?” Bogle asked, looking blank.

“In a way,” Ansell returned, ignoring Bogle. “But a good figure’s an asset to a woman in any country. I’ve some remarkable testimonials.”

Bogle leaned forward, “You ought to try a box, sister,” he said hoarsely. “Two bucks fifty. It’s dynamite!”

Ansell broke in hastily, “Now come, Bogle, that’s not complimentary. I’m sure Miss—er— Shumway’s a very nice figure.”

Bogle sneered, “She got tossed out of her job, didn’t she?”

“That would have nothing to do with it,” Ansell returned. “Of course, I’m not saying it wouldn’t make a big difference, but I’m sure Miss Shumway is quite satisfied with her figure as it is.”

Myra looked from Ansell to Bogle in bewilderment. “Up to now,” she said, “I thought it was pretty good…”

“Don’t be over confident,” Bogle said. “You can’t stand still these days. Progress, that’s what you gotta am for. Look at the way they’re developing the land.” He produced a pill box from his pocket and slapped it down in front of her.

“You’ve got to think and plan big, sister. Look at the pyramids. The guy who built them had a big mind. A box of this stuff and you’re way out front. You get confidence, see? The other dames get left in the cold. If you’ve got what it takes, it don’t matter if you have dandruff. You’re okay. And this is the stuff that’ll make you okay. It’ll take more than a silk-worm to louse up your job. Get figure conscious. Here, take the box. It’ll cost you two bucks. I’ll give you a fifty cent discount because I like you.”

Myra shook her head, “But I don’t want them,” she said.

“That’s what you think now,” Bogle persisted. “You’re young. Salt it away. It lasts for ever. You may never see us again. Wait ‘til you’re old. Wait ‘til some guy gives you the air.

She lifted her hands to her nose and made a little grimace. “Mind if I wash?” she said. “I’m all over beer.” She smiled brightly at them and swept away to the café.

Bogle watched her go. “What do you make of her, Doc?” he asked. “She came over here as tough as rusty nails, then she fell for my line like, a stupid native dope. Think there’s anything to her?”

Ansell was puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said frankly. “She’s too nice looking to be on her own. That’s what makes me suspicious. She’s too good to be true.”

Bogle said: “I don’t think I’d make that dame. She’s got a tongue like a razor. Suppose we blow before she comes back? I know her type. A dame who turns a guy down with silkworms ain’t going to play with me.”

Ansell signalled a waiter. “You’re improving, Bogle,” he said, looking pleased. “There was a time a good looking young woman could tie you in knots. Yes, I think you’re right. I see no reason why we should stay here. Anyway, we have work to do.” He groped for his wallet. “I’m quite sure that she can look after herself—” he broke off and stared wildly at Bogle.

“What’s the matter?” Bogle asked sharply.

“My money!” Ansell spluttered, going through his pockets feverishly, “It’s gone!”

“Gone?” Bogle repeated stupidly. “What do you mean gone?”

His eyes suddenly darkened and he began to search in his own pockets. The two dollars that Myra had given him for the box of pills and the five dollar bill he had saved were no longer to be found.

The two men stared at each other.

“The oldest, hoariest trick in the world,” Ansell said, trembling with rage. “And we fell for it. She knocked beer over me and shook rne down for what I’d got. That wasn’t enough for her. She frisked you as well.”

“What the hell are we waiting for?” Bogle snarled, kicking back his chair. “We’ve gotta nail that dame.”

The waiter came up with the check. He glanced at Bogle’s congested face and a look of alarm came into his eyes. “Is anything wrong, tenors?” he asked.

“We’ve been robbed,” Bogle snarled. “Get out of the way.”

“But the Senorita has gone,” the waiter said. “She has never robbed our clients before they settled their check. That is very bad of her.”

Bogle and Ansell stared at each other. “What do you mean?” Ansell demanded. “Do you know this girl?”

“Why, yes.” The waiter smiled, “she is very beautiful and she has very clever fingers. She comes here often. It is good for her line of work.”

Bogle clenched his fists. “What about us?” he said furiously. “Don’t we get any protection?”

The waiter lifted apologetic shoulders, “But the tenors asked her to their table. I thought you knew her.”

“Let’s get out of here, Bogle,” Ansell said. “We asked for it.”

“But, there is the question of the check,” the waiter said, looking distressed.

“Take it off the blonde when she’s in next time,” Bogle said. “And tell her from me that if I ever meet her again I’ll take her apart and find out what makes her tick.”

The waiter’s face darkened. “That is bad business, senor, she may not come back.”

Bogle didn’t quite like the look in his eye. “I don’t want you to lose by it,” he said. “Tell me, buddy, have you a girl friend?”

The waiter’s face brightened. “I have a very fine girl,” he said, flashing his teeth. “There is no other woman like her in the country.”

Bogle took out a pill box and gave it to him. “Make sure of that,” he said. “That’s worth two bucks fifty. I’ll make you a present of it.”

The waiter examined the box. Then he sneered. “She has had them before,” he said disdainfully. “The last time she took them she came out in a rash.”

“So what?” Bogle said, pushing him aside. “It gave her something to do, didn’t it?” and he walked across the patio with Ansell out into the street.

Chapter THREE

BEFORE I tell you how I came to meet Myra Shumway, I’d better give you her background, then we can go straight ahead without interruption.

Myra Shumway had not been telling the truth when she described herself to Doc Ansell as a newspaper correspondent For the past five years she had been a “dip.” If you don’t know what that means, just stand on any street corner and flash a fat bank-roll. Before long some dame will take it off you and you’ll know nothing about it until hours later. That dame was a dip.

Myra’s father was a magician who worked small-time vaudeville without much profit. Myra trailed along with him. When she reached the age of fifteen, her father decided that she should be his assistant. That was all right with Myra and she really worked at the job. By the end of the year there was no one on the Coast to touch her for speed, style and smoothness of execution. She could palm six cards with the speed of light. She could take a man’s vest off his back without him knowing it. That went for his suspenders too. In other words, she was good.

One evening something happened which was to change her immediate future. As she was preparing to leave the theatre her father came with a young fellow who wanted to meet her.

He was a travelling salesman who had looked in on the town with the hope of drumming up some new business. In the evening he went to the theatre. He saw Myra, was dazzled by her looks and came round the back intending to dazzle her with his money.

Hamish Shumway was agreeable that this young man should take Myra out to dinner. He knew that she had her head screwed on the right way and that if there was to be any funny business she could take care of herself.

The young man’s name was Joe Krurmm and he seemed a pleasant enough young fellow. Myra went with him to a restaurant and had an expensive dinner. During the dinner, Krumm did a fatal thing. He showed her the size of his bankroll. It measured an inch and a half round its waist. Myra had never seen so much money in her life. He bragged about it. He told her that he had stacks of dough in the bank. So Myra thought she’d give him a scare and she lifted his roll. It was the easiest job she had ever done. When the time came for him to pay the check, he found his roll had vanished. He nearly had a hemorrhage.

The manager of the restaurant and a couple of waiters stood around watching. They could see the price of an expensive dinner dissolving into smoke.

Myra got scared. People were staring at them. Krumm was nearly crazy and the manager was muttering about the police. She couldn’t work up enough courage to produce the roll and tell everyone that it was a gag.

She sat there, her face the colour of a beet, praying that the ground would open and swallow her.

It never crossed Krumm’s mind that he’d been whizzed. No one except the waiter had been near him. Myra’s acute embarrassment established her alibi. He was too excited to reason that a magician would be just the person to lift his roll. Besides, a nice looking kid like Myra just wouldn’t do such a thing.

Then an elderly man who was dining across the room got to his feet and came over. He had his eye on Myra the moment she had come into the restaurant. Egg-yolk blondes were his weakness and he couldn’t let such an opportunity pass him by.

He had a few scathing words to say about young puppies who shook restaurant managers down for the price of a meal. He expressed his sorrow that the young lady should be subjected to such an embarrassing situation. Then he produced a bulky wallet and paid the check.

“My car’s outside,” he said to Myra. “Let me run you home. This young fella’s no fit companion for a little girl like you.”

Myra never knew to this day how she got out of the restaurant. It was only when the fresh night air was beating on her face as the big car swept her through the dark streets that she began to get over her scare.

The elderly guy introduced himself as Daniel Webster. He asked her who she was. Although Myra was only sixteen, she had kicked around. You don’t work vaudeville for a year without learning that A.B.C. is invariably followed by D. She knew that she was going to have a little trouble with Daniel Webster. He hadn’t parted with seven dollars just to make the restaurant happy. So she told him her name was Rose Carraway and that she was staying at the Denville Hotel Both statements were essentially untrue.

Since the Denville Hotel lay in the opposite direction to the one they were going she thought this would be an indication of Webster’s intentions. If he stopped the car and turned around, then she was misjudging him. If he carried straight on, then she would know he was on the make. He carried straight on.

When Hamish Shumway realised he was going to have a very attractive daughter on his hands he decided to equip her with means for self-defence. He knew that in his profession attractive young girls wouldn’t remain attractive for long unless they went around with their eyes wide open. At an early age Myra was told the facts of life and taught a trick or two. She was perfectly confident, as she sat by Webster’s side, that she could handle anything that might come her way.

Daniel Webster saw no reason why he shouldn’t extract payment for the restaurant bill at the earliest convenient moment. Once clear of the town, he ran the car on to the grass shoulder and stopped the engine.

Myra was in no way flustered. In fact, she was most anxious to find out whether the advice bet father had drummed into her for the past four years really worked. As Webster eased himself away from the wheel and made a grab at her, she swung her arm and hit him squarely under his nose with the side of her hand. She had been advised by her father never to pull a punch. The chopping blow she handed out to Webster had all her young strength and vigour behind it.

The side of her hand landed accurately. The blow broke Webster’s bridge-work, made his eyes water and sent a thousand red-hot needles into his brain. He slumped back in his seat like an inflated balloon.

Myra opened the door of the car, stepped on to the grass shoulder and ran, without panic, into the darkness. It was only after several minutes, when she paused to look back, that she realized she was holding Webster’s wallet tightly in her hand. She had no idea that she had taken it. It was obviously unwise to go back and return it, as Webster might not take kindly to such a gesture. So she added the contents of the wallet to Krumm’s roll and began her long walk back to the town.

In the secrecy of her bedroom she went through Webster’s wallet. She found that the evening’s entertainment and car ride had netted her four hundred and seventy dollars.

She didn’t sleep at all that night. There was much to think about. She made her plans before the cold dawn light filtered round the window blind.

Fortunately, they were to move on to another town that day so there was little chance either of Krumm or Webster ever seeing her again. She hid her first earnings as a dip in her suspender belt, assisted her parents to pack and caught an early train to Springville which was their next port of call.

For two more years she worked with her father. Then without any warning she packed her bag and left. She had no misgivings and no regrets. Myra Shumway was ready to carve her initials on opportunity’s door.

During those two years she had not ceased to pilfer. She had been cautious but consistent. It had been ridiculously easy. That was the trouble. To acquire money so easily was too great a temptation.

She had made all the necessary plans. Her first move was to buy a second-hand Cadillac. She had fourteen hundred dollars in hand and the Cadillac didn’t even dent the roll.

She left a note for her father. It was curt and to the point. She told him that she was tired of living the hard way and he wasn’t to worry about her. She didn’t think he would, but he’d worry plenty about himself.

She put her bag in the back of the car and headed south. She wanted to get as far away as she could from the dreary little towns they had been touring. She had seen pictures of Florida and she wanted to go there. Now, there was nothing to slop her.

For the next two years, she stood on her own feet. She travelled in the Cadillac. Sometimes she worked in night clubs, but most times she just travelled. Her bank was the wallets of chance acquaintanceships. When she ran out of money, she found a sucker and picked his pocket. She was always carefull. Her swift fingers were never detected. She could take a wallet, remove a few hundred dollars and put the wallet back without the owner noticing. More often than not the money was never missed.

She came to Mexico because she wanted a complete change of scenery. She liked variety. Mexico seemed to be the right place for her present mood. She had no roots. Her parents and her past were forgotten. The big Cadillac was her home.

When she left Lorencillo’s café, she decided to head for Vera Cruz. She slipped out the backway where the Cadillac was parked and drove rapidly towards the centre of the town. When she felt that she had put enough space between herself and the café she drew up in a quiet side street, stopped the car and glanced in the mirror above her head.

Satisfied that no one was following her, she opened her bag and felt for a cigarette. When she had lit it, she leaned forward so that the light from the dashboard fell directly on her hands and bag. She took from the bag a small roll of money and counted it carefully. She had a hundred and twelve dollars.

“Not bad,” she said, under her breath.

She separated the notes into two even packets. One packet she put back in her bag, the other she folded neatly and slid down the top of her stocking. Then she took a large scale road map from the dashboard locker and spread it on her knees.

And that was how I found her.

I left Manolo’s a few minutes after Juden had gone with the idea of talking to the police. If they hadn’t a record which way this Myra Shumway had headed, then I was going to have a tough job finding her.

I spotted a big Cadillac standing in the shadow of a building and noticed that it was painted dark green. All right, I admit that I jumped a hail a foot. It seemed almost like black magic. I crossed the street and approached the car quietly.

There she was, with her blonde hair hiding her face, staring at a road map. One look at that hair told me all I wanted to know. I didn’t have to look any further for Myra Shumway. She was right here in front of me.

I didn’t rush up and grab her like an amateur sleuth. I stood back and gave the problem a little thought. Here she was as free as a bird, not a bandit in sight, and ready to take a powder at any moment. She was no good to me unless she was kidnapped. I toyed with the idea of talking things over with her and getting things fixed the easy way. Then I thought if she heard about the reward, I should have to split it with her and 25,000 dollars doesn’t look half as nice cut in half. Besides, maybe she was tired of her old man’s face and wouldn’t go back to New York anyway. No, there was only one way to play this. She had to be foxed.

I wandered up to the car and putting my arms on the door I leaned in. “Do you favour straw hats for race horses?” I said. “Or do you think they’d eat them?”

She looked up calmly, stared at me with big eyes and then returned to her map. “Go jump down a well,” she said. “If there isn’t one handy, anyone will help you dig it if you tell ’em what it’s for.”

That set me back a trifle. I was never much good with a smooth wisecracker. Myra Shumway was that and then some.

I tried again, “I’m just trying to break the ice,” I said. “Seeing the car and the map I figured I could hitch a ride.”

She looked up again, “This isn’t a bus, brother,” she said. “I don’t take passengers.”

“You mean you don’t take strangers,” I corrected her. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Ross Millan.”

“You may be a power-house to your mother,” she said carefully, “but to me, you’re a blownout fuse. Good night,” and she turned back to her map.

I let my blood pressure settle down, then I wandered around to the other side of the car, opened the door and climbed in. “It’s a grand feeling to get the weight off one’s puppies, ain’t it?” I said.

She stiffened. “I hope for your sake that I’m not going to have any trouble from you,” she said, putting the map away with quiet determination.

“None at all,” I assured her. “All I need is a lift to wherever you’re going. I’m tired of Mexico City and I want a change of air. I always hitch hike because I’m mean about money.”

“Your repressions fascinate me,” she returned. I may be wrong but I fancied she sounded annoyed. “But if you don’t get out of this car, I’m going to surprise you.”

I made myself comfortable, but I kept an eye on her. I’ve been mixed up with a few tough babies in my time and I wasn’t taking any chances. “Before I came to Mexico,” I said, “I was a professional strong man. One of my favourite acts was carrying a dame across the stage in my teeth. That’s how tough I am.”

“Oh?” She seemed startled. “And you gave that up?”

“It gave me up,” I said sadly. “The dame was the trouble. You see she was just a dumb kid with a temper like a dentist’s drill. She got on my nerves. You know, I kept having to fight a temptation not to bite her. You can see how easy it’d have been. Well, one night I couldn’t stand her any longer.” I shrugged. “I only meant to nip her, but I guess I got carried away.”

Well, that held her for a moment. I could see she didn’t know what to make of me. Finally she decided to try a new line.

“I think you’d better go,” she said, at last. “Or else I’ll scream.”

“I wish you would,” I returned, twisting round so that I faced her. “It’d give me a chance to smack you. I’ve always wanted to smack a beautiful blonde, but I’ve never found an excuse for it.”

She suddenly leaned forward and jabbed the self-starter savagely. “I hope you’ll end up in jail,” she said and engaged the gear.

“Don’t get agitated,” I said. “It’s bad for the complexion. Where are you going… Vera Cruz?”

“I suppose so,” she returned, pushing the car down the dark, dusty road. “That is, if it suits you, of course.”

“Anywhere suits me just so long as it’s away from this dump,” I returned. “Just relax, sister. You don’t have to be scared of me. I wouldn’t do this only I want to get out of town and it’s nice to travel free. When we get to Vera Cruz I’ll leave you and you’ll just have your dreams to remember me by.”

“I’ll say you’ll leave me,” Myra returned. “What do you expect me to do? Marry you?”

“That depends on how old fashioned you are,” I said. “Me… I don’t make social gestures. Tell me, peach blossom, what did you say your name was again?”

“If you don’t remember what I told you, I can’t be bothered to tell you again.”

“So what do I call you?” I said. “Hi you or Hey, sister?”

“I wouldn’t lose weight if you didn’t call me anything,” she replied indifferently. “Just give your larynx a vacation and I’ll pretend you’re not here.”

I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It showed 11.15.

“Before I accept those terms,” I said coldly, “tell me one thing. You’re not going to tackle the whole trip to Vera Cruz to-night, are you?”

“Chalco’s a few miles on,” she returned, “I’ll stop there, hand you over to the police and then find myself a hotel.”

“On the other hand, if we take turns driving,” I said carefully, “we could reach Orizaba first thing in the morning. I know a swell hotel in Orizaba where you’ll have every luxury in the world—if the world goes no further than Mexico.”

She thought about this. “Well,” she said at last, “I wouldn’t like to sleep in this car and let you drive. You might get ideas.”

“Well, of course, if you’re scared of me,” I said, shrugging.

“Who said I was scared of you?” That seemed to annoy her, “I haven’t met anything on two legs that could scare me.”

“That sounds like famous last words. But, if that’s how you feel, Apple pie, give me the wheel and take a nap,” I said grinning at her.

She hesitated for a second, then stopped the car. She looked at me hard and then a smile came into her eyes. This dame was certainly something to see. Apart from the fact that she represented 25,000 dollars to me, she looked good. When I say good I mean there wasn’t another woman in the country who could get within a mile of her. I like blondes. They may be a little dizzy, but they rest my eyes. That’s my only form of recreation.

“Listen, brother,” she said. “If there’s anything coming from you that’s not strictly off the top deck, I’ll cut your lights out.”

“Would you let me see them before I die?” I asked anxiously. “I’ve always wanted to make Ripley.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she returned and got out of the car.

I slid over and took the wheel.

“There’s more room in the back for sleeping,” she said, getting in and leaving me by myself. “Besides, I’ve got a tyre lever here and I’ll bounce it on your head if you get off the main road. And I won’t send you a telegram before I do it.”

“To hear you talk,” I said, starting the car, “no one would know you had a sentimental streak. “But, seriously, Angel skin, you could trust me with your life.”

“If I did that,” she said, “I’d swap my girdle for a straight jacket.”

After a while, I guess she must have gone to sleep. I sent the Cadillac tearing into the night. It was certainly’ a fine bus and the miles kept clicking up on the dashboard. I expected her to wake up after an hour or so and take over, but she kept on sleeping. I guess the kid was tired. She didn’t wake up until I was bumping over the cobbles that led to the outskirts of Orizaba. Then I heard a little gasp and she said, “Why it’s daylight. Have I been sleeping all this time?”

“Well, someone’s been snoring in my ear,” I returned, as I swung the Cadillac into the main street. “If it wasn’t you, we’ve got a stranger on board.”

“I don’t snore,” she said coldly and I could hear her hunting in her bag for the inevitable powder and puff.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “You don’t have to be shy with me.” I pulled up outside a small hotel in pink stone.

“I liked the sound. It made me homesick.”

“Homesick?” she asked as I twisted round to look at her.

“Sure,” I said. “At one time I used to live on a farm.” Then I got out of the car hurriedly.

“Just wait here and I’ll fix things. Do you want a room or just a bath and coffee?”

“No room,” she said firmly.

It only crossed my mind after I had dug out the hotel manager and had introduced myself, that I was crazy to leave her out there in the car. But I need not have worked myself into a lather, because she was still there when I came out.

“I’ve got it all fixed,” I said, opening the car door. “Bath first and breakfast on the verandah. Eggs, fruit and coffee. That suit?”

She got out of the car with a small grip in her hand. “It certainly does,” she said, and for the first time she gave me a friendly smile.

I felt I might be getting somewhere with this dame. “Join me for breakfast down here in about half an hour,” I said.

“Then we’ll both let our hair down and confide in each other.”

She shook her head. “I enjoy my own company,” she returned. “I’ve given you a lift as we agreed, now I think I’ll say goodbye.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, taking her firmly by the arm and leading her towards the hotel. “Who’s going to pay for my breakfast, if you run out on me?”

Chapter FOUR

As Mexican towns go, Orizaba could be worse. From Mexico City it is a long drop to Orizaba. In sixty odd miles you go down six thousand odd feet. That makes a lot of difference in atmosphere. The air thickens and the heat takes on a fiercer strength.

Sitting on the verandah overlooking the square where some small Indian soldiers in their grubby uniforms watched us with blank expressionless eyes, I felt pretty good. The bath had been just right and I was glad to get outside for some food.

On the far side of the square was the flower market. Although it was still early, Indian women were already at work, binding, sprinkling and sorting all kinds of flowers. The heavy scent came across the square and hung round us. “I’m glad we came here,” I said. “I feel this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Myra was sitting with her feet on a chair. Her eyes were closed against the hot sun. She had changed into a simple, well-cut linen frock which fitted her figure like it was painted on her.

“We part at Vera Cruz,” she said without any finality in her voice.

“Do we want to go there?” I asked. “Let’s stay here. You can tell me a story every night and when I want a change you can dance for me.”

“That sounds awfully nice of you,” she said, stretching lazily. “But, I can see no future in it for myself.”

“Don’t you ever get away from your hard veneer?”

She opened her eyes and reached for the coffee. “No. It’s much more than skin deep and it never cracks.” She refilled her cup and then stared across at the mountains that seemed to press in on the town.

“That’s an awful shame,” I said, fumbling for a cigarette. I found I’d used my last Chesterfield and glanced hopefully at her. “You must miss a lot of fun that way, sister.”

She gave me a cigarette from her case. “Oh no,” she said, “I’ve no time for play. I’ve got ambitions.”

“You certainly have,” I said. “But you don’t want to overdo it. What did you say your name was again?”

She laughed, “Myra Shumway,” she returned.

I didn’t need the confirmation. I knew I hadn’t made a mistake, but all the same I was glad to know. Besides, we were getting on a more friendly footing and that was important.

“That’s a beautiful name,” I said.

A small party of Mexican labourers passed, carrying guitars. They crossed the little ruined square and sat down with their backs against the wall of an opposite building. Two of them began to play very softly.

“That’s nice,” Myra said. “Do you think they’ll sing?”

“They will if you ask them to,” I returned. “If you give them some money, God knows what they’ll do.”

While I was speaking, a truck came rumbling into the square, blotting out the thin music of the guitars. As it swept past the hotel, two men slid off the tailboard. A small wizened man and a big fat man.

Myra suddenly pushed back her chair, made to rise, then settled herself again.

“Something bite you?” I asked, watching the two men approach. “We’re going to have company. Americans by the look of them.”

“You ought to go into vaudeville,” Myra returned. Her voice was so acid that I glanced at her, surprised.

“Know ’em?” I asked, wondering why her face had hardened. This kid could look tough when she was in the mood.

“My best friends,” she returned bitterly. “You’ll love them.” The two men came up to the verandah, mounted the steps and stood over us in silent hostility.

Myra said, “Hello. I’ve been wondering what happened to you?”

“I bet you have,” the fat man said between his teeth.

“This is Mr. Ross Millan,” she went on, waving her hand in my direction. “Doc Ansell and Mr. Samuel Bogle. Mr. Bogle’s the gentleman with the dirty face.”

“Sit down and have an egg,” I said, wondering why these two guys looked like a public disaster.

“I don’t want an egg,” Bogle said, stretching his thick fingers ominously.

“Maybe Mr. Bogle would like a drink?” Myra said, smiling.

“We’re going to have more than a drink,” Bogle returned viciously. “We’re collecting for charity—our own charity.”

“He’s got a very forceful personality, hasn’t he?” I said to Myra.

“Grape nuts for breakfast,” Myra said, shrugging. “You know what it does to some people.”

“Oh sure,” I said. “Perhaps he’d like some now.”

Bogle seemed to draw moss of the air around into his lungs. I took a menacing step forward.

Myra said quickly, “Do sit down and have a drink. It gives me a pain in the neck looking up at you.”

“Yeah?” Bogle said. “You’ll be getting more than a pain—and it won’t be in the neck either—if you don’t hand over my dough.”

Myra looked over at Ansell, “Has he been left out in the sun, do you think?”

Ansell’s small mouth tightened. “That line won’t get you anywhere,” he said firmly, “we want our money!”

I didn’t know what this was all about, but I did feel that two to one seemed pretty long odds.

“Listen fellas,” I said, easing back my chair. “If you can’t be civil, I must ask you to make a noise like an airplane and fly away.”

Bogle’s fists slowly knotted. “Did you hear what that punk said?” He turned slowly on me and pushed his great red face forward. “Open that big trap of yours again and I’ll tear your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

I smiled at him, not making any move. “Couldn’t you beat me to death with something else? The manager of the hotel would probably supply you with something. I don’t think I’d like to lose my arm.”

Ansell intervened just as Bogle got set to hand me one. “Not so fast, Sam,” he said.

“Maybe, this gentleman doesn’t realize the facts.”

Bogle looked suspiciously at me and then at Ansell, “You mean he’s a sucker, too?” he asked.

“Why not? You and I were. He seems quite a respectable person,” Ansell returned.

I thanked him. “Of course, I don’t know what this’s about,” I said. “But, if I can lend you anything or help you, just say the word.” I looked at Myra who had been watching with alert eyes. “Do you know these two gentlemen?”

“We met at a café,” she said slowly. “But, it was just a hello and good-bye acquaintance. We had a drink and we parted.

“Yeah, we parted okay,” Bogle said, breathing heavily. “Our dough went with you.”

In spite of this guy’s bulk, I wasn’t standing for that. I stood up, “Are you calling her a thief?” I demanded angrily.

Bogle crowded me. It gave me .the impression that a mountain was going to fall on me.

“Yeah,” he said, showing his tobacco stained teeth. “Do you want to make anything of it?”

I decided that I’d be more use to Myra if I remained in one piece. The Bogle fella looked like he might be a little too much for me. Besides, I never like hitting anyone twice my size. I don’t see any sense in it.

“No, that’s all right, Bud,” I said, stretching my leg and stamping. “I got a cramp?”

“Cramp?” he repeated, blinking at me.

“Yeah, nasty thing, cramp.” I looked over at Myra. “Do you ever get cramp?”

“Only when I wear pink,” she said. “It’s a funny thing, but, pink cramps my style.” Bogle’s blood pressure seemed to be troubling him. He tore his hat off his head and dashed it on to the ground. Then he began punching the air with his fists.

“Gently, Bogle,” Ansell broke in. “There’s no need to lose your temper.”

“I want my dough!” Bogle howled, kicking his hat across the verandah. “I don’t want a lot of talk. I just want my money and then I’m going to tear this dame into small pieces and feed her to the vultures.”

Ansell drew up a chair. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions,” he said. “We have no proof that Miss Shurnway took our money.”

“I’ve get proof,” Bogle said savagely. “I’ll get it if I have to turn her inside out.”

Myra’s blue eyes widened for an instant. Then I knew. She had lifted the money. That slaughtered me. It not only complicated matters, but it gave these two guys an opportunity to be really awkward if they felt that way.

“Don’t get your truss in a knot,” Myra said sharply. I’ll say this for the girl, she’d got plenty of nerve. “What are you talking about?”

Bogle seemed to be praying. But the words that came through his clenched teeth didn’t quite line up with divine thought.

“We think you stole our money,” Ansell said, looking at her steadily. “We both had small sums on us, but when you left, the money had gone. I don’t like to accuse you, but you’ll have to satisfy us that you didn’t take it.”

She whirled round on Bogle, “I bet this was your idea,” she said. “I wish I had you at home. I’d use your head in my rock garden.”

Bogle’s muscles began to expand. “Iszatso!” he said. “Let me tell you something. You’ve shot your mouth off long enough. Now, it’s my turn. Gimme that dough or I’ll turn you upside down and shake it out of you. And if this punk thinks he can stop me, then let’s see him do it. They’ll have to hose him off the wall by the time I’m through with him!”

Maybe there are a few jaded people on the look-out for a new sensation, but I’m not like that. Being hosed off a wail didn’t sound like a pleasant way to spend the morning.

“Myra,” I said firmly, “Give these gentlemen their money and explain, as you explained to me, that it was just a gag. They’ll appreciate it as much as I did—I hope.”

Myra hesitated, then shrugged. She took a roll of notes from the top of her stocking and tossed it on the table. “There’s your money,” she said angrily. “I hope the rot-gut you buy with it poisons you.”

Ansell picked up the money and counted it. He gave seven dollars to Bogle and put the rest in his pocket.

Bogle drew a deep breath, “And now,” he said, hitching up his trousers, “I’m going to smack her one. Sister, am I going to bounce you off a wall!”

Ansell frowned. “Don’t be so primitive, Bogle,” he said. “You should never strike a woman.”

“Not in public, anyway,” I added.

“I’ll take her some place quiet,” Bogle pleaded.

“Certainly not,” Ansell said. Now that he had got his money, he seemed to take a much more agreeable view of life. He turned to Myra, “Now, young lady,” he said briskly, “I want to talk to you. I admire cleverness. That was a neat trick you pulled on us. A very neat trick. I deplore your ethics, of course,” he added hastily, “but there can be no mistaking talent. You have great talent.”

Myra seemed inclined to be sore. “Go boil your head, you old owl,” she said and turned her back on him.

Ansell looked upset, “Pity,” he muttered; then catching my eye, he went on, “And you, sir? Who may you be?”

“The name is Ross Millan,” I said. “I’m a representative of the New York Reporter.”

“New York Reporter?” Ansell’s eyes opened. “That’s one of America’s greatest newspapers. I’m pleased to know you, Mr. Millan.” He offered his hand, “I’m only sorry that we should meet under such distressing circumstances.”

“That’s okay with me,” I said, shaking his hand. “You don’t have to worry about that. Miss Shumway has an advanced sense of humour. I know you boys can take a joke.”

“There’s too much talk,” Bogle growled. “You ain’t letting this dame get away with this, are you?”

Myra twisted round, “Why can’t you beat it? There’re enough rubbish dumps in this town without you adding to them. Take this big pickle-puss away and haunt houses with him.”

Bogle swelled with fury, “Did you hear what she said?” he demanded turning on Ansell. “I ain’t going to stand for it! I’ll —”

“Wait a minute,” Ansell said, as Bogle made to get to his feet. “Sit down, Sam. We won’t get anywhere like this. Now look, Miss Shumway, if I wanted to, I could hand you over to the police. But that won’t get us anywhere. You and I could be useful to each other.”

“How?”

“You’ve got very clever fingers,” Ansell told her, settling himself comfortably in the basket-chair. “Perhaps you can do other tricks besides—er-—exploring people’s pockets.”

Myra frowned, “What if I can?” she said cautiously.

“Now look, my dear,” Ansell went on, “we can, if we forget our differences, be profitable to each other. On the other hand, if you don’t wish to be helpful, then I must hand you over to the police and work out my problems with Bogle.”

“That should be a problem in itself,” Myra said, looking it Bogle scornfully. “How you’ve got anywhere with that lump of cheese surprises me.”

Bogle closed his eyes. The strain of controlling himself was getting too much for him. “The things I’ll do to you when I get you alone,” he said in a strangled voice.

“Never mind that, Bogle,” Ansell said sharply. “We must stick to the point.” He turned back to Myra, “Please don’t irritate him. Are you going to be helpful or not?”

“Why, of course.” A mischievous gleam had come into her eyes. “You want to know if I can do tricks? Well, I think I could give you a little demonstration.” She looked at me, then at Bogle. “Ah! Now if Samuel will help me, I think I’ll— yes, the very thing!” She reached across the table and plucked a length of pink ribbon from one of Bogle’s ears. She pulled steadily and several yards of ribbon lay on the table before Bogle recovered from his astonishment and jerked away. The ribbon fell in a little pile to the ground and Bogle stared at it in horror.

“Why, Mr. Bogle,” I said, “you didn’t tell me you were that sort of a girl.”

“Did that come from me?” Bogle whispered.

“And to think I said you were empty headed,” Myra said sadly. “Why didn’t you tell me you used your head as a cupboard? I won’t take out the sawdust because your poor head might collapse, but I’m sure you’ll be glad to get rid of this,” and she removed a billiard ball from his other ear.

Bogle shivered and sprang to his feet. He dug his fingers into his ears feverishly.

“It’s all right, Bogle,” Ansell said kindly. “She was only demonstrating a trick. She’s a magician.” He turned to Myra, “I must say that was extremely expert.”

Myra shrugged. “If I had my apparatus here, I’d show you something really good. That’s just kid’s stuff.”

Bogle sat down again.

“Why don’t you two go off somewhere and get to know each other?” I said to Myra. “This fella Bogle’s got a nice face and maybe he just wants conversation. I’ll talk to Doc while you two enjoy yourselves.”

“Enjoy myself? With him?” Myra said, jerking her thumb at Bogle. “I’d rather walk around with a typhoid epidemic.”

I thought she had something there, but I kept my opinion to myself.

“What you need,” Bogle said, leaning across the table, “is a smack in the slats.”

If the slats were where I thought they were, I felt he had something, too.

“Quiet!” Ansell snapped. “We’re wasting too much time.” He looked at Myra severely,

“Young lady, you’re deliberately aggravating him. I warn you, I’m not standing much more of this.”

Myra laughed. “I’ll be good, poppa, honest I will,” she said, and patted his hand. “Now, tell me all about it.”

Ansell looked at her suspiciously. “You seem to forget that you can’t afford to be funny,” he said.

“Aw, skip it, Doc,” I broke in. “Why don’t you say what you want to say and stop nagging the girl?”

Ansell looked a little surprised, “I’m trying to, but there’re so many interruptions.”

I turned on Bogle, “Don’t interrupt the Doctor any more, Bud,” I said. He’s getting tired of it.”

“Yes,” Myra joined in. “Give that big mouth of yours a rest. We’re sick of the sound of your voice.”

Bogle was so surprised that he just sat in a heap, his eyes starting out of his head.

“Okay, Doc,” I said quickly, before Bogle could recover. “The floor’s all yours.”

“Do either of you believe in witchcraft?” Ansell asked.

Myra held up her hand. “I do,” she said. “How else do you explain our Samuel away?” Bogle took off his tie and tried to tear it in half. He was blue in the face with passion. He jerked and pulled at the tie, but it was too strong for him.

Myra said, “Let me,” and snatched the tie out of his hands. She cut it in half with a fruit knife and handed it back to him. “There you are, Sammy,” she said.

Bogle sat in a kind of stupor, staring at the tie. Then he dashed it to the ground.

“Miss Shumway!” Ansell exclaimed angrily. “Will you stop picking on Bogle?”

“Well, I was only trying to be helpful,” Myra said, her eyes wide in innocence. “He couldn’t manage to do it himself.”

“All right, all right,” I said hastily. “Why witchcraft? Who believes in witchcraft these days?”

Ansell looked at Bogle, satisfied himself that he was not going to have a fit and tried to collect his thoughts: “I don’t suppose you know much of the background of this country. I’ve lived here for over twenty years and I’ve seen some very odd things.”

“So have I,” Myra said, looking at Bogle.

“If you can’t stop this woman talking…” Ansell said to me furiously.

“Be good,” I said to Myra.

She lifted her shoulders.

“Go on,” I said. “Don’t worry about her.”

“If I’m to explain this at all,” Ansell said, rather hopelessly, “I wish you’d all listen. At one time there was a powerful secret society in this country who called themselves the Naguales. The members of this society were the witch doctors who bossed the Maya Indians. They are almost extinct now, but there’s a few of them who still practice in a little village not two hundred miles from here.”

“I’ve heard about ’em,” I said. “Aren’t they supposed to produce rain at a moment’s notice and change themselves into animals? You don’t believe that junk, do you?”

Ansell shook his head, “No, I don’t. I believe they have certain supernatural powers such as mass hypnotism, and in some rare cases they practice levitation, but that really doesn’t concern us. What I’m interested in is their herbal medicines. Have you ever heard of teopatli?”

I shook my head. “What is it? A drink?”

“It’s a sure cure for snake bite.”

While we were talking, Bogle sat with his head in his hands, in a kind of stupefied daze. He wasn’t causing any trouble, so we ignored him.

“How do you mean… a sure cure?” I prompted.

“Listen, young man, I’ve seen men die of snake bite. It’s a pretty nasty business. I’ve seen men of this little village pick up a coral snake and let it strike at them, and then put this ointment on. They feel no effects at all.”

“Probably they’ve drawn the poison before demonstrating,” I said sceptically.

Ansell shook his head. “I’ve given them a pretty thorough test. Rattle snakes, scorpions and coral snakes. Teopatli fixes any of these bites like lightning.”

“All right, where do we go from there?”

“I want to get the recipe from this Indian fella and I think Miss Shumway can get it for me.”

Myra stared at him. “Someone’s been out in the sun without a nice, big, shady hat,” she said.

“Wouldn’t you like to put your feet up, poppa?”

“If you were a few years younger,” Ansell said, between his teeth, “I’d like to smack some manners into you!”

I knew just how he felt.

Myra giggled. “You’re not the only one who’s thought along those lines,” she said, shaking her head. “One of them did try it. They had to put four stitches in his face and give him a pension.”

“Take it easy,” I broke in. “What makes you think this baby could get the stuff and what would you do with it if you got it?”

Ansell calmed down. “People all over the world are getting bitten by snakes,” he explained.

“Teopatli really works. Properly marketed it’s worth a fortune. It would be an essential part of any traveller’s equipment. I could charge what I liked for it.”

I considered this. If the stuff was really a cure for any snake bite, then, of course, he had something. There was not only a fortune in it, but also a terrific news story.

“You’ve actually seen the stuff work?” I asked.

“Of course, I have.”

“What’s the difficulty? I mean why can’t you get hold of it.”

Ansell snorted. “Quinti won’t part. He’s this Indian fells I’m telling you about. For fifteen years I’ve been after him, but the old devil just grins at me.”

“Where do I come in on this?” Myra asked cautiously.

“I saw Quinti a couple of weeks ago,” Ansell said. “He tried to fox me as usual, but I put a lot of pressure on him and finally got him in a corner. He told me that soon he was going to die. But before he die, a Sun Virgin would come to him and take from him all his secrets. She would have great powers of magic, her hair would be like beaten gold and her skin like the frozen heights of lxtacchiuatl. It was just his way of putting me off, but now I’ve seen Miss Shumway, I guess we could frighten him into talking.”

Myra sat up. “You don’t want me to impersonate a Sun Virgin, do you?” she demanded.

“Why not?” Ansell asked, his eyes shining. “With your tricks, your looks and a little bluff, you could do it on your head.”

I leaned forward suddenly. “Where’s this village you’re talking about, Doc?” I asked.

“It’s ten miles from Pepoztlan.”

That gave me an idea, but I wanted time to think about it. “Listen, Doc,” I said. “Let Miss Shumway and me talk it over, will you? I think you’ve got an idea that’d make a great news story. It’d be fine publicity for you if you get the stuff, but I want to sort out the angles.”

Ansell got to his feet. “I’ll give you half an hour,” he said. “I take it that you won’t run out on me?”

“We’ll be here when you come back,” I told him.

“Hey!” Myra said. “Whose side are you on?”

I grinned at her. “Pipe down for a minute, will you?”

Bogle got to his feet after Ansell had shaken him. “Talk!” he said bitterly. “That’s all we do. We came out here so I could kick this dame’s teeth in and what happens? We sit around and talk! Now, we go away so they can talk! Don’t we ever do anything else, but talk in this gawdamn place?”

“Cheer up,” I said. “You’re getting so many wrinkles, before long you’ll have to screw your hat on.”

He glared at me, then turning on his heel, he slouched after Ansell. They crossed the square and disappeared into a beer parlour that stood at the corner.

I settled further, into my chair. “Well,” I said, “you can never tell, can you. How do you like being a Sun Virgin?”

Myra’s reply was unprintable.

Chapter FIVE

WELL, I talked her into it. It took a long time and it was as easy as cracking rock with a sponge.

Some men like strong-minded women. They say they know just where they are with them. Me . . I give them away with a box of crackerjacks. The trouble with a girl who knows her own mind is she’s one jump ahead of you all the time. If you want to fox her into anything, you’ve got to do a double jump, and like as not you end up by buying yourself a truss. Anyway, I sold her in the end. That’s all that matters. I got her to see that for a couple of days’ work, she’d save herself a stretch in jail and maybe make herself a load of jack. Why bother with details? It’s action that counts. I had a lot to think about and a lot to do, but that’s not your worry. All you want to know is how it worked out, not how I did it. Briefly then, the four of us agreed to put up at the hotel. It was as good a place as any, and until we had worked out the details of our campaign, it was no use us floating around the countryside like peas on a knife. We got ourselves rooms and we settled down. As soon as I was alone, I put a call through to Maddox. When I told him that I’d found the girl, I thought he was going to have a stroke. It seemed he hadn’t got his story fixed and he wasn’t nearly ready for me to bring her in. Then again, he was dead set on her being kidnapped by bandits because he’d worked out a swell story how she had been carried off from her hotel by thirty desperadoes.

I told him what I had in mind and that slackened the pressure on his arteries. I kept talking and I could hear his blood pressure going down. After a while, he said I was smart and finally he ended up by wanting to kiss me.

The set-up was this. I’d take the girl to Pepoztlan and get the snake-bite angle fixed. That alone would make a swell story. On her way back from Pepoztlan, Myra would be snatched by a bunch of greasers. I knew a little greaser who lived in the hills and who would be glad to do the job for a couple of hundred bucks. I’d take a few photos and then pull a rescue stunt.

The rest was plain sailing. The whole business was to be completed within a week. Maddox thought it was a swell idea. The snake-bite business excited him and he talked about buying himself in. I didn’t discourage him, but I made up my mind that if any money was to be made out of thin I was going to be the guy to cash in. I got him to let me spend anything within reason—my reason and not his—and then I hung up. That was that part fixed up.

Then I put a call through to Paul Juden and wised him up on the deal. I told him where to send my bag, demanded some money, and asked him how he was making out with the nurse. He said he’d do everything I wanted and the nurse business was just a gag. He knew I knew his wife.

When I’d done all that, I thought I’d go along and have a talk with Myra. I wanted to know more about this girl. I wanted to take the corners off our friendship and find out just how strong her mind was. So I went along to her room, and put my head round the door. She wasn’t there.

I found her messing around the Cadillac under the shade of a banana tree. She looked over her shoulder when she heard me coming and then lowered the hood of the car.

“Come on,” I said. “See those mountains? Well, let’s go out and look at ’em. I want to stand in the open with the wind against my face and feel that I’m somebody.”

She gave me an old-fashioned look, but something must have caught at her imagination because she got into the car without a word. I sat by her side and we jolted gently over the cobbles, through the square on to the main road that led out of Orizaba.

We didn’t say anything until we reached the mountain road and when we began to climb, with a sheer drop down into the valley whizzing past our off-wheels, she said suddenly, “We could go on and on like this and we wouldn’t have to worry about anything. And when we’re tired of each other we could say good-bye and both of us would have still less to worry about.”

“And the world wouldn’t have any snake-bite ointment and you and I wouldn’t feel very happy about it,” I said.

“You don’t really believe that stuff, do you?”

“I guess I do,” I said. “Besides, didn’t you promise the old man that you’d play along with him?”

She laughed gaily. “You a newspaper man and you talk about promise,” she said. “That’s a laugh!”

I looked at her. “What do you want to do, double-cross the old geyser?”

“I’m nor even thinking about him,” she returned, slowing the car as we ran past a line of ancient, weatherbeaten houses and refreshment booths, with their awnings over the street.

“No one dictates my life. I’m just saying we could go on from here and not go back.”

The Cadillac began to mount again, leaving the small town behind. I had no idea what the name of the town was and cared less. We were heading for the wooded country and signs of human life began to thin out. The few Indians, jogging along the roadside, straddling the rumps of their burros, became fewer as we went on. Then suddenly she slowed down, swerved off the road and pulled up under the shadow of the forest fringe.

“Let’s get out,” she said.

I followed her as she moved away from the car, and sank down beside her on the parched, brown grass. She looked up at the brilliant sky, screwing up her eyes against the brightness of the sun, then she heaved a little, contented sigh.

I found her disturbing. I don’t know what it was, but her metallic hair, gleaming in the sun, the white column of her throat, the curve of her figure under the blood-red shirt, her small finely boned hands and the courage of her mouth and chin got me. I found myself groping back into the past to remember any one woman I had known who looked as good as this kid. Pale ghosts paraded in my mind, but none of them clicked.

“Look, sister…” I said.

“Just a minute,” she interrupted, facing me. “Would you mind not calling me sister? I’m no sister of yours. I’ve got a name. Myra Shumway. We met. Remember?”

“You’d’ve been a better girl if you’d been my sister,” I said grimly.

“All you tough guys think of is violence. That’s your only reply to a woman, isn’t it?”

“What do you expect, when they feed us hot tongue and cold shoulder?” I asked grinning.

“Besides, a little violence works.”

“Get me out of this,” she said, suddenly turning so that she was close to me. “You can do it. I don’t want to go on with it.”

I thought, ‘If you knew half what I’ve got lined up for you sweetheart, you’d be climbing trees.’ But, I just shrugged. “Don’t let’s go over that again,” I said. “You’ll thank me in a week or so. You’re not scared of this Quinn guy, are you?”

“I’m not scared of anything on two legs…” she began.

“I remember, you told me.”

“But, it’s crazy,” she went on. “It’s all right to talk about it, but actually doing it… why, it’s crazy! I can’t speak the language. They’ll know I’m a phoney.”

“You leave it to Doc. He’s got it all worked out,” I said. “Why should you worry?”

She fumbled in her bag and took out a deck of cards. “There’s something about you,” she said, flipping the cards through her fingers so that they looked like an arc of a rainbow. “I wonder what it is?”

“When I was very young,” I returned, lolling back on my elbow, “my mother used to rub me in bear fat. It built up my personality.”

She leaned forward and took four aces out of my breast pocket. “Would you say I’m a serious young woman?”

I watched the cards flutter through her slim fingers. “Yeah,” I said, feeling my throat thicken suddenly. “More than that. I’d say you were a remarkable young woman.”

She looked at me with quick interest, “Really?”

“Hmm, I guess so. We’re going to know each other an awful lot better before we wave good-bye. Do you know that?”

She reached over to take the King of Spades from my cuff. I could smell the scent in her hair. It reminded me of a summer spent in England in an old country garden full of lilac trees. “Are we?” she said.

I caught her band and pulled her close to me. She didn’t resist, but let me pull her across the small space that divided us. “I think so,” I said, sliding my arm under her shoulders. “An awful lot better.”

We lay like that, close to each other, and I could see the overhead clouds reflected in her eyes.

“Will you like that?” she asked, her lips close to mine.

“Maybe—I don’t know.” Then I kissed her, pressing my mouth hard on hers.

She lay still. I wished she would close her eyes and relax, but she didn’t. I could feel the hard muscles in her back resisting me. Her lips felt hard, tight and child-like against mine.

She made no effort to push me away. Kissing her like that was as good as kissing the back of my hand. I dropped onto my elbow again, releasing her. “All right,” I said. “Forget it.”

She shifted away from me. Her fingers touched her lips carefully, “You meant that to be something, didn’t you?” she asked, curling her legs under her and adjusting her skirt.

“Sure,” I said. “But what of it? Sometimes it’s all right, but not this time. The trick is not to rush this kind of thing.”

“No,” she said, looking at me seriously. “The trick is not to do it at all.”

Then I thought what’s wrong with me? What am I trying to do? I’d got a job on my hands. I’d got 25,000 dollars just around the corner with my name on it, and here I am gumming up my chance trying to neck a kid that meant as much to me as last year’s income tax return. I guess it was her hair. I was always a sucker for blondes.

“Changed your mind about knowing me awfully well?” she said, watching me intently.

“I guess not,” I said. “I’ll keep trying. Did I tell you about the red head I met in New Orleans?”

“You don’t have to,” she said, scrambling to her feet, “I can imagine it,”

“Not this red head,” I returned, looking up at her. “She had a figure like an hour glass. Boy! Did she make every minute count!”

She began moving slowly towards the Cadillac. “So you’re not going to help me?” she said.

“Not after I’ve been nice to you?”

“What’s wrong?” I got to my feet and we both walked towards the Cadillac. “You were feeling fine about it this morning.”

“I’ve thought about it,” she said, getting into the car. “I don’t like the idea any more.”

“Give it a chance,” I urged, feeling the heat coming at me from off the dusty road. “Be big minded about it.”

“What are you getting out of it?” she said, starting the engine “You’re selling it too hard to be disinterested.”

“A story,” I said. “And, Pie-crust, if you were a newspaper man you’d know just what that meant. It’s going to be a beautiful story, with lots of publicity, and they’ll even print my picture.”

“You never give a thought to those folk who have their meat wrapped in your newspaper, do you?” Myra returned, driving slowly back the way we came.

I winced. “I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “Wisecracks spoil your romantic appeal.”

She slightly increased the speed of the car as we began to descend the steep winding rood. Just ahead of us was the little mountain town we had already passed on our way up.

“Let’s stop and buy some beer,” I said. “My tonsils are dusty.”

We entered the town, drove along the cobbled main mad, ignored the group of Indians, lounging behind heaps of van-coloured flowers which they stretched towards us, and pulled up outside a little beershop. There was a long wrought-iron table and bench outside the shop, shaded by a gaily covered awning. A smell of beer and stale bodies came through the doorway.

“We won’t go in,” I said, sitting at the table. “That smell reminds me of a newspaper office.”

She came and sat by my side and pulled off her wide straw hat, which she laid carefully on the table.

A thin, elderly Mexican came out of the shop and bowed to us. There was an odd, worried look in his eyes that made me wonder if he was in trouble.

I ordered beer and he went away without saying anything. “Now, there’s a guy who looks like he’s got more than his hat on his mind,” I said, opening my coat and picking the front of my shirt carefully off my chest.

“These greasers are all alike,” Myra returned, indifferently. “They worry over which way a flea will jump. At one time I was sorry for them, but now, I don’t worry—” She broke off and looked pest me, her eyes widening.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Standing in the doorway of the shop was the fattest man I’d ever seen. He was not only fat, but he was big with it. I guess he must have been seven inches over six foot. He was wearing the usual straw sombrero, a sarape hung over his great shoulders, but I could see his neat black suit and his soft Mexican riding boots ornamented with silver inlay.

He leaned against the doorway, a cigarette banging from his thick lips and his black eyes on Myra.

I particularly noticed his eyes. They were flat like the eyes of a snake. I didn’t like the look of this party. He didn’t belong to the town. I was sure of that. There was too much class about him. I didn’t like the leer he as telegraphing to Myra.

“Isn’t he cute?” Myra said to me. “I bet he was twins before his mother cooked him in a too hot bath.”

“Listen, Apple blossom,” I said, keeping my voice low, “keep your funny stuff for me, will you? That hombre won’t like it.”

The fat man picked his cigarette out of his mouth and flicked it across at me. It landed on the table between us.

If any other greaser had done that, I’d have pinned his ç ears back, but I’ve got a superstition about hitting a guy twice my size. I’ve been over that with you before. But when that guy gets so that he’s three times my size, I’ll take an awful lot from him before I go into action.

Myra didn’t mind pushing me into a fight. That’s like a woman. They think uneven odds is a sign of chivalry.

“Why don’t you poke that fat boy in his pantry?” she asked.

Maybe the guy couldn’t speak anything but his own language, but how was I to know? The most unlikely people get educated these days.

“What do you want me to do?” I whispered. “Commit suicide?”

“You’re not going to let a pail of lard insult me?” Myra said, her eyes suddenly flashing.

“Didn’t you see what he did?” She pointed to the cigarette end that smouldered near her hand.

“That little thing?” I said, hastily. “Why, that was an accident. He didn’t mean anything. You pipe down. It’s dames like you who cause revolutions.”

Just then the thin Mexican came out of the shop. He edged round the fat party as if he were passing close to a black widow. Then he set two beers in front of us and faded back to the shop fast.

The fat party was smoking again and he took his cigarette out and flipped it once more. I had my hand over my glass as the smoking cigarette curled through the air, but it dropped into Myra’s glass.

I took her glass before she could say anything and gave her mine. “There you are, sweetheart, and for the love of Mike don’t make anything of it.”

Myra’s face scared me. She’d gone a little white and her eyes looked like those of a cat in the dark.

The fat party suddenly laughed. It was a high tinny sound that went with his sideboards and pencilled moustache. “The senor has milk in his veins,” he said, slapping his thick thigh and looking as if he was having the time of his life.

I considered getting up and giving him one, but something warned me off. I’ve knocked around this country for some time and I’ve seen plenty of tough greasers, but this party was something special. If I was going to do anything, I’d have to do it with a gun. That was the kind of guy he was and I didn’t have a gun with me

That didn’t put Myra off. She gave him a look that would have stopped a runaway horse and said, “Go jump into a lake, you fat sissy; if one won’t hold you, jump into two.”

You could have heard a feather settle on the ground.

The fat party stopped laughing. “You’ve got a very big mouth, little rabbit,” he said. “You should be careful how you use it.”

Boy! Could that guy look mean?

“Get out of the sun, fat boy,” Myra said. “Before your dome melts. Take the air—drift— scram—dust off.”

The fat party put one hand under his sarape. I guess he was going after his arsenal, so I said quickly, “We don’t want any trouble, pal, we’re just going.”

But, he wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t even moving any more. He just stood like a great block of granite with his eyes sticking out of his head like long-stemmed toadstools.

I looked at Myra. She had her hands on the table and between her cupped fingers was the head of a little green snake. It darted its spade-shaped head in a striking movement and its forked tongue flickered in and out in a way that gave me the heebies. Then she opened her hands and the snake wasn’t there any more and she smiled at the fat party as if they’d known each other for a long time.

I wish you could have seen his face. One minute he was all brag, meanness and confidence and then, in a moment, he was a deflated bag of wind. He covered his eyes with his hand end then shook his head. He seemed to hitch himself together with an effort.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” she said to him. “Beat it. You’re using too much air.” Then the thin elderly Mexican came out quickly and said something to the fat party. He looked sick as he pointed down the road.

The fat party followed his trembling finger and then glared over at us. “We meet again,” he said. “Especially will I meet the senorita. She has too big a mouth. I put a hornet in it and sew her lips together,” and he went quickly into the shop, leaving the thin elderly Mexican watching a cloud of dust that was coming up the road at a pretty fast lick towards us.

I eased my collar. “Did you get that line about the hornet?” I said. “And you had to crack wise with a guy like that.”

She picked up her hat. “Skip It,” she said. “He was as yellow as a canary.”

“I know. And I loved the way he sang,” I returned. “Come on, we’ll beat it too. I have a feeling that there’s a cloud of trouble heading our way.”

We hardly got to the car before a bunch of Federal soldiers came galloping up.

A little guy with a complexion like stale cream cheese pulled his horse over to us and slid to the ground. He was an officer by the look of his dirty uniform and he seemed excited.

I said, “Hello,” and automatically felt for my papers. But, he wasn’t interested in me. He asked if we had seen a big fat guy anywhere around.

Myra opened her mouth, but I stumbled against her. My elbow hit her in the wind and that held her.

“No one around here,” I said. “Maybe some one else has seen him. Have you asked?”

The officer spat in the dust. “They said he was here. Not five minutes ago,” he said, fiddling with his revolver butt.

“Well, a lot can happen in five minutes,” I said. “Maybe he was in a hurry. Who was he anyway?”

But the officer had lost interest in me and went over to the thin, elderly Mexican. I shoved Myra into the car and got in myself. I wanted to put a lot of space between me and likely trouble.

Myra had got her breath back. “Why didn’t you tell him?” she demanded. “You’re riot scared of him, are you?”

“It’s not a matter of being scared,” I said starting the engine and throwing in the clutch.

“I’ve been around in this country long enough never to interfere with anyone. It’s paid me pretty well up to now, and I’m seeing that it continues to do so.”

I sent the car snarling towards Orizaba.

Myra began to laugh. “Did you see that fat boy’s face when I did the snake trick?”

“I did,” I said grimly. “And I heard what he said about the hornet.”

“So what? You don’t think that means anything, do you?”

“I know it does,” I replied. “A guy like that would do just that little thing and think nothing of it. The next time we meet, I’m going to shoot him first and apologize after.”

The idea seemed to shock her and we went back to the hotel without saying another word. Bogle was sitting on the verandah drinking beer and he waved to us as we came up the steps. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, putting his mug on the table and getting up. “Doc’s worried sick. He thought you’d walked out on him.”

Myra said, “Hello, Samuel. You ought to keep in the shade. The light’s a little too hard on you.”

Bogle watched her disappear into the hotel He scowled at me. “One of these days she’ll shoot her mouth off once too often,” he said darkly. “Don’t that prove you can’t be too careful in picking a blonde? I knew a dame once with hair just like hers. Got the nicest mouth I’ve ever listened to. You oughta hear the drippy names she used to call me. You’d’ve been surprised.”

It surprised me that Bogle had a sentimental streak in his make-up, but I didn’t tell him so.

“Your love life bores me,” I said, grinning at him. “Never mind about the drippy names. They won’t get you any place. Where’s Doc?”

Bogle sniffed. “Oh, he’s feeding his face. I didn’t feel hungry, but maybe I’d better do something about it now.”

“Come and feed with me,” I said. “No sense in eating alone”

Bogle brooded darkly. “I’d rather eat alone than with that blonde wise guy,” he said at last.

“I’ll wait. When I sit down to a meal I like to enjoy myself.”

“If that’s how you feel,” I returned and moved towards the lounge.

Just then a kid came quietly up the verandah steps. He was a little Indian boy, very dirty, wearing a dirty white shirt and a pair of ragged trousers. He carried a small wooden box In one of his grubby bands and he looked at Bogle with a calculating eye.

Bogle smirked at him. “Hullo, son,” he said. “Coming to have a talk with old Uncle Sam?” The kid stared at him thoughtfully with his head on one side and shuffled his bare feet on the verandah floor.

Bogle looked over at me. “I like kids,” he said simply, exploring his teeth with his finger nail. “This little punk’s all right, ain’t he?”

The kid shuffled a few paces nearer. “Shine, Johnny?” he said, hopefully.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” Bogle said, leering at him. “Come and tell Uncle Sam all about it.”

The kid didn’t seem full of confidence, but he put his box down and said again, “Shine, Johnny?”

Bogle stared at him. “Wadjer mean… shine?”

“He wants to shine your shoes, you dope,” I said, grinning. “He’s got beyond Uncle Samuel’s bedside chats for kiddies.”

Bogle looked disappointed. “Gee! I thought the kid was lonely.”

“Shine, Johnny?” the kid repeated monotonously.

“He’s got a one-track mind, ain’t he?” Bogle said, then seeing the kid was a bit restless, he waved his hand grandly. “Sure, help yourself, son,” and he stretched forward one of his great feet.

The kid flopped on the floor and began turning up Bogle’s trouser ends.

“Well, I’m hungry,” I said. “I’ll tell ’em to leave you something.”

“What’ll I give the little punk?” Bogle asked, watching the kid polishing away at his shoe.

“What you like,” I returned. “These kids ain’t particular.”

Another kid in a dirty red shirt came sidling up the steps. He took one look at Bogle and ran over and shoved White Shirt out of the way.

Bogle blinked. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, as Red Shirt began to lay out his shining materials.

“You’ve got competition,” I said, feeling that I might enjoy this. I leaned against the wall and prepared to watch. From past experience I knew what leeches these kids were, once you encouraged them.

Bogle looked quite gratified. “I told you kids liked me,” he said, smirking. “They’ll even fight over me.”

He’d got something because White Shirt recovering from his surprise grabbed Red Shirt by the throat and put on squeeze.

Bogle was quite shocked. He dragged them apart and held them, one in each great fist.

“Hey!” he said. “This ain’t the way to behave. Now, listen, you two…”

Red Shirt kicked out at White Shirt and succeeded in landing a bone shattering smack on Bogle’s leg. Bogle let the kids go like they were red hot and clasped his leg with a grunt of anguish.

The two kids began to mix it all over the verandah.

“Holy Moses!” Bogle gasped. “Can’t you stop ’em?”

“Don’t bring me into It,” I said, watching the kids with interest. “I’ll just be the historian.” Bogle got to his feet and managed to separate the kids. “Shut up, you two!” he said fiercely.

“No fighting! Now, listen, you can do a shoe apiece. How’s that?”

Neither of them understood what he was saying, but they quieted down and looked at him with bright, intent eyes.

Bogle seemed pleased with his tactics. “See that?” he said, sitting down again. “I can handle kids. All you’ve got to do is reason with ’em.”

He was hardly in his seat when the two kids streaked at him and grabbed his right leg. They began thumping each other and dragging his leg backwards and forwards. Bogle hung on to the table, his eyes popping in alarm.

They struggled first one way and then another, worrying at his leg like a couple of bull terriers.

“Reason with ’em, Sam,” I said, weak with laughter.

He beat them off finally with his hat and they stood back, breathing heavily. If he’d’ve been a nice juicy pork chop with a little frill at the end of it, they couldn’t have eyed him with more interest.

As they edged towards him again, he raised his hat threateningly. “Keep off, you punks,” he growled, then catching my eye, what the hell do you find funny in this? Tell ’em to behave themselves.”

I came over and explained to the kids that they could each clean one of Bogle’s shoes and there was no need to fight about it.

They considered this for a moment, then they wanted to know if the payment would also be divided.

I referred this to Bogle.

“Aw, the hell with it” he said, losing patience. “Tell ’em to dust. I thought they were nice kids. Money’s all these brats think of. I don’t want to be bothered with ’em.”

“Hey! Where’s all this stuff about liking kids?” I said severely. “You’ll disappoint ’em, you know.”

Bogle fanned himself with his hat. “Iszatso?” he said violently. “What about me? They nearly broke my gawdamn leg.”

“Have it your own way,” I said and explained to the kids that Bogle had changed his mind. When it had sunk in, they started howling at the tops of their voices.

They even put my teeth on edge.

“Now, do you see what you’ve done?” I said.

“Get ’em out of here,” Bogle said, confused. “They’ll raise the whole neighbourhood.” Myra and Doc Ansell came running out.

“What’s going on?” Ansell asked, looking over the top of his sun glasses in surprise.

“Notin’,” Bogle said between his teeth. “Just a couple of kids bawling. That ain’t anything, is it?”

Myra looked at him with withering scorn. “So you even bully children, you big cheese,” she said indignantly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Bogle closed his eyes. “You again?” he said, tapping ominously on the table. “Every time I open my mouth, I get a broadcast from you. Listen, these kids want to shine my shoes. Well, I don’t want my shoes shined see? Does that call for anything from you?”

The kids stopped howling and looked at Myra hopefully. They sensed that she was on their side.

“And why don’t you want them shined?” Myra demanded. “Just look at them! They’re like exhumed coffins.”

Bogle loosened his collar. “I don’t care what they look like. I don’t want them shined,” he said, furiously. “If I want them shined, I’ll shine ’em myself.”

“How ridiculous!” Myra said. “I think you’re just being mean. You don’t want to pay these kids to shine your shoes. You want them to do it for nothing.”

Bogle picked up his pewter mug and flattened it between his hands. “I’ve changed my mind about having my shoes shined,” he said with a hiss.

“Changed your mind?” Myra repeated. “Who did you find crazy enough to swap with you?”

Bogle flexed his fingers. He seemed to have developed acute asthma.

“There’s no need to lose our tempers,” Ansell joined in, soothingly. “If Bogle doesn’t want his shoes shined, then there’s nothing more to be said. We came out because we thought someone was being hurt. Come along, Myra, well go back to our meal.”

“You might do those kids a lot of harm if you frustrate them,” Myra said warmly. “Haven’t you ever heard of repression?”

Bogle blinked at her.

“I wouldn’t have it on toy conscience,” Myra went on. “All for the sake of a peso. Don’t tell me you can’t afford it or have you a hole in your sock?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bogle said, becoming dazed. “Why don’t I let ’em shine them? What do I care? Let ’em do anything.”

“There now,” Myra said. “After all this fuss.” She smiled at the two kids and pointed to Bogle’s shoes.

They were on him like terriers on a rat. I’ve never seen anything like it. Bogle, the two kids and the chair went over with a bang that made Bogle’s teeth rattle. The two kids fought Bogle, fought each other and went back and fought Bogle again. They pulled off one of his shoes and threw it into the Square. Then they twisted his toes.

Bogle just lay on his back making a humming noise like he had swallowed a bee.

The kids fastened onto his other shoe. They smeared blacking on themselves, on the floor and on Bogle. White Shirt got so excited that he jumped up and down on Bogle’s chest.

Myra and I just clung together and wept.

Ansell took off his glasses. “I do hope they’ll be careful,” he said mildly. “They’ll hurt him in a moment.”

As soon as White Shirt had got his breath back, he seized Bogle’s other leg. When he found the shoe was missing, he threw it down and rushed at Red Shirt.

Red Shirt didn’t like the look in his eye, and tucking Bogle’s foot under his arm, he tore off in a circle, spinning Bogle round like a top.

Then quite suddenly they both seemed to lose interest in their work and they quit. Maybe, they thought they were giving too much value for money. They stopped rushing round in circles, looked at each other, nodded, regarded Bogle without interest and then put their shining materials away. They stood over Bogle, smiling at him, with two grubby hands held out for payment.

“You’d better pay ’em,” I said weakly. “Or they might start all over again.”

Hastily he dug out a few coins which he threw at the kids. While they were chasing the money, he got painfully to his feet and inspected a long tear in his trousers.

“Don’t worry about that, Samuel,” Myra said. “It was time you got yourself a new suit anyway.”

Bogle gave her a blank look. Then he limped painfully across the verandah, into the Square and collected his other shoe. He put it on and regarded his feet with a sour eye. Before, his shoes certainly had looked dusty. Now they looked ready for the ash can.

“I hope you’re all satisfied,” he said, in a low, strangled voice.

“Just look at those kids,” Myra said, wiping her eyes. “They’re as happy as larks.”

“Yeah,” Bogle said, creeping back slowly on to the verandah. “As happy as larks.”

Myra heaved a contented sigh. “Well, I enjoyed that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. You ought to be pleased you made those kids happy, Samuel. You’re quite a nice piece of cheese after all.”

She waved to the two kids who were standing watching with bright eyes and then she turned to go back into the lounge.

Bogle took out a silver peso and held it up so the kids could see it, then with a tired but triumphant gleam in his eyes he pointed to Myra’s shoes.

They were off the mark like a streak of lightning. Myra hadn’t even time to run for it. She gave a wail of terror and then her legs flew up and she came down on the floor with a jar that sounded like music in Bogle’s ears.

She disappeared under the two kids.

Bogle sat down and relaxed. There was a sharp, ripping sound of tearing linen. It seemed to do Bogle a power of good. For the first time, since I met him, he looked happy.

“Make a good job of it,” he said airily, and then catching my eye, he added, “Didn’t I tell you they were all right little punks?”

Chapter SIX

THE next two days kept me pretty busy. We had decided to go to Pepoztlan on the following Thursday which was just three days ahead of us. There was a lot to arrange. We had to get Myra a dress that would make her look like a Sun Virgin. That had to come from Mexico City and after some trouble Juden got it for us. I reckon his nurse friend had a hand in getting it, because I’m sure Juden would never have found such a humdinger by himself. Even Myra was pleased.

The dress was a cross between a nightgown and an Aimee McPherson surplice. It was simple, but it fitted her and she looked swell in it. There’s nothing like white silk to set off blonde hair and Myra looked like she had never said a bad word or done a bad deed when she got it on.

“That kid looks like a saint,” Doc said to me when she had gone to take it off. The old guy was nearly crying. “She looks like a saint.”

“If you mean a Saint Bernard, I’m with you,” Bogle grunted. “That camouflage don’t pull wool over my eyes.”

I didn’t worry what Bogle thought. He didn’t count. Ansell was right. Myra looked the part and if she didn’t startle this Indian fella then I’d give up.

Apart from fixing her up, rehearsing her in the part and choosing a few good showy tricks out of her repertoire, I had to fix the kidnapping angle.

This wasn’t so easy. I wasn’t going to let either Ansell or Bogle in on this. I had to find an excuse so that I could get into touch with this Mexican I knew and wise him up what was wanted.

Once I got hold of him, it was easy. He jumped at the idea. I’d known him for some time. His name was Bastino and he was lust a small-time bandit who got nowhere. I’d done him a good turn once and I knew I could trust him. All he had to do was to kidnap Myra from the inn where I had arranged for us to stay at Pepoztlan after she had returned from her trip to Quinti. I fixed everything and promised to let him know just when to pull it off. I gave him a hundred bucks as a down payment and promised him another three hundred if he pulled it off.

The set-up looked sweet to me. But, on the morning that we were to move to Pepoztlan, something happened t6t altered the whole plan.

We were just getting into the car when a guy from the Post Office came running over with his eyes popping out of his head.

“Now, what’s the trouble?” I said, going halfway to meet him.

He gave me a telegram and stood back, watching my face with excited interest. I shoved a half a buck into his hand and returned to the car, opening the telegram as I walked.

It was from Juden. When I read what he had to say, I cursed softly under my breath. The other three watched me.

“This tears it,” I said, leaning into the car. “Revolution’s broken out in the hills and I’ve got to cover it.”

“What do you mean… revolution?” Ansell said, sharply.

“Another uprising,” I said in disgust. “Can’t these guys keep the peace for five minutes? A bunch of bandits swooped on some Federal troops and cut their heads off. Federal troops are on their way from the capital to deal with them. I’ve got to get over there and give a report on the battle. It may last a week.” “You can’t do that,” Ansell protested. “I’ve fixed everything with Quintl. If we don’t loose Myra on him now, we’ll never do it.”

I thought for a moment. He was right. But, on the other hand, I’d got to look after the Recorder. The great American public would want to hear more about these Federal soldiers who had had their heads cut off. You don’t read about a little thing like that every day.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said. “But you’ll have to do this without me. It’s simple enough and I think I ought to be through in a few days. I’ll meet you at Pepoztlan. Get Myra to see this Quintl and then wait at the inn for me. Okay?”

Myra said, “So you’re going to walk out on me after all?”

“Now, don’t make it difficult,” I pleaded. “You’ll do fine. I know you will.” I put my hand on hers, “And wait for me, kid, I want to see you again.”

“If you ain’t in a hurry, I’ll get out and heave up,” Bogle said, grimacing in disgust. “This sloppy talk gives me a pain.”

That seemed to settle it. Myra, her face hardening, started the Cadillac. “Okay,” she said.

“Run after your stupid little revolution. Do you think I care?” and she drove away fast, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

That was that.

As I might have expected, the Federal troops made a mess of it. When they got to the place where their comrades had been decapitated there was no sign of the bandits and no sign of any bodies. I wasted a couple of days riding around with them, and then they got sick of it and gave up. All I got out of it was a photograph of the place and a dreary report of the unsuccessful hunt. I sent those off, said good-bye to the Captain of the troop who seemed glad to see me go and rode over to Pepoztlan as fast as I could go.

Pepoztlan was a tiny village on the mountain side. The main road had been hewn out of the mountain itself and the few houses of pink stone overlooked the exposed plateau beyond which lay the Indian settlement.

I found Ansell and Bogle resting in the shade at the inn. It wasn’t much of a place, but the wine was good and they did manage to carve up an occasional chicken. I’d been there before, so I knew more or less what I was in for.

I arrived on Saturday afternoon. Since Myra was to see Quintl on the previous Thursday, I thought the whole thing had been settled. My next immediate job was to get in touch with Bastino and fix the kidnapping.

It came as a surprise when I rode into the patio to find only Ansell and Bogle there.

I slid off my horse, tossed the reins to an Indian and went over to them.

“Where’s Myra?” I asked and I admit I felt anxious.

Both Ansell and Bogle looked a little sheepish. It was Ansell who did the talking. “She’s still there,” he said. “Sit down and have a drink.”

“Yeah, this is real tiger’s breath,” Bogle said, filling a horn mug and shoving it into my hand.

“What do you mean… she’s still there?”

“She’s made a hit with Quintl,” Ansell said uneasily. “They wanted her to stay.”

I looked from one to the other, “I don’t get it. How long do you think she’s going to stay there?”

Bogle took off his hat and scratched his head, “Brother,” he said, “them Indians scared the pants off me. I didn’t want to argue with them.”

“Quiet, Bogle,” Ansell said sharply. “Let me explain.”

“You’d better,” I said, feeling mad. “What the hell’s been happening?”

“The truth is, she overdid it!’ Ansell said. “I warned her, but she kept pulling tricks and I guess the Indians fell for her. They think she’s a reincarnated goddess.”

“So what?”

“They won’t let her go,” Ansell said miserably. “We tried to get her away, but they got nasty about it.”

“Knives,” Bogle said, with a little shiver. “Great big knives as long as my arm. I tell you, Bud, they scared me.”

“So you left her, eh?” I said, feeling blood pounding in my ears. “That was a swell thing to do. What sort of men are you—you yellow-gutted monkeys!”

Ansell mopped his face with his handkerchief. “I was waiting for you to come and then I thought we’d turn out the Federal troops,” he explained.

“They’ll take a month to get going,” I said angrily. “I thought you knew this Indian. Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t trust him?”

“It’s not that,” Ansell said quickly. “I’d trust him with my life. It was her fault. You ought to have seen the tricks she did. They were remarkable. I’ve never seen…”

I got to my feet. “We’re getting guns and we’re going right over there and we’ll bring her back. Do you get it?”

Bogle’s eyes popped. “Just the three of us?” he said faintly.

“Just the three of us,” I returned. “Get horses, while I get the guns.”

“You heard what I said about the knives?” Bogle said. “Great big stickers, as long as my arm.”

“I heard,” I returned. “We got this girl into the mess. We’ll get her out of it.”

I left them and dug out the innkeeper. “What have you got in the way of guns, pal?” I asked, after we had shaken hands and patted each other.

“Guns?” His little eyes widened, then seeing my look, he grinned. “More trouble, senor?” he said. “Always trouble with the white senor.”

“Slow up on the chatter and give me some action,” I said shoving him towards the house.

I got action and I got three express rifles and three .38 automatics.

By the time I got back the other two had found horses. I gave than a gun and automatic each and then climbed on to my horse.

“You wouldn’t like to put it off until to-morrow?” Ansell said hopefully. “It’s going to be hot on the plateau right now.”

“It’ll be hot all right,” I said and rode out of the patio. The way to the Indian settlement lay across the exposed plateau which was broken only by patches of forest. There was hardly any shade.

After an hour of heat and flies we came to the Indian village. The sordid settlement shocked me. There were six mud huts, thatched with banana leaves. They stood forlornly in the bright sunlight and the whole place seemed deserted.

I jerked my horse to a standstill and sat staring at the huts. Doc and Bogle came up and halted their animals by my side.

“Is this it?” I said. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yeah,” Bogle said, wrinkling his nose. “Not like Palm Beach, is it?” He rested his arms on the saddle and leaned forward. “Not the kind of glamour parlour Goldiocks is used to.”

“Button up!” I said, feeling furious with Ansell for even bringing Myra to such a dump, let alone leaving her here. If I’d gone with them, we wouldn’t have gone through with it.

Ansell slid off his horse and walked slowly down the beaten path between the huts. Neither

Bogle nor I moved. We sat, with our rifles forward, watching him.

“No one about,” Ansell said, coming back. “Maybe they’re hunting or something.”

In spite of the heat, I suddenly felt my flesh creep, as if a cold hand had touched me.

“You’d better find her,” I said quietly.

“Quintl’s got a place further in the forest,” Ansell said, urging his horse forward.

We followed him.

At the edge of the forest, amid scrub and stones, stood a solid little building made of grey rock.

“This is it,” Ansell said, dismounting.

Bogle looked round. “This ain’t a country to live in,” he said uneasily. “There’s something about this dump I don’t like. Do you feel it, Bud?”

“Don’t be a damned baby,” I said sharply, although I, too, disliked the dank atmosphere of the settlement. I guess it was the complete tillness and the silence that gave me the jumps. Even the trees were motionless.

I dismounted and walked up to the rotten wooden door of the building and thumped on it with my clenched list. The heavy silence was broken only by the sound of my fist.

I stopped and listened. Sweat ran down my face with the exertion of beating on the door. Ansell and Bogle stood a few yards behind me, watching.

“There’s no one there,” I said, stepping back. “They’ve taken her away.”

“I can smell something like a dead horse,” Bogle said suddenly, and he began drawing great breaths of air through his nose.

Ansell said: “For God’s sake, keep quiet.” He joined me at the door. “There must be someone there,” he went on, pressing against the door. “There’s no lock. It’s bolted on the inside.”

I drew back and aimed a kick at the door. It shivered but held firm. I don’t know why it was, but I suddenly felt scared. I felt that something was going to happen over which I had no control, but in spite of this I was going to get into that hut.

I turned to Bogle, “Get off that damned horse and help me, you useless punk.”

Glad to have something to do, Bogle hurriedly dismounted and came over. He examined the door and then drawing back, he crashed his shoulder against it. The door creaked loudly and Bogle’s second charge shattered the bolt and the door crashed open.

A violent, nauseating smell seeped out of the hut. We staggered back before it.

“What is it?” I said, holding my hand over my mouth and nose.

“Someone’s been dead in there for quite a time,” Ansell said, his face going pale.

Bogle turned green, “I gotta weak stomach,” he wailed, sitting down abruptly on the grass.

“I can’t stand this. I’m going to heave.”

I glared round at Ansell. “She’s not dead, is she?” I said.

“Don’t get excited,” Ansell said, struggling with his own nausea. “You wait here. I’ll go in.” He drew a deep breath and peered timidly into the darkness. His eyes, dazzled by the bright sunlight, could see nothing.

I shoved him aside. “Get out of my way,” I said, and walked into the awful, stinking oven of darkness.

I stood just inside the room, breathing through my mouth, feeling the sweat running from me. At first, I couldn’t see anything, then as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I made out a figure sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall. It was Quintl.

The old Indian was wrapped in a dirty blanket. His head was sunk low on his chest and his hands lay stiffly on the mud floor. I fumbled for a match and with a shaky hand, I scratched a light from the rock wall. Moving forward, I peered down at the Indian, holding the little flame high above my head.

The whole of Quintl’s face moved in putrefaction. Even the hair on his head seethed with putrefying life.

I started back, dropped the match and half blundered to the door. I had never seen such a disgusting, sickening sight and it seemed to draw my nerves into tight, writhing wires.

I stood gulping in the doorway, too sick even to speak. Ansell shook my arm. “What is it?” he said, his voice was high pitched. “What are you looking like that for?”

“It’s the Indian,” I said, trying to control my heaving fluttering stomach. “He’s dead. Don’t look at him. It’s the filthiest thing I’ve seen.” I looked back into the darkness, my heart pounding against my side. “Where’s Myra? There’s no one in there—just the old Indian.”

“There’s another room,” Ansell said, “Look, over to the right.”

I fumbled for another match, struck it and went into the room again. I didn’t look at the Indian. I could just see a dark opening at the far end of the room and I walked slowly towards it. Ansell followed me.

I paused at the doorway and peered in. The light from the match pierced the thick darkness for a few feet. I moved forward slowly and I stopped just by the door. The flame of the match flickered and went out.

I had a sudden feeling that this wasn’t real. It was like a nightmare of ghostly unknown things that pressed round me in the darkness. If I had been alone, I should have run away. I should have turned and stumbled into the bright sunlight and I would never have gone back into that ghastly, frightening darkness. But Ansell was behind me. I could feel his hand on my arm and somehow I felt I could stand there with him so close to me.

“Do you hear anything?” he whispered.

I listened. The silence was so complete that all I could hear was the pounding of my heart and the little hurried gasps from Ansell.

I fumbled for a match and the bright flame lit the mom for a moment, then it died down and the shadows closed in on me again.

In that moment of light I had seen a long starved shadow glide away from the light of the match. It was soundless, like a frightened spirit, and when the flame flickered and went out I was scared.

“There’s someone in here,” I said. “Doc, where are you?”

“Take it easy,” Ansell said, again touching my arm. “I’m right behind you. Who was it?”

“I don’t know.” I found my hands were shaking so violently that I couldn’t strike another match. I pressed the box into Ansell’s fingers. “Get a light. There’s someone or something in here.”

“An animal?” Ansell whispered, his voice quavered.

“I don’t know,” I said between my teeth and drew the .38. The match flared up. For a brief second, we again had a clear view of the room. Myra lay on a stretcher bed. Her eyes were closed and she was quite still. Something black and shapeless moved above her head, but as I stepped forward, it dissolved into dancing shadows made by the light of the match.

“Hold it higher,” I said.

I could see now. There was no one else in the room except ourselves and Myra.

I shall never forget that brief glimpse I had of her. In the white, sparkling dress, her hair draped over her shoulders, and her cold, bard little face uptilted towards the roof of the rock building, she looked like a beautiful Greek goddess.

But, right now, I hadn’t eyes for that. Fear had seized me and dug into my brain with chilly, steel fingers.

“There was someone in here,” I said, gripping Ansell’s arm. “I know there was. Where did he go? Doc, hold that match up. He must be somewhere here.”

Ansell paid no attention. He bent over Myra. “She’s all right,” he said in a dazed voice.

“She’s asleep! Asleep in this stink.” He shook her gently, but she did not open her eyes.

“Wake up!” he said, shaking her more roughly. “Wake up!”

I blundered over and pushed him away. Feverishly, I pulled Myra into a sitting position. Putting my arm under her knees, I swung her off the bed.

As I did so, something happened that I can never forget. Even now, I sit up in bed sometimes in a cold sweat when I dream about it. It had all the qualities of a bad nightmare.

As I pulled Myra off the bed, I felt something trying to get her away from me. It was as if Myra had become suddenly heavy and I couldn’t quite hold her any more. It was as if two long arms were holding my legs so that it was difficult to walk.

But, I struggled on somehow and yelling to Bogle to get the horses, I came reeling out into the sunshine holding Myra tightly against me.

Bogle had scrambled to his feet. His eyes, like poached eggs, showed his panic “What’s the matter?” he croaked.

Ansell shot out of the hut, white to the lips. He came running over to me and when he could get his breath he stammered: “Let me look at her.”

“You leave her alone,” I said. “You’ve done enough already. Here, Bogle, hold her while I mount.” I climbed up on to my horse and Bogle hoisted Myra on to the saddle.

“What’s the matter with her?” Bogle said. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

“I don’t know,” I said, wheeling away from him. “Let’s get out of here. If I have any more of this stink, I’ll go crazy.”

Kicking my horse into a canter, I rode out across the broad plateau. Ansell and Bogle followed closely behind me.

Once clear of the Indian village, I pulled up in the last of the shade before crossing the plateau. I slid to the ground, supporting Myra and made her as comfortable as I could under a tree.

“Take a look at her, Doc,” I said uneasily, holding her warm hand in mine.

Ansell came and knelt beside me, while Bogle gathered the bridles of our horses and stood uneasily, shifting from one foot to the other.

“What’s the matter with her?” I asked. “Do something, will you?”

Ansell took her pulse, raised her eyelid and sat back on his heels. “She’s in some kind of trance,” he said slowly. “We’ll have to get her to bed as quickly as we can. There’s nothing I can do here.” He looked at her again and scratched his chin. “She’s quite normal. Pulse good, breathing regular.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to go on. The risk of sunstroke’s too great out here.”

“What’s been happening?” I said. “Why is she like this? What’s the explanation?”

Ansell stood up. “I don’t know. It’s no use talking now. We’ve got to get her back to the inn.”

I picked her up again. “Do you think she’ll stand the journey?”

“Don’t worry, man. I tell you there’s nothing the matter with her. She’s in a hypnotic trance. She’ll wake up in a few hours.”

I looked at him searchingly, saw the worried look in his eyes and I felt a chill of despair. “I hope you’re right,” I said and gave her to him to hold while I mounted.

The journey across the plateau was hard going. The beat cut into us and I found Myra’s weight exhausting, but we made it at last.

Myra was still unconscious when we reached the inn.

Bogle said uneasily: “I don’t like seeing her like that even though she’s a sour puss. It don’t seem natural.”

While he was helping me dismount, Ansell went on in and called the innkeeper. He came out in a few minutes. “They’re getting a room ready for her,” he said. “Bring her up. I’ll show you where it is.”

The innkeeper’s wife was waiting in a small, quiet room which was cool and shady and flowers stood on a table by the window.

I put Myra gently on the bed. “Look after her,” I said to the woman. “Get her to bed.”

Leaving Ansell to help the woman, I went downstairs and joined Bogle on the verandah. I ordered two large beers and then sat down a little wearily on the iron bench by Bogle’s side.

“Think she’ll be all right?” Bogle asked.

I was surprised at the concern in his voice.

“I guess so,” I said, not feeling much like talking. “I don’t know.”

There was a pause, then Bogle said: “What do you think was in that hut?”

I mopped my face and neck with my handkerchief. “I haven’t thought about it,” I returned shortly, because I didn’t want to think about it.

He fidgeted for a moment. “You don’t believe that witchcraft stuff Doc was talking about, do you?”

“Hell, no!”

He seemed relieved. “Do you think she’s got the snake-bite dope?”

I’d forgotten all about that. I sat up with a jerk. I remembered that I’d have Bastino on my hands to-morrow. He would be coming down from the hills to discuss the final move for the kidnapping. Thinking of Myra up there in that little room and seeing in my mind her white, strained face made the kidnapping impossible. I couldn’t submit her to another shock. Then, on the other hand, there was the 25,000 dollars I’d have to pass up and maybe get fired for queering Maddox’s stunt.

It seemed to me that I was in a sweet jam, all of a sudden.

Before I could begin to think about it, Ansell came down.

“How is she?” I asked, hurriedly getting to my feet.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Ansell said, sitting down. He snapped his fingers at the little Mexican girl who acted as waiter and pointed to my half-finished beer. “She’ll be okay in a couple of hours. She’s beginning to recover now.” He shook his head, “I can’t make this out. How did Quintl die? Was he wounded or anything?”

I grimaced. “I don’t even want to think about him,” I said. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

“I don’t know. In that heat, without ventilation, he need not have been dead very long.”

“Do you realize that this might affect her mind?” I said suddenly. “We’ve done a hell of a thing to that girl. There was something filthy in that hut. I swear there was someone in there when I looked into the room where she was lying.”

“It’s easy to imagine a thing like that in the light of a match,” Ansell said, quietly. “There was no one there except Myra. I looked. There was no place for anyone to hide.”

“I’m not explaining it, I’m telling you,” I said angrily. “I don’t like any of it. Do you know what? I feel we’re butting into something we don’t understand.”

The Mexican girl brought Ansell his beer and he took a long pull at it. “You’re on edge,” he said. “We’re not butting into anything. That’s no way to talk.”

I looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You’re lying, Doc,” I said evenly. “You’re as scared as I am. Only you haven’t got the guts to admit it. Something happened in that hut that killed the old Indian. Some power of evil’s loose. I felt it behind me all across the plateau. Just like someone was trying to get her away from me. Just like someone’s hands were pulling her out of the saddle.”

Bogle dropped his glass. “Wadjer mean?” he gasped, his eyes bolting out of his head.

“I wish I knew,” I said, kicking back my chair. “I’m going up to see her.”

I found Myra lying in bed. A small electric fan whirred busily just above her head and the blind was drawn against the hot afternoon sun.

I drew up a chair. As I sat down, she opened her eyes and blinked lazily.

I said: “Hello.”

A puzzled frown knitted her brow and she raised her head, looking at me. “Hello,” she said.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Oh, I just looked in,” I said, smiling at her. “You feeling all right?”

She pushed down the sheet and raised herself on her elbows. She was wearing a pair of Ansell’s pyjamas. They were a lot too big for her.

“Am I supposed to be ill?” she asked, then the caught sight of the pyjamas. “What in the world…?”

The puzzled expression changed to alarm. “How did I get into these? What’s been happening?”

“Don’t get excited,” I said. “You’re back in the inn again. We came and took you away from Quintl. You remember him?”

“Why, of course. Why did you take me away? Why didn’t I wake up?” She ran her slim fingers through her hair. What’s been happening? Don’t sit there looking like a tired sardine. Tell me.”

“We found you asleep and we couldn’t wake you. So we just carried you off.”

“You couldn’t wake me?”

“Suppose you tell me what happened to you. Then I’ll know where we are.”

She frowned, “Why, nothing happened to me,” she said. “At least, I don’t think so.” She pressed her eyelids with her fingers and frowned. “You know I really can’t remember. Isn’t that stupid? The old Indian rather frightened me. He liked my tricks. Oh, I gave him the show of my life. I was never better. I wish you could have seen his face. I was a tremendous success. Then he took me to a little rock building. I thought Doc and Samuel were following, but I didn’t see them again. He left me in this place and I was lonely. I really hated it, especially when it got dark. I lay on a kind of bed and went to sleep. I don’t remember anything else.”

I found a little trickle of sweat running down into my collar and I patted my neck with my handkerchief. “What happened the next day?” I asked.

“To-day, you mean? I’m telling you. I went to sleep and here I am.”

“I see. You don’t remember anything?”

She shook her head. “Nothing happened,” she repeated with a frown. “I just went to sleep.”

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” I said, watching her.

“Two days? Why, you’re crazy!”

Then seeing the way I looked at her she went on, “You wouldn’t kid me, would you?”

“No. I wouldn’t kid you,” I said.

She suddenly laughed. “Well, maybe I was tired. I feel kind of weak now. Will you leave me for a little while? I want to think and then I’d like something to eat.”

I got up. “Sure,” I said. “You take it easy.”

Ansell and Bogle looked at me anxiously when I got downstairs. “It’s no good,” I said.

“She doesn’t remember anything.”

“You don’t mean to say she just slept all the time?” Ansell demanded. “But what about the snake-bite remedy? What happened to that?”

“Aw, quit asking questions,” I said, suddenly sore, and I went into the kitchen to order her a meal.

When it was ready, Bogle met me in the passage as I came from the kitchen with a tray in my hands.

“Can I take that up to her?” he said, scowling at me fiercely.

“You?” I nearly dropped the tray.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Bogle demanded fiercely. “You and Dce’s been up, ain’t you? Why can’t I have a look?”

I grinned at him. “She’s not a bad kid, is she?” I said.

“Bad?” Bogle snatched the tray out of my hands. “That ain’t the word for it.” But he tiptoed up the stairs as if they were made of paper.

As I turned into the lounge, there was a sudden wild yell from upstairs and a crash of broken china.

Doc and I looked at each other in alarm and then we dashed for the stairs.

Bogle came blundering down the passage, his face white and his eyes bolting out of his head. He tried to pass us, but I grabbed him and spun him round.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I demanded, shaking him.

“Don’t go in there,” he quavered, sweat running down his fat face. “She’s floating round the room. Floating up to the ceiling,” and shoving me aside, he continued his mad flight.

“He’s gone crazy,” I said, staring after him. “What’s he mean, floating round the room?” Ansell didn’t say anything, but I could see by his eyes, he was scared.

Chapter SEVEN

“FLOATING in the air,” Myra said scornfully. “What kind of an imagination is that?” She was lying full length in a basket chair with her feet up. She still looked pale, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that l was glad to see.

The evening sun had sunk below the mountains and in the fading light, the verandah was quiet and restful. A cool wind rustled the scorched leaves of the overhead cypresses and the square was deserted. Ansell and I lolled in our chairs near Myra, while Bogle sat at the table, fondling a bottle half-filled with whisky.

“Drink’s going to be Samuel’s downfall,” Myra went on. “He can’t have his D.T.’s like an ordinary decent citizen. He has to be different. So he sees floating women instead of pink snakes.”

I looked across at Bogle. He worried me. Sitting in a heap, drinking whisky steadily, he looked like a man embarking on a long and serious illness. He kept shaking his head and muttering to himself and every now and then a muscle would flutter in his cheek and his eyes would twitch.

“Now, wait a minute,” I said. “He must have seen something to get him in that condition. A man doesn’t go to pieces like that for fun.”

“Phooey!” Myra snapped. “He’s trying to be temperamental. You came in two minutes after he’d rushed out. You didn’t see me floating in the air, did you?”

“I wouldn’t be sitting here, if I had,” I said with a grin. “I’d be running somewhere in the desert.”

“Well, there you are,” Myra said. “He’s suffering from delusions.”

“Suppose you go over your story again, Sam?” Ansell said kindly.

Bogle gave a little shiver and poured himself out another drink “I’ll go screwy if I even think about it,” he said in husky voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Myra told him. “You’re as far gone as you ever will be. After all, there is a limit even to lunacy.”

Bogle screwed up his fists and faced us. “I don’t care what you punks say,” he snarled. “I believe my own peepers. I went into that room and there she was lying on the bed. I didn’t even have time to ask her how she was when she suddenly rose off the bed with the blanket over her and floated up to the ceiling, stiff, like she was held up by wires.”

We all exchanged glances.

“She just floated off the bed, eh?” I said. “You’ve never seen anyone else just float off a bed before, have you?”

Bogle shook his head. “No,” he said simply, “I ain’t and what’s more, I don’t ever want to see it again.”

Ansell said in a low voice to me: “Sun stroke.”

I nodded. “Now, look pal,” I said. “We’ve had a pretty hard day. Suppose you go to bed? You’ll be fine to-morrow.”

Bogle groaned. “Do you think I’ll ever be able to sleep again?” he said, pouring himself out another whisky.

Myra swung her feet to the ground and stood up. She was wearing a dark blue shirt and a pair of grey flannel trousers. The outfit certainly suited her neat little figure. She walked over to Bogle and took the whisky away from him.

“Go on,” she said. “Get off to bed or I’ll do more than float over you.”

Bogle shrank away from her. “Don’t come near me,” he said in horror.

“Leave him alone,” Ansell said. “It looks to me as if he were suffering from delayed shock.”

Myra hesitated, then keeping the whisky bottle she moved back to her chair.

I snapped the bottle out of her hand as she passed. “I’ll have what’s left,” I said and took a long pull from the bottle.

Myra sat down again. “Well, we’re right where we started, aren’t we?” she said. “We’ve spent the best part of an hour listening to Samuel’s drivel about floating women.”

“Yeah,” I said. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“What I want to know,” Ansell said, sitting up, “is what happened in that hut? Did you or did you not get anything out of Quintl?”

“Of course, I didn’t,” Myra said. “I’ve told you over and over again. He put me in a hut and I went to sleep. I don’t remember a thing.”

“Well, that’s that,” I said dismally. “You can kiss your snake-bite remedy good-bye. Now Quintl’s dead no one will have it.”

“It looks like it,” Ansell said. “And yet… why was he in the hut with her? She was alone when she went to sleep, yet we find Quintl with her when we break in. There’s something behind all this.” He scratched his chin, staring at Myra with questioning eyes. “You don’t feel any different, do you?” he asked cautiously.

“You mean do I want to start floating or something like that?” Myra asked tartly. “Are you going nuts, too?”

“Maybe there’s something in what Bogle said,” Ansell went on. “Maybe he wasn’t mistaken.”

“A pair of them,” Myra said to me. “Good Lord! Put them in strait jackets.”

I stared at Ansell in alarm. “What are you getting at?”

Before he could reply a party of horsemen rode into the Square, scattering dust and breaking the stillness of the evening.

“What’s this?” Myra asked, looking over her shoulder at the dark group of horsemen. “A rodeo?”

I sat up in alarm. One of the horsemen was immensely tall and fat. That was enough for me.

“Quick, Doc,” I said. “Get inside and phone for the Federal troops. These guys are bandits.”

Ansell stiffened in alarm. “What do you mean?” he asked, sitting like a paralysed rabbit.

“Okay, okay, stay where you are. They’ve seen us.”

Myra looked at me blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Hornets, my pet,” I said grimly, and she caught her breath in a little gasp.

From the group of sixteen men, three detached themselves and walked towards the verandah steps. The others remained with the horses, watching. One of the three men was immensely fat and tall. He walked just ahead of the other two. He came up the verandah steps that creaked under his weight.

It was the fat party we had met on the mountain road and he had a mean look on his dark greasy face as he stood under the lamp, looking at us. Particularly he looked at Myra. Then he took out a pale silk handkerchief and blew his nose. While he was doing this, his eyes remained on Myra’s face.

Myra eyed him up and down. She was in no way disturbed to meet him again.

“Haven’t we seen that fat boy before?” Myra said to me.

The fat party moved a little nearer. His companions remained in the shadows.

Bogle, suddenly feeling the hostile atmosphere, decided that he ought to assert himself.

“Lookin’ for anyone, pal?”

The fat party felt in his pocket. “Somewhere I had a very interesting notice,” he said.

“Now, where did I put it?” He fumbled again, frowning slightly.

“Try your paunch,” Myra said, lighting a cigarette and flipping the match into the darkness. I tapped her arm. “Would you mind keeping quiet?” I said pleadingly. “It’s not much to ask in these days of acute crisis.”

The fat man pulled out a crumpled newspaper and began smoothing it between his great hands. He peered at it and then at Myra. Then his face lit up and he actually smiled. It didn’t reassure me. You know how it would be if you met a snake and it smiled at you, it wouldn’t reassure you.

“Yes,” he said, “here it is. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

“He seems happy enough talking to himself,” Myra said, yawning. “Don’t you think we can go to bed?”

“I have a sneaking idea that before very long we’ll get involved in his monologue,” I said helplessly. “I think we ought to be as cautious as possible.”

Bogle blinked at the fat party, muttered to himself and then eased his great muscles. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Who’s this guy, anyway?”

“I am Pablo,” the fat party returned with a furtive look at Myra. “You are strangers to this country, you would not know me.”

Ansell started as if he’d been stung.

“Pablo,” Myra repeated. “Sounds like something to rub on your chest.”

The fat party smiled again. “The little man has heard of me. Is it not so, seńor?”

I’d heard of him, too, and when Ansell said “Yes” very feebly, I sympathized with him.

“Then tell your friends who I am,” Pablo went on. “Tell them that Pancho Villa and Zapata finished where I began. Tell them about my fortress in the mountains and of the men that have been bricked up in its walls. Tell them of the excellent fellows that work under me, and of the trains we have dynamited. Come, seńor, where is your tongue?”

Ansell looked round at us and nodded his head. “That’s the boy,” he said nervously.

“If Samuel will play the harmonica, we’ll give him a civic reception,” Myra said lightly.

“After which he’ll be presented with a little flag and a string beg to keep his silly looking hat in and then, with luck, we’ll all go to bed.”

I felt she wasn’t being exactly helpful.

Pablo played with his handkerchief. “It is Myra Shumway… that is the name, yes?”

“Fame at last,” Myra said, a little surprised. “How are you, Doctor Livingstone?”

“And you, seńor, Ross Millan?”

Bogle sat up. “I’m Sam Bogle,” he said. “Please to meet you.”

“Shut your mouth, you dog,” Pablo said, his eyes boring holes into Bogle, “or I will cut your tongue out.”

Bogle gaped at him. “Well, I’ll be…!” he gasped.

I kicked his chin under the table and told him to take it easy.

Pablo wandered over to the table, drew up a chair and sat down near Myra. He moved very lightly for his bulk.

Myra drew away from him.

“There is much to talk about,” he said, reaching for the jar of wine that stood on the table. He poured the sour red wine into Myra’s glass, then held the glass up to the light of the lamp.

“Your pretty mouth leaves marks,” he said smiling at Myra. “Your kisses could be dangerous,” and he shook with a spasm of laughter.

“Mind you don’t bust your corset,” Myra said, alarmed.

Pablo crushed the glass in his hand. The wine and glass splinters spattered the table. Bogle half started from his chair, but I again touched him under the table. I could have smacked Myra. Either she was being the dumbest of all blondes or else she had more guts than I and the rest of us put together. Whichever way it was, she was making things bad for us all.

The men in the Square made a move forward. Several of them dropped their hands to their gun butts.

Pablo wiped his hand on his handkerchief and looked with interest at the cut on his palm.

“That was careless of me,” he said, looking at Myra.

“Don’t apologize,” Myra returned. “I had a cousin who was also a mental defective. He had to have cast-iron feeding utensils. I dare say I could arrange the same thing for you at a cut rate.”

“When my women are insolent,” Pablo said dreamily, “I peg them out in the hot sun on an ant-hill.”

Myra twisted round, facing him. “But, I’m not your woman, fat boy,” she said. “You can take your little bandits out of here and feed them through a sausage machine.”

I said quickly: “Don’t mind her. That’s just her sense of humour.”

Pablo wrapped his handkerchief round his hand. “Very interesting sense of humour. If my woman talks like that I cut her tongue out. She loses her sense of humour very quick then.”

I felt it was time to take a more active part in the conversation. “Tell me, seńor, is there something particular that you wish to discuss with us?” I asked, offering him a cigarette from my case.

“Yes,” he said, waving away the cigarette. “Something very important” He picked up the newspaper which he had dropped on the floor. I recognized the Recorder. “You will see why I am interested in the seńorita,” and he spread the newspaper on the table.

I knew what was coming, but even then I hardly dared to look at the splash headlines that were smeared across the front page. Somehow, this thug had got hold of the issue containing Maddox’s story of the kidnapped blonde. There was a big shot of Myra and in the biggest type of all was the announcement about the 25,000-dollars reward.

“Brother,’ I thought. “Have you got to be smart to talk yourself out of this?’

Before I could stop her, Myra had snatched up the paper, while Bogle and Ansell crowded round her.

“That’s quite a good likeness of you they’ve got there,” I said carelessly. “I always thought the Recorder was unreliable, but this is the end. Kidnapped by bandits indeed. That is a laugh.”

Myra looked at me over the top of the paper. There was a disagreeable look in her eye.

“Isn’t it?” she said, between her teeth. “I’m suffocating with mirth.”

There was a long silence while the three of them went through the article, then Myra folded the paper with slow deliberation and put it on the table.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she said gently. “And I was going to call you by your first name!”

“But there is’ more,” Pablo said, picking at his great white teeth with his thumb nail.

“There is a man called Bastino who lives in the mountains. He is a good friend of mine. He tells me that he is to kidnap this young woman. Later it has been arranged for Seńor Millan to rescue her, but Seńor Millan says nothing to Bastino about the reward. He pays Bastino a mere three hundred dollars and Bastino feels sore about it. He comes to me and shows me the paper, so I think I had better do something about it.” He waved his fat hand. “So here I am.”

Myra looked at me. “What a lovely little serpent you’ve turned out to be,” she said with terrifying restraint. “You must let me know when your parents marry, I’ll send them a wreath.”

Even Ansell was looking at me with hurt eyes.

I eased my collar which threatened to strangle me. “It’s all a mistake,” I said hurriedly. “If you’ll just let me explain…”

“There is nothing to explain,” Pablo said. “I do the talking now.’

Myra turned on him furiously. “You keep your snout out of this. I’ve got something to say to this two-faced, double- crossing rattle-snake.”

“Now, don’t let us quarrel,” I said hastily. “You wouldn’t have come to any harm and I was keeping the reward as a surprise for you. Just think of all that money and how nice it’ll be to spend.”

“I’m thinking,” Myra said, tapping on the table. “I’m thinking what I’m going to do to you.”

Ansell broke in: “And what about us?” be demanded. “We weren’t going to be in this either.”

I drew myself up. “This is becoming sordid,” I said. “Here am I, trying to give the great American public an epic story and all you can do is to yap about money.”

“So you were not even interested in the reward?” Myra said, smiling at me. “You just wanted to give the great American public an epic story?”

“That’s all,” I said. “Why should I worry about a little thing like 25,000 dollars? I’m a newspaper man.”

“A minute,” Pablo said, “I have not finished. I take the seńorita now. Seńor Millan writes of the kidnapping. Then we discuss the reward.”

We all four stared at him. “You take the seńorita?” I said, suddenly realizing the spot we were in.

“Certainly,” Pablo returned, smiling at Myra. “The newspaper says she has been kidnapped, therefore I kidnap her. I shall hold her for ransom. I shall demand 50,000 dollars and you will pay. If there is much delay, I will send you her right ear and after three days I send you her left ear and then if I do not get the money, I send you a finger every day.”

Myra went a little pale. “That’ll make a swell headline in your rag,” she said to rue. “High rates for piecework or Blonde mailed in installments.”

I said: “I don’t think you’d better do that. It would mean U.S. reprisals. Maybe we’ll send troops as we did a few years ago when we chased Pancho into the mountains.”

Pablo laughed. “I go now,” he said, and reached out, taking Myra’s arm in his great hand. She spun round. “Take your greasy paw off me!” she flared. “Who do you think you are? You can’t scare me, you over-filled sausage!”

Pablo quaked with laughter. “Such spirit,” he said and hit her across her face with the side of his hand.

She and the chair she was sitting on went over backwards. She sprawled on the ground.

The two Mexicans who had remained in the shadows, now pulled their guns and stepped forward. “Sit still,” one of them said to me. The other threatened Bogle and Ansell who had stiffened when Myra went over.

I felt myself go white and ignoring the gunmen I bent over Myra.

Pablo hit me on the back of my neck with the jar of wine. The jar splintered and the wine splashed Myra’s shirt. I found myself on my hands and knees and white hot lights seemed to be exploding in my head.

I heard Pablo laughing a long way away and then I shook my head clear and got to my feet. Myra clutched at me. “Are you hurt?” she asked anxiously.

Before I could assure her, Pablo reached out and jerked her round to face him. “Never, mind him, my little rabbit,” he said, drawing her towards him. “Now I am here, I like to have all your attention.”

Myra caught her breath sharply. She moved in quickly and drove her clenched fist into the middle of his face.

One of the Mexican gunmen kicked her legs from under her. She hit the wooden floor of the verandah with a thud that shook the breath out of her body.

Pablo started to his feet, hissing like a snake. A patch of split skin just by his thick nose showed where Myra had hit him.

“Go for ’em, Sam,” I bawled. And we both went into action together.

With a roar, Bogle tossed the table at the nearest gunman who was covering him. The gun went off; the slug shearing a furrow in the table. I jumped the gunman who had tripped Myra before he could regain his balance. We crashed over, almost on top of Myra.

Ansell who dodged into a neutral corner said afterwards that it was a pretty good scrap. While I was trying to pin my greaser, Pablo got hurriedly to his feet, tittering with excitement. “Come,” he shouted to the other Mexicans in the Square. “They want to fight.”

Sam had closed with the other gunman. Grabbing him round his waist he tossed him into the middle of the surging Mexicans below.

I got a grip on my man’s hair and hammered his head on the boards. He seemed to have a soft head because he went out like a light. As I got up, I heard Myra scream. The Mexicans were pouring up on to the verandah.

Pablo grabbed Myra. She fought him, kicking and scratching like a wild cat, but he handled her effortlessly. He didn’t even get up from his chair. He captured her hands in one of his, grinding and squeezing her fingers. White and furious, she dragged away from him, kicking at him wildly.

Giggling with excitement, he suddenly gave her a jerk. She came forward as if she had been shot from a cannon and thudded against him. With his free hand, he twined his great fingers, in her hair and pulled her head back steadily until Doc thought he was going to break her neck.

“If you had longer ears, I would pull them for you, too, little rabbit,” he said, grinning at her. “Go down on your knees,” and he forced her on to the boards.

Sam suddenly emerged from the heap of men. He looked like a massive bear attacked by wolves. He hadn’t had a fight like this in years. With three men clinging to his legs, and a little greaser on his back, he stared round, looking for Myra. When he saw what Pablo was doing, he gave a great roar of fury. Bending down, he clubbed at the men holding his legs. His great fists, like two rocks, smashed down on their upturned faces. The greaser on his back redoubled his efforts, biting, scratching and thumping. Bogle didn’t even notice him. He freed his legs, kicked the men clear and charged down on Pablo.

The little greaser shifted his hands and drove his fist into Bogle. Bogle bellowed like a wounded bull. One of his hands groped behind him and closed over the greaser’s face. His thick fingers began to squeeze. The greaser clawed at the steel fingers: Then Bogle suddenly threw him away. He crashed against the verandah rail and went limp.

In the meantime, I was under a pile of Mexicans and one of them caught me a smack under the chin and I went out like a light.

These Mexicans scrambled to their feet and made for Bogle, but they were a little late. Pablo found this immensely exciting and amusing. He dodged Bogle’s first charge, then as he came in again, Pablo snatched Myra up by her shirt-front, gripping her ankles in his other hand, he slammed her at Bogle like a battering rain. Bogle went over with a thud, clinging to Myra. By holding her close to him, he saved her the shock of landing on the wooden floor.

“Go for him, you dogs,” Pablo exclaimed, waving his men to Bogle.

The Mexicans piled on top of them.

Pablo skipped round the struggling mass of men, laughing until tears ran down his fat cheeks. He saw a leg and snatched at it. Pulling steadily he drew Myra out of the mass of kicking, flaying limbs. Before he could get her out, he had to drag away two Mexicans. This he did by seizing them one after the other by their hair and tossing them away as if they were kittens.

Myra came out of this struggling pile of men, more dead than alive. Leaving her on the floor, Pablo skipped back to the struggling men, ploughed his way down to Bogle.

The Mexicans got to their feet and drew off.

Pablo stirred Myra with his foot She opened her eyes and stared at him. “You were nearly skinned that time, little rabbit,” he said, quaking with laughter. “Ho! Ho! What excitement! What an evening! What beautiful fighting!”

He bent suddenly and knotted his fist in her shirt, then he heaved her to her feet .Holding her lightly, he walked across the verandah, straightened a chair and sat down. All the fight had gone out of Myra. He pulled her down on his knees. She just sat there limply, her head down and her face hidden by her hair.

The Mexicans gathered in a little bunch at the top of the steps. They talked excitedly together in whispers.

Bogle and I were still counting stars. Ansell edged further into his corner and hoped no one could notice him.

Myra suddenly began to struggle again. “Let me go, you fat toad,” she gasped.

Pablo giggled. “Of course, little rabbit,” he said and set her on her feet.

Without his supporting hand, her legs buckled and she nearly fell. He caught her as she was going over. “Come, come,” he jeered at her. “Where is your strength?”

Making an effort, she pushed him away and tottered over to me. As she came, I began to sit up. I saw her through a dazed mist.

“How are we doing?” I asked feebly as she sank down on her knees beside me. “Did we win or do we start fighting again?”

“We lost, you dope,” Myra said savagely. “Now, what do you think we’re going to do?”

I looked round, spotted the bunch of greasers standing on the verandah steps, blocking our exit, looked sadly at Bogle who was beginning to move and then over at Pablo.

“As soon as I get my second wind,” I said hurriedly, “we’ll start another little session. But you’ve got to beat it. Make for the woods. Once you’re there, you ought to be able to hide from them. Do you understand?”

“You don’t think I’m going to run out on you three, do you?” Myra demanded fiercely.

“We’re all in this together.”

“Famous last words,” I said, thinking it was pretty fine of her. “You get out and don’t be a little fool. They’ll give you hell when they start on you and besides who’s going to pay 50,000 dollars for you?”

“Why, you big drip!” Myra said angrily. “Wouldn’t you pay that for me?”

“Look out behind,” I said and tried to struggle to my feet. Pablo, losing patience, was coming over like an express train. He caught Myra before she could even begin to move.

“Now,” he said, shaking her, “we talk no more and we go!”

“Take your hands off me!” she sad furiously. “Do you hear? Get back into your skin, you fat sausage!”

Then it happened.

There was a sudden puff of white smoke that enveloped Pablo and when it had cleared away, he had vanished.

I had been watching the whole time. Pablo hadn’t run into the lounge. He hadn’t darted into the shadows. He had simply dissolved into smoke. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.

Myra backed away with a little cry, then she spun on her heel and ran to me. I held her while I watched the wisp of smoke trail slowly into the darkness.

You ought to have seen those Mexicans. They gave one look at us and then they stampeded for their horses. And what a stampede! The bigger greasers trampled on the smaller greasers in their mad panic to get off the verandah. In under four seconds, they and their horses were pounding out of Orizaba. The Square was deserted.

“What happened?” I asked, holding Myra tightly. In spite of my scare, I liked holding her tightly. She was the kind of girl to be held tightly and I was doing a swell job. “What in Pete’s name happened?”

Of course, Bogle had seen it all. “I can’t stand it,” he wailed, beating the floor with his fists.

“First, she floats in the air and now he disappears into smoke. I tell you, I can’t stand any more of it. I’m going nuts! Lemme get out of here. I wanta go home!”

“Quiet!” Ansell said, coming out of his corner. “Hold your noise!” He came over to Myra and me. “I saw what happened,” he went on in a low voice. “Now do you believe in witchcraft? He just vanished into smoke, didn’t he? You both saw it.” He looked at Myra searchingly. “What did you do?”

Myra shivered. “Do?” she said. “You’re not trying to pin this on me?”

“Of course, it’s you,” Ansell returned sharply. “I suspected it when Sam saw you floating. You’ve become a Naguale. Don’t you understand? Quintl did pass on his secrets to you without you knowing it. You have the Nagualism power of witchcraft.”

Myra backed away from him. Her eyes wide in horror. “I don’t believe it!” she said, then turning on me “Tell him he’s crazy! I won’t believe it!”

“Then what happened to him?” Ansell persisted. “Men don’t just vanish into smoke.”

“Maybe he’s hiding somewhere,” I said, looking round, but knowing that it was a waste of time. Then I suddenly saw something on the floor and I moved forward. “What’s this?” I said.

Under the table was the longest and most appetizing sausage I had ever seen. I picked it up.

“Where the devil did that come from?”

Myra took one look at it, gave a little moan and fell at my feet in a faint.

Ansell clutched my arm. “Didn’t you hear what she said?” he gasped, pointing a trembling finger at the sausage. “That’s Pablo. That’s all that’s left of Pablo.”

I dropped the sausage as if it had bitten me. “Am I going nutty or are you?” I demanded.

“She told him to get back into a sausage skin,” Ansell screamed, his eyes bolting out of his head. “She’s got the power to do it!”

“You’re mad!” I said backing away. “Such things can’t happen.”

Bogle came limping over and gaped at Doc. “What the hell are you squealing about?” he said, then looking down at Myra. “What she think she’s doing?”

I jerked my attention from the sausage to Myra. “I’ll take her inside,” I said, and picking her up I carried her into the lounge. When I had laid her on a couch, I yelled for Doc. “Come on,” I shouted. “Help me, will you?”

Ansell came in white and trembling. “I can’t believe it! It’s the most fantastic…”

“Aw, shut up!” I said roughly. “There’s plenty of time to talk when we’ve taken care of this kid. After all, we were in a damn tight spot before this happened. We should be grateful.”

It took some little time to bring Myra round. She opened her eyes at last and blinked unhappily up at me. “I’ve had such an awful dream,” he said sleepily. “Such an awful dream.”

“That’s all right,” I said soothingly. “You go to sleep. I’m right by your side, so there’s nothing to be soared about.”

She smiled at me and then closed her eyes again. In a moment she was breathing regularly.

“I’d be a hit as a father,” I said, pleased. “Did you see that piece of technique?”

Bogle came in. “How’s she doing?” he asked.

“She’s okay,” I said abruptly. “What have you done with the sausage? I want it in here.”

“I’ve given it to the innkeeper’s dawg,” Bogle said indifferently. “He’s a good dawg and I’ve been promising him something…”

“Given it to a dog?” I shouted, grabbing him by the arm.

“Why not?” Bogle said, on the offensive. “Want to make anything of it? Do you think it’s too good for a dawg?”

“Listen, you fat jerk,” I exclaimed. “That wasn’t a sausage. It was Pablo.”

Bogle’s eyes opened. “What was that?” he asked, starting.

“That sausage wasn’t a sausage at all. It was Pablo turned into a sausage,” I explained, trying to keep my voice down.

“The sausage wasn’t a sausage, it was Pablo?” Bogle repeated in a dazed voice. “Was that what you said?”

“Yes, you fat fool!”

“Iszatso? Well, it certainly looked like a sausage to me.”

“I don’t care what it looked like to you! It’s Pablo done up like a sausage.”

“Done up like a sausage?” Bogle’s eyes looked scared. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” I said savagely. “You don’t see at all. Where is the dog? Tell me that and we won’t argue.”

“You’d better take a look at this guy, Doc,” Bogle said to Ansell. “Something’s got loose in his dome.”

“Try to understand,” Ansell said. “Myra has turned Pablo into a sausage.”

A look of horror came into Bogle’s eyes. “You, too?” he whispered, backing away. “Don’t you think you guys ought to sit down or something?”

“I tell you Pablo’s in that sausage!” Ansell snapped. “You’ve got to get it back at once.” Bogle shivered. “Maybe I’m going bats, too,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe it ain’t you two but me. Maybe I’m just hearing voices in my brain.”

“What are you drivelling about?” I stormed at him.

“Someone keeps telling me that Pablo’s a sausage,” Bogle wailed. “I’ve gone nuts! I knew I’d go nuts and by God I’ve gone nuts!”

“I tell you, Pablo has been turned into a sausage,” Ansell hissed, pushing his face into Bogle’s. “Now will you do something about it, you large lump of useless blubber!”

Bogle closed his eyes and sat abruptly on the floor. “This is going to be a pretty sad day for my old lady,” he said, as if to himself. “I wouldn’t like to be the guy to tell her her only son’s gone bugs,” and he lay flat on his back and began making humming noises.

“Come on, Doc,” I said. “We’ve got to find the dog by ourselves.”

We didn’t have to go far. Just outside on the verandah there was an enormous wolfhound lying on the floor who glanced up with bored overfed eyes as we came out. There was no sign of the sausage. As we stood staring, the wolfhound dosed his eyes luxuriously and licked his chops.

“He’s eaten Pablo,” I said in a hushed, horrified voice. “That’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

Doc took off his hat and lowered his head.

Then a sudden thought struck me and I gripped his arm in alarm. “Doc!” I gasped. “Do you realize what this means? She’s got the whip hand over us all. We won’t be able to open our mouths.”

Doc put on his hat again and blinked at me. “What do you mean?” he asked, bewildered.

“Can’t you see what she can do if she decides she doesn’t like any of us?” I looked furtively over my shoulder, then lowering my face close to his, I whispered: “She might even turn you into a pork pie and give you to me for my lunch. How would you like that?”

Doc just fainted away in ray arms.

Chapter EIGHT

I WOKE the next morning to see the sun streaming through the grass blinds. I could hear the sing-song chatter of the Mexican waiters preparing breakfast in the patio below. I glanced at my wrist-watch. It was 6.40.

Not much use going to sleep again, so I reached for my cigarette case. Then I propped myself up in the hard little bed and brooded.

Once I got to thinking, I realized just how much there was to think about. It was terrific. In twenty-four hours the whole set-up had so completely changed that I was up the creek without a paddle. When planning a newspaper campaign, a modern newspaperman can’t take miracles into consideration. But, on the face of it, that was what I had to do. The kidnapped blonde story was as dead as a mummy. The blonde who could work miracles was front-page news. But how would Maddox react? I thought gloomily that he’d can me before I could give him a demonstration. On the other hand, of course, I might be able to persuade Myra to give him a little scare and get my job back.

What about Myra anyway? I couldn’t imagine either Ansell or myself persuading her against her will. It’d, take all my time, anyway, to keep on the right side of her. It wasn’t as if she were a soft cookie. She’d always been difficult and now with powers such as she possessed, she was going to be a definite menace.

I came out in a cold sweat when I thought of Pablo. His was a story that could never be written. There was no proof and no one would believe it. If I even hinted to Maddox what had happened he would have sent me to the booby-hatch. I wouldn’t blame him at that. So the Pablo episode had to be forgotten.

The next point was to find another approach to the kidnapping angle. How to make Maddox and Myra happy at the same time. Not easy. The 25,000-dollars reward complicated matters. I regretfully decided that I wasn’t going to see much of that. Knowing Myra, I was pretty certain that she’d grab all of it. I couldn’t see myself arguing about it either. What was 25,000 dollars if I were turned into a hamburger or a breast of chicken?

I ran my fingers through my hair. This was driving me screwy. I played with the idea of getting up, packing quietly and sneaking off to Mexico City. I’d lose my job, but at least, I’d be clear of the whole thing. The thought tempted me.

Then there was a light tap on my door and Myra came in. She was in flame-coloured pyjamas and a scarlet dressing gown. And as she stood in the diffused light, with the little bolts of sunlight in her hair, I thought she was the loveliest thing I’d seen for a long time.

She closed the door gently and leaned against it.

We looked at each other as if we had met for the first time and I was conscious of a new feeling for her. Up to now, she had been a subject to write about. But, seeing her there, her big eyes serious, the sun in her hair, the way she held her head, well, I guess she sent a tingle through my veins. At that moment, she came alive and looking back, now that it is all over, I guess that this was the time I really fell for her in a big way.

“I’m scared,” she said. “Something’s happened to me.”

I sat up on my elbow. “Come here,” I said. “What’s happened to you?” I didn’t like the bewildered look in her eyes and she seemed to have lost a lot of her confidence.

“I don’t know what it is,” she said, sitting on the end of the bed. “I feel—oh, I guess you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I won’t,” I said, reaching for the cigarettes and offering her one.

We didn’t say anything for a while. Smoke haze drifted in the sunbeams and the Mexican waiters chattered outside. Then she said: “It wasn’t a dream last night, was it?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I hoped it was,” she went on, tapping ashes on the floor. “I wish it all was a dream. It’s frightening.”

“I can’t tell you there’s nothing to be scared about,” I said, “All I can say is I’m sorry we got you into this mess.”

“I’ve been trying to remember what happened,” she said. “I’m putting it together, but it still doesn’t make sense. I can remember the old Indian more clearly. I can remember sitting in that little hut with him. We didn’t speak. We read each other’s minds. That was frightening. I couldn’t lie to him, you see. Not talking like that. I just had to keep my mind blank when I felt he was finding out too much about me. I still don’t know how far I succeeded. We talked with our minds for a long time. He told me a lot of things. I know that, but I can’t remember what they were. He gave me some horrible stuff to drink and after I’d got it down I remember seeing some black smoke coming from the corner of the hut. It was quite terrifying. There was no fire or anything, just the black smoke building up into a shadow. I thought at the time it looked like the shadow of a woman, but it was dark in the hut and I couldn’t be sure. But all he time we talked, the shadow was there, hovering close to me.”

I lit another cigarette. I felt there wasn’t much I could say, so I just lay there and listened.

“The shadow was behind Pablo, just before it happened,” she shuddered. “I’m scared even to think of anything now, in case something happens.”

“Snap out of it, kid,” I said reaching out and pulling her to me. I put ray arm round her and she stretched out with her head on my shoulder. I liked the smell of her hair and the feel of it against my face.

“But there’s something else,” she said in a small voice. I wondered what was coming. “Tell me,” I said.

“I don’t think you’ll understand,” she returned speaking reluctantly. “I don’t understand it myself. But, last night, when I got into bed, something happened to me. I thought I saw a shadowy figure get up from my bed and go out of the room. It—seemed to come from me. It—it looked like me, and when it had gone I felt different.”

“You were dreaming,” I said, patting her arm. “You’ve been through enough to have series of nightmares.”

“But, I feel different,” she repeated. “Oh, Ross, what is happening to me?”

“But, how different?” I turned so that I could look into her troubled eyes. “Don’t get in a panic, kid. What do you mean… different?”

“Oh, lighter, happier—as if I’d been through a mental bath and become clean. Oh, I don’t know how to tell you.”

“Well, if you feel happier, why worry?” I said, and kissed her.

She drew away quickly. “If you’re not going to concentrate, I’ll have to leave you,” she said severely.

“But, I am concentrating,” I said, with my mouth against her hair.

She pulled away, “No, you mustn’t,” she said. “I wish all this hadn’t happened.”

“You wait until you get that reward,” I said. “You’ll think differently then.”

“But, I don’t want it,” she returned emphatically. “That’s another thing I can’t understand. Yesterday, I was furious with you, but now—well, I just don’t want it. I can get along without it and besides, it’s not really honest.”

This shocked me. Something had happened to her.

“Not honest?” I repeated stupidly. “What’s the idea?”

“You know as well as I do,” she said impatiently, “I wasn’t rescued and you have no right to try to claim the reward.”

“This is too much for me,” I said, lying back. “Coming from you, that’s rich!”

Just then Bogle opened the verandah door and stuck his head round. “Don’t mind me, if you’re busy,” he said, leering at Myra. “I’m scared of my own company, this morning.”

“Come in, Sam,” I said wearily. “If you’ve any friends, bring ’em in too. I always work best when I’ve a room full of people.”

“There ain’t no one but me and Whisky,” Bogle said, coming in. He was followed by the wolfhound “Whisky’s taken a liking to me.”

Myra and I looked at the wolfhound uneasily. The dog clicked its teeth in an absent-minded kind of way and lay down near the bed. It eyed us with sleepy insolence and then stretched out with its head on Bogle’s boot.

“Whisky?” I repeated. “Is that its name?”

“That’s what I call him,” Bogle said. “He seems to like it and it’s the sort of name I wouldn’t easily forget. Nice dawg, ain’t he?”

“I don’t know,” I said, with some feeling. “Perhaps he is. I can’t forget that he ate Pablo. That rather preys on my mind.”

Bogle sneered, “Ate Pablo?” he said. “You’re nuts! He ate a sausage. You and Doc ought to have your ears blown out!”

I considered this. I thought if that was the only thing necessary how absurdly simple everything would be.

“Never mind, Sam,” I said. “You aren’t the only one who won’t believe it.”

While I was speaking, Whisky turned over on his back and folded his legs across his chest like a crab. His tail straightened and he closed his eyes.

Myra said quietly, “I don’t like that dog’s attitude. It’s unhealthy.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I returned, pulling the bedclothes a little higher. “But, it’s disturbing, if that’s what you mean.”

Bogle unfolded Whisky’s legs gently and turned him on his side. “Relax, fella,” he said.

“You can’t rest that way.”

Whisky opened one eye and looked at Bogle. Then he turned on his back and folded his legs over his chest again.

“Gawdamn it,” Bogle said. “Did you ever see such a dawg?” and he bustled forward to unfold Whisky’s legs again.

I suppose Whisky decided not to tolerate this interference. Opening one eye sharply, he regarded Bogle’s hands with a sour look and then thrusting his nose forward he clicked his teeth with a snap like a mouse-trap.

I guess Bogle thought he’d lost his hand. He didn’t dare look, but sat on the floor, breathing heavily until I had assured him that Whisky had missed him by an eighth of an inch. Then he removed himself to the far end of the room, where he sat in a chair and scowled at the dog.

“Listen,” I said. “Don’t think I’m unsociable. I’m not. I’ve always been sociable. I’m the guy they laughed at when I sat down at the piano. But, right now, my nerves are on edge and I’d like you and Whisky to take a little walk. I don’t want you to go far. I’d even stand for seeing you at a distance, but I can’t stand much more of your heavy breathing and the dog’s affected attitude. So, would you drift… the pair of you?”

“Every time you open your trap, you write a book,” Bogle said. “I’m waiting for Ansell. He’s coming to have a talk. Besides, I’ve ordered breakfast to be sent up. You’ve got the best room, ain’t you?”

“Well, Precious, you see how it is,” I said to Myra. “We’ll have to postpone our little talk. I just can’t keep my mind on anything so long as Whisky’s with us.”

Myra got off the bed and stretched. “I don’t think we would have got anywhere,” she said, a little wearily. “I’m afraid talking won’t help me.”

“Did you say you’d ordered breakfast?” I asked Bogle.

“Yeah,” Bogle’s face lit up. “Eggs and fruit and cawfee. I didn’t get much to eat last night. There was so much talking and shouting and people going off into faints.”

“You wouldn’t like to cover up Whisky, would you?” I said. “He really is getting on my nerves.”

“Maybe he ain’t well,” Bogle said, looking at the dog with puzzled eyes.”

“With Pablo inside him, I don’t wonder at it.”

Whisky rolled over on his side and looked at me. There was something strangely human about the expression in his eyes. “How right you are, old dog,” he said in a deep, guttural voice. “He lies like a rock on my stomach.”

“There you are,” I said to Sam. “I knew he couldn’t be well.” Then I clutched my pillow and looked at the dog in horror.

Myra stifled a scream and stood petrified, but Bogle didn’t seem to be moved.

“You know it sounded almost as if that dog spoke,” I said a little feverishly.

“Sure,” Sam returned. “What of it? He’s been talking to me half the night.”

“What of it?” I repeated, stupefied. “Have you ever heard a dog talk before?”

“Well, no, but then anything can happen in this country, can’t it? What I mean is if a parrot talks, why not a Mexican dog? “That’s the way I’ve been reasoning.” He suddenly noticed my strained expression and fear came into his eyes. “It ain’t possible? Dawgs don’t talk? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? This is another of these freak things… floating women… disappearing men… now talking dawgs?”

“Yeah, along those lines.”

“My Gawd! And I talked to it half the night!” Bogle shivered edging back in his chair and half raising his hand to protect himself.

“And a lot of rot you talked too,” the dog snapped. “Of all the illiterate, prissy-mouthed, dyed-in-the-wool nincompoops I’ve had to listen to, you take the biscuit.”

Myra said in a low voice, “I think I’ll go now. Somehow, I don’t feel like breakfast.”

“For goodness sake stay where you are,” Whisky said peevishly “There’s so much yapping in this hotel, I’m leading a dog’s life.”

“It wouldn’t be someone practising ventriloquism, I suppose?” I asked hopefully, feeling that any second I’d have to run out into the desert and keep running for some time. “Someone wouldn’t be trying to make fools of us?”

Whisky yawned. He had the most astonishing collection of fangs I’d ever seen. “To improve on your mothers’ efforts would be a difficult task,” he observed. “Just because I happen to talk your horrible language, there’s no need for you to behave like dolts.”

“Look, old fellow,” I said nervously. “Would you mind going away? It’s not that I don’t like you, but I’ve had all I can stand for one morning. Come back later on, will you? Maybe I’ll be adjusted to the idea by then.”

Whisky shook himself. “As a matter of fact I have something rather important to do,” he said, getting to his feet. “And besides, it’s time for my own breakfast.” He walked to the verandah door, his nails clicking on the polished floor. “I’ve got to see a dog about a man, if you’ll pardon the cliché,” and he strolled out on to the verandah and then disappeared out of sight.

There was a long silence while we endeavoured to recover.

“Like a nightmare, isn’t it?” I said, at last. “Maybe we’ll wake up and have a good laugh over this in a little while.”

“Naw,” Bogle said, mopping his face with his handkerchief, “I wouldn’t laugh at it even if it was a dream.”

“I’d rather have a disappearing man and a floating woman to a talking dog,” I said reflectively. “Do you think if we packed our bags and skipped, we’d be able to shake him off?”

“That dawg wants to stay with us,” Bogle said gloomily. “Anyway, that’s what he said last night.”

“Then I think you had better take him away and leave us to mourn for you,” Myra put in. “I don’t see why we should all be driven mad.”

Doc Ansell came in. He was looking a little tired, but there was a light of battle in his eye.

“There you are,” he said.

“Breakfast is on its way up. I want to talk to you all this morning. We’ve got to make plans.”

“Have you heard about the dog?” I asked.

Ansell sat down. “What dog?”

“The dog that ate Pablo,” I said. “He’s befriended Samuel.”

“Well, that’s all right,” Ansell looked at me sharply. “There’s nothing like a good dog to keep one company. You don’t object I hope?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But the dog talks. He’s just been in. He even makes little jokes like going to see a dog about a man. Whimsy stuff and he clicks his teeth.”

Ansell looked at me closely. “Talks,” he said. “What do you mean… talks??”

“Just that,” I returned, stretching out and making myself comfortable. “I thought you might have an explanation. I wish you could have heard him. At the moment, I’m suffering from general collapse.”

“I see,” Ansell said thoughtfully. “Well, maybe I will hear him. Actually, of course, I’m not at all surprised. I’ve been thinking things over and I’ve come to the conclusion that we mustn’t be surprised at whatever happens. You see Myra has now the full powers of Nagualism concentrated around her. It is likely to set off the most unlikely things.”

I smiled, “Oh, so Myra’s at the bottom of it, is she?”

“Why, certainly,” Doc returned. “None of you would believe me when I told you about the powers of the Naguales, you’re seeing for yourselves. The great thing, of course , is to try to control it. That’s really what I want to talk to Myra about.”

The little Mexican girl came in with a tray and put it on the table by my bed. It was quite a relief to see someone who looked completely normal and who hadn’t fear lurking in her eye.

When she had gone, and Myra had poured out the coffee, Ansell picked up his threads.

“Now look, young woman, I am perfectly convinced that you have unlimited powers. It’s no use your trying not to believe this. You’ve got to face it. Rather than let those powers control you, you’ve got to try to control them. I know a little about this business. I’ve studied it and I know that you can’t do things unless you’re in the right frame of mind. For instance, as you are now, relaxed and worried, you’ll never be able to evoke the powers. But, last night, when those bandits arrived you were frightened and without knowing it, you were in the right atmosphere to perform. There are no limits to what you can do. I don’t think you ought to waste your talents.”

Myra put down her coffee cup with sudden determination. “All I want is to get back to my normal life. And more than anything, I want to have some peace and quiet.”

Ansell sighed, “Disappointing,” he said, half to himself. “You don’t seem to realize that with your powers you could become mistress of the world. Haven’t you any ambition?”

“Not that kind of ambition, thank you,” Myra said shortly. “It’s no use talking. I’m just not going to do anything about it.”

“I think she’s right,” I said. “The whole thing doesn’t bear thinking about. How long are these powers likely to last?”

Ansell scratched his ear thoughtfully, “I’m not quite sure,” he said. “The Naguales used to begin their rituals at the beginning of the full moon. It may be that the power is influenced by the moon. If that’s so, she’s got to the end of the month before she returns to normal. Why not make hay until then? It’s not long. She’ll never be able to regain the power now that Quintl’s dead.”

“And a good thing too,” Myra said firmly. “I’m going to be very careful of how I act for the next few weeks. If I can get through that time without anything more happening, I’m g to be quite contented.”

I threw up his hands in disgust. “What about my snake-bite remedy?” he demanded. “Am I to get nothing out of this?”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” Myra returned, “but I don’t want anything more to do with this business. It’s all very well for you, but…”

“Can’t you do something?” Ansell appealed to me.

I was already racking my brains, “I don’t think so,” I said at last. “You see, she ain’t interested in the reward any more.”

“What?” Bogle said, sitting up. “What about us? Ain’t we considered?”

“That’s up to you, Myra,” I said, looking over at her. “Don’t you see we can’t claim the reward?” she said. “We’re not entitled to it.”

“It wouldn’t be honest,” I said, grinning at Bogle.

“Wouldn’t be what?” he snarled, growing red in the face. “What’s this… a gag?”

“I’m afraid our Myra’s become honest overnight,” I said. “A girl’s got to have her conscience, you know.”

“Yeah?” Bogle bellowed, “I’ll tell you something. She’s trying to gyp us!”

“You can believe what you like,” Myra said quietly, “but I’m not having anything to do with it. I want to go somewhere quiet and wait until the end of the month.”

I thought of all the publicity I’d lose and I thought of Maddox. What he’d do to me if I didn’t get this kid back to New York would be nobody’s business.

“Now, for the love of mike, don’t be in such a hurry,” I said. “Here, you two, get out. I want to talk to her.”

“It’s no good,” Myra said firmly, “I’ve made up my mind,” and she turned to the door.

“Can’t one, of you think of something?” I demanded.

“Really, Ross, I mean it,” she said over her shoulder. As she opened the door, the little Mexican girl came bustling in. She had a telegram which she handed to me. I took it and then waved her away. She seemed glad to go.

“Hold on until I’ve read this,” I said to Myra. “It might be important.”

“Hurry,” Myra said, standing by the door. “I want to change.”

I was staring at the telegram in astonishment. It was from Paul Juden:

“Well, fan me with a plate of soup!” I said and offered the telegram to Myra.

Bogle and Ansell crowded round her and read over her shoulder. There was a moment’s silence which was immediately after exploded by a general uproar.

“What does this mean?” Myra demanded. “Is this something you’ve hatched up?”

“Now don’t set yourself on fire,” I said hastily, “I don’t know any more about this than you do.”

“Yeah?” Bogle said, jerking Myra round. “So you don’t want the money, huh? You double-crossing little hooker! How the hell did you manage it?”

“Don’t be a damn fool!” I said. “She’s got nothing to do with it. It’s her father trying to pull a fast one over Maddox. It sticks out a yard.” I turned to Myra, “What kind of a man is your father?”

She hesitated “He—he’s a bit of a crook,” she said reluctantly. “But there’s no vice in him. He was just born that way.”

“Well, it looks to me like your father’s trying to gyp Maddox. What’s to stop him palming off some other girl as his daughter? You know, precious, that’s about what he’s doing.”

She stared at me, “But the photograph in the paper. They’ll know she’s a fake.”

“Maybe he’s found someone who looks like you.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be hard,” Sam put in. “Any one with a Veronica Lake hair-cut would do.”

This seemed to annoy Myra. “So I look like any one, do I?” she said angrily.

“Now don’t get up in the air,” Ansell said hastily.

I suppose it was the association of ideas. I don’t really know, but thinking about it afterwards, I guess that was what it was. Myra left the ground.

It was an unnerving sight. One minute she was sitting on the bed and the next she was sitting on nothing, about three feet above the bed.

The most astonished person in the room was Myra herself. “Now, see what you’ve done,” she said in alarm, “Don’t stare at me, do something.”

But we all just sat and stared.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stand a great deal more of this,” I finally jerked out. “Will you calm down, Myra, and stop messing around?”

The first initial shock over, Myra reached for the bed rail and anchored herself. Then she pulled herself back to the bed. She settled on the bed with the lightness and instability of a thistle down.

“Levitation,” Ansell said. “It’ll pass off if you don’t excite yourself.”

“It’s rather fun,” Myra said, still looking a little scared. “Would any of you mind if I cast off?”

“Don’t do it,” Bogle pleaded. “Please don’t do it.”

“Oh, nuts!” Myra snapped. “Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself,” and she very cautiously pushed herself away from the bed.

She immediately rose in the air in a sitting position and then she overbalanced and turned upside down. Her feet shot up towards the ceiling and she hung suspended a few feet from the floor.

“Help!” she cried. “What am I going to do now?”

Ansell went to her rescue and got her straightened out. After a little balancing, she managed to float, lying full length.

“This is rather fun,” she said. “But it’s an effort to keep straight. Pull my feet down, Doc, I want to see if I can walk.”

“I can’t and won’t stand it,” Bogle said, closing his eyes and screwing up his fists.

“You shut up!” Ansell said, pushing Myra’s feet down and helping her upright. “She’s doing very well.”

Myra took a few hesitating steps and managed to cross the room some three feet above the floor. It was a shocking sight and I could hardly bring myself to watch her.

“I think I’d prefer to lie out,” she said, drawing up her feet and stretching out.

“I’ll give you a push,” Doc said and he did so, sending her floating across the room where she bumped gently against the wall. She was like a toy balloon and she bounced off the wall and came floating back to me. I reached out and dragged her back on the bed.

“Please stop,” I pleaded. “You’ll drive me crazy.”

“But, it’s marvellous,” Myra said, her face alight with pleasure. “You’re only jealous. Let me go once more across the room and then I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Well, if it means so much to you,” I said and shoved her off into space again. I must have given her too hard a posh because she shot across the room narrowly missing Doc who threw himself on the floor with a squeal of fear. She banged against the wall, ricocheted like a billiard ball and whizzed over Bogle, who cowered down in his chair. Then the power that held her up seemed to be snatched away, for she came down on the end of her spine with a thud that made the coffee cups rattle.

Ansell hurried over to her and helped her up.

“Ooch!” she said, limping across to the bed. “There’s nothing for you to laugh at.”

“If you could have seen yourself,” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes. “You’d have laughed too.”

“Next time I take to flying, I’ll pad my undercarriage,” she said feelingly, as she sat down on the bed.

Bogle peered at her between his fingers. When he assured himself that she was sitting quietly, he took his hand away and sucked his teeth noisily. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said. “A sight like that doesn’t belong anywhere.”

“Think of the shoe leather I’ll save,” Myra said, smiling happily. “That was really something to experience.”

“Can’t we get our minds down to business?” I asked. “Not that I can think clearly. This’s about the craziest moment of my life, but we’ve still to settle about your father. Can you discuss him without becoming inflated?”

Myra’s face clouded, “I was forgetting him,” she said. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’m going to see him.”

“Now, don’t be in too great a rush,” I said. “The first thing to do is to get hold of Juden. He’ll have details. Then we can decide what to do. We’ll get packed up and go to Mexico City as quickly as we can. We ought to get there by to-night. Then we can talk things over with him, make plans and see what it’s all about.”

“Sam and I are coining,” Ansell said firmly. “Don’t you get any ideas about stopping us.”

I looked questioningly at Myra. She shrugged. “Oh, well,” she said, “I suppose they’d better.”

Just then the verandah door pushed open, and Whisky came in. “Mexico City?” he growled.

“I haven’t been there since I was a pup. I’ll come along too.”

I shook my head. “Listen,” I said firmly. “I’m not interested in your puppy life. We haven’t room for you and none of us like dogs. If you want to go to Mexico City you make your own arrangements.”

Ansell was staring at the dog in delight. “My goodness! He’s worth a fortune. Of course, he must come with us,” he said.

Whisky eyed him suspiciously. “If you’ve got any ideas of exploiting me,” he snapped, “forget them I’m against any form of sweatshop labour. I’m coming with you because I’m tired of the other dogs in this town. A change will do me good.”

“He talks like a real gentleman, doesn’t he?” Bogle said in awe.

Myra went to the door. “I think I’m going mad,” she said in a firm voice.

Whisky eyed her thoughtfully, “Upon my word that’s a pretty trull,” he said. “Whoever gets her will be a lucky dog.”

Myra looked at him, her eyes wide with horror, then she disappeared, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter NINE

WE reached Mexico City at dusk and had an argument outside the Plaza Hotel. I wanted to go straight to Juden while Myra wanted to stop off at the hotel, change and get Juden to come down to us.

Myra got her way in the end. So we trooped into the Plaza, registered for rooms and had another argument about Whisky. At first, the reception clerk wouldn’t hear of him coming into the hotel, but Bogle managed to persuade him.

Whisky got restive while Bogle and the clerk were wrangling, and I was scared that he was going to open his mouth. I knew that if he talked out of turn we’d all be tossed into the Street. I guess he was smart enough to realize that too. In the end, it was agreed that Bogle should have a double room and it would be okay for Whisky to share it with him.

Going up in the elevator, there was a further argument about who was going to pay the hotel bill. The only person—if you can call him a person—who didn’t get excited was Whisky. We were still arguing when we reached the third floor and examined our rooms.

It was finally decided that Juden should be invited to meet the bill and since the others didn’t know Juden this made them happy. I knew that to get money out of Juden was as easy as getting a running commentary on the Santiago handicap from a Tibetian deaf-mute. Anyway, I was tired of arguing.

“I’ll get Juden on the ’phone,” I said. “Suppose we all meet downstairs for dinner, say in half an hour?”

“Make it an hour,” Myra said. “I’m not going to be rushed. I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I’m going to make the most of it.” She turned on Bogle. “And for goodness sake, dress yourself up, Samuel, right now you look like something put out for salvage.”

“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Bogle snapped. “There’s nothing about you that’d give a scarecrow an inferiority complex.”

“Break it up,” I said hastily. “We’ll meet downstairs in an hour.”

As soon as I had shut myself in my room, I had a bath, changed and then grabbed the telephone.

Juden didn’t sound glad to hear me. “What the hell have you been doing?” he demanded.

“Maddox’s as mad as a hornet.”

“Never mind about Maddox,” I said. “Get your car and come over to the Plaza fast. I’ve got a sweet surprise package for you. No, don’t ask questions, just come down.”

“Okay,” Juden replied crossly. “But it’s got to be good.”

I laughed. “If only you knew just how good it is,” I said and hung up.

I met Juden in the bar a half an hour later. He came in with the light of battle in his eye and a scowl on his face. “There’s a load of grief piling up for you,” he said, shaking hands in a half-hearted sort of way. “What’s the matter with you? Do you realize that you’ve set Maddox back 25 grand? Right now, he’s spitting rust and steel filings.”

“Take it easy,” I said. “Sit down and reduce steam. Let’s have a drink and be reasonable.” He sat down, but I could see that he’d got a lot on his mind. “Make it a double Scotch,” he said. “I’ve done a full day’s work and I’m not feeling so good.”

When the drinks came, I hitched my chair close to his. “So the girl’s been found, eh?” I said. “And Maddox has had to fork up?”

“That’s it,” Juden said. “The poor old geyser didn’t stand a chance. I tell you parting with all that dough’s broken his heart.”

“He never had a heart,” I said grimly. “The thing that gets his blood circulating is a rock wrapped up in gristle. How did it happen?”

“Well, as far as I know,” Juden returned. “It seems this Shumway bird bounced into Maddox’s office with his daughter early this morning. His story is that she was rescued by a guy called Law Kelly. They brought Kelly with them.

“Maddox wouldn’t play at first, but Kelly seems to be a tough egg. He’d seen the story about the reward and he remembers seeing this Shumway girl with a greaser. He set off right away and didn’t have any difficulty in getting her away from the greaser. Then he grabbed a ‘plane and reached New York this morning. He took her to her father and the trio turned up to collect.

“As I say, Maddox was wild, but Kelly persuaded him to pert. So Maddox’s blaming you for the whole thing.”

“Who’s Kelly?” I asked.

“Why, I guess he’s one of those guys who’s always around when someone’s giving away 25 grand. You know how it is.”

“Meaning you don’t know?”

“Well, I can’t know everyone, can I?”

“Swell,” I lowered half my drink. “Now, we’re getting places. Let me tell you, Kelly’s yarn is a damn lie from soup to nuts.”

“You ask Maddox,” Juden returned grimly. “He’ll tell you whether it’s a lie or not in twenty different languages… all of ’em bad.”

“You may be interested to hear that Myra Shumway’s upstairs right at this very minute,” I said, emphasising each word by stabbing the air with my finger.

Juden finished his drink and snapped his fingers for the barman. “The girl gets around,” was all he said.

“She hasn’t been to New York,” I said patiently. “She’s been right by my side from the time I told you I’d found her.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that some young woman is kidding the pants off you?”

I thought about this, then I shook my head. “The girl’s Myra Shumway,” I said. “You gave me her picture. Remember?”

Juden opened a brief case, lying by his feet and produced a full plate glossy print. “Take a gander at that,” he said, handing it to me.

There was Maddox looking like a well-fed turtle, another oldish man I hadn’t seen before and Myra. They were standing in Maddox’s office and Maddox was handing Myra a slip of paper. By the glassy smile that Maddox had hitched to his face, there could be no doubt that the slip of paper was the cheque for the 25,000-dollars reward.

I stared at the girl in the photograph. If I hadn’t known that Myra hadn’t been out of Mexico for the past week, I’d have been prepared to take an oath that the girl in the picture was indeed Myra Shumway. There were the same obvious points of similarity. The blonde hair down to her shoulders, half hiding her left eye. The same way of standing and the same way of tilting her head. The features were the same although the expression was a little puzzling. There was a look on her face I had never seen before, but then I’d never seen her receiving a cheque for twenty-five grand and that amount of money is enough to change anyone’s expression.

I handed it back to Juden in bewilderment. “Something’s wrong here,” I said. “I don’t know what it is.” I shrugged helplessly. “When was this photo taken?”

“Eleven o’clock this morning,” Juden said promptly. “It was flown out and I got it this afternoon.”

“At eleven o’clock this morning, Myra Shumway was with me,” I said firmly.

It was Juden’s time to look startled. “Are you drunk?”

“Not with you handling my expense sheet,” I returned bitterly. The berman came over at this moment and Juden ordered a second round. When he had gone away, Juden said, “So she was with you, was she?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “But who’s going to believe it? Look, why don’t you admit that you slipped up? Maybe, I can put things right with Maddox. I’m not promising, but…”

“Hold everything,” I said waving my hand to the door.

“Snatch a peep at that.”

Myra was standing by the bar waiting for me to spot her. I’ve told you from time to time that this kid was a looker. I don’t want to keep on at it or you’ll think I’ve got something to sell. But I’ll put this on record. She made anything that Earl Carrol had ever put up to dazzle the tired U.S. business men look like a wallflower in red flannel.

Maybe it was the dress. It was gold lamé and the full skirt was lined with scarlet so that as she moved the scarlet showed in sudden unexpected flashes, making the dress look as if it were on fire. From the knees up, it clung to her curves like a nervous mountaineer.

She practically caused a riot. The men sitting around paused in their conversation like someone had jabbed them with a skewer, while the women radioed hate on a short wave length.

Myra didn’t care. She came over, took the seat I offered her and settled herself with all the self-assurance in the world.

I said, “I’d like you to meet Paul Juden of the Central News Agency. Miss Myra Shumway,” I went on to Juden.

He was like a man cut off at the knees. He managed to get to his feet and when Myra sat down, he collapsed into his chair. But he didn’t seem able to say anything.

“He’s not always like this,” I said to Myra. “As a matter of fact he has a pretty good head on him.”

“So have some umbrellas,” Myra said. “But, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now, look, sunshine, don’t let us have any unpleasantness, Juden is suffering from delayed shock He thought you were in New York.”

“I hope we’re not going to have all that all over again,” Myra said.

The barman came over and stood admiring her.

“Something that would resurrect a corpse, please,” Myra said, smiling at him. “Nothing small. Serve it in a brandy glass.”

The barman blinked. “Yes, madam,” he said, and went away.

“I’m going to get tight,” she went on to me in a confidential undertone. “I haven’t been in a decent hotel for months and I haven’t been tight for years. I am pandering to my whims tonight.”

By this time, Juden began making croaking noises. “Twins,” he said feebly. “Twins.”

Myra looked at him with interest. “No wonder you look like such a sad man,” she said.

“Should I congratulate you or buy you a wreath?”

Before I could stop him, he gave her the photograph. There was a long electric silence while she looked at it. Then she turned to me. “Who’s this delightful little blonde trollop?” she asked, pointing with a trembling finger at the girl in the photograph.

“To all intents and purposes,” I said as gently as possible, “it’s you.”

Myra drew a deep breath. “Have you ever seen me wear such an expression on my face as this over-dressed, sex-ridden, over-ripe, two-face hag is wearing?” she demanded, furiously rattling the photograph under my nose.

Even Juden shrank away from her fury.

But like all women, she had hit the nail on the thumb. That was the difference between this girl in the photograph and Myra. Whereas Myra had character, this girl had none. She had that loose, cruel expression on her face that you so often see in the face of a wanton woman. Make no mistake about it, this girl was bad right through, but it wasn’t until it was pointed out to me, that I realized it.

“Take it easy,” I said. “The red light’s showing on your pressure gauge.”

“So this is the hooker who’s impersonating me,” Myra said, controlling herself with an effort.

She studied the photograph intently. “And look at that smug, I’ve-got-the-bone expression on my dear parent’s face. This is some of his work. I’ll make him suffer for this!”

Juden was clawing at his collar nervously. He quite expected that she would turn on him at any moment.

“Well, P. J.,” 1 said. “Do you see how Maddox’s been fooled now?”

“What can we say to him?” Juden groaned. “You know Maddox. The other papers would rib him for weeks. Besides, he wouldn’t believe it.”

“He wouldn’t?” Myra twisted round in her chair so that she faced Juden, who shrank as far away as he could from her. “Don’t you think I could persuade him?”

“You might,” Juden returned feebly. “Yes, I guess with your character you could do pretty near anything.”

“And that’s what I think,” Myra said ominously.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I said, finishing my drink. “If your father says she’s you, you’ll have a hard job convincing anyone.”

The barman brought Myra’s cocktail. There was a lot of it in a large brandy glass. He put it on the table beside her. “It is my own invention, madam,” he said.

Myra picked up the balloon glass and took a long pull from the blue-green liquor. Then she shut her eyes, held her breath and her feet traced quick little patterns on the carpet. When she could speak, she said faintly, “Any smoke escaping from me?”

“You like it, madam?” the barman asked anxiously.

“That is the wrong word,” Myra said, putting the glass on the table and staring at it. “You don’t like a thing like that. A corpse doesn’t like embalming fluid, but it does it good. What do you call it?”

“The breath of a Tiger,” the barman said, not knowing whether to be complimented or not. Myra shuddered. “I’m glad it’s only his breath,” she said. “Somehow, I don’t think I could have managed the tiger itself.”

“If madam does not like it, I will bring her something else,” the barman said, looking hurt.

“I have another specialty which I call the Panther’s spit.”

Myra waved him away. “Some other time perhaps,” she said, and he returned behind his bar with a puzzled expression on his face.

Doc AńselI and Bogle came into the bar. They were wearing tuxedos. Bogle looked like an

Eastside waiter.

“There you are,” Ansell said, drawing up a chair. “We’ve been having a little trouble with Whisky, otherwise we’d’ve been down before.”

I introduced Juden who nodded vaguely.

Myra examined Bogle thoughtfully. “What you need is an ermine dicky, Sam,” she said. “It would set off that dress suit.”

Sam was looking at her with undisguised admiration. “Gee!” he exploded. “That dress you’ve nearly got on is the horse’s hoofs!”

“Never mind that,” I broke in. “We’ve got a little brain work ahead of us,” and I gave Ansell the photograph.

He studied it and then passed it to Bogle. “That’s Mr. Maddox handing over the reward, I suppose,” he said.

I nodded. It surprised me he didn’t say anything about the girl in the picture. He just glanced thoughtfully at Myra, pursed his lips and then studied his small brown hands.

Bogle, however, had plenty to say. “What’s she doing in this picture?” he demanded. “How did she get to New York anyway and if she’s got the cheque, where is it?”

“That isn’t me, you dope,” Myra snapped. “Haven’t you got eyes in your head?”

Bogle blinked. “Sure,” he said. “Well, if it ain’t you, that dame’s certainly borrowed your geography. Who is she?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Myra returned grimly. “And when I find out, even a plastic surgeon won’t be able to put her right.” She reached for her drink and lowered a good two inches of the liquor down her throat.

I looked over at Juden. “We’ve got to do something, P. J.,” I said. “For one thing, if I don’t put myself right with Maddox, he might have a grudge against me. I wouldn’t like that to happen.”

“He’s got one already,” Juden returned. “You may as well know, Ross. I’m sorry, but you’re out.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean… out? How about my contract?”

“That falls due at the end of the month,” Juden returned, looking unhappy. “He’s not renewing it. He says you’ve cost him plenty as it is.”

“The ungrateful rat,” I said bitterly. “After all I’ve done for him too!”

“Anything might happen to change his mind by the end of the month,” Ansell broke in. “I shouldn’t let it prey on your mind.”

“I know that kind of a guy,” Bogle added. “You ought to call on him and kick his teeth in. That’ll give him different ideas.”

“I think you’d better keep away from him,” Juden said, shaking his head. “He could get you on the blacklist if he wanted to.” He got to his feet, scratched his head and then said, “Before I go, wasn’t there something about a story? Wasn’t that why I came down?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But, now I’m out, I’m sticking to that story. Catch me making a present of anything to Maddox.”

“That’s not the way to go on,” Juden said. “If you’ve got a story, you’d better let me have it.”

“Not now. Maybe, later.”

He studied my face and decided that it was no use pressing me. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll be getting along.” He looked over at Myra, frowned, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what to make of her,” he said, almost as if he were talking to himself. “You wouldn’t have a twin, would you?” he asked her hopefully.

“No,” Myra said. “Then, I just give up. You can waste a lot of time with a problem like this. Time’s money to me.”

“Well, so long, P.J.,” I said, shaking hands. “If I’m broke I’ll look you up.”

“Sure, anything like that.”

“Okay. Keep out of hospital.”

“Sure, last time I was in there, I took a turn for the nurse,” he returned and went off laughing like a hyena.

“That guy’s got nurses on the brain,” I said, relaxing. “Oh well, let’s forget him. I guess we’ll all get drunk. It’s a fine welcome to find your job’s been thrown in your face.” Myra finished her drink, gasped, and then waved violently to the barman. “Don’t you dare blame me,” she said. “I didn’t lose you your mouldy job.”

“I never said you did,” I said wearily. “Well, I’ve got to think of something…”

“You’re going to help me find this blonde harridan. How would you like that?” she asked.

“It’s an idea,” I said. “But, not a very profitable one.”

The barman came over.

“Four Tiger breaths,” Myra said. “And make them large ones.”

“You like it, madam?” The barman showed his pleasure.

“No,” Myra said, with a shudder. “But it likes me.”

I looked at the other two. “What have we got out of this so far? A couple of miracles and a talking dog. Surely, we can turn that little lot into hard cash?”

Ansell said, “We’ve got a great deal more than that. The first thing to do is to find Hamish Shumway and the girl who’s impersonating Myra. We must waste no time in doing it.”

There was an odd note of urgency in his voice which made me glance at him sharply. I had not seen him look so worried before.

“What have you got on your mind?” I asked.

“Plenty.” He paused while the barman came with the drinks and then when he had gone he went on “There’s evil in Nagualisrn. I feel some of that evil has broken loose.”

“I wish you would be quiet,” Myra said crossly. “You’re always the skeleton at the feast. To-night, we enjoy ourselves. To-morrow we go to New York.” And she raised her glass,

“The toast is frustration and confusion to killjoys!”

We drank.