The Twenty-Third Man Page 12

  ‘Oh, it’s not those. It’s a chap who used to live here. Somebody did for him and put his body in the cave with the others, and fixed him up in the robes and death-mask of one of the kings, but nobody knows who did it. We had Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley staying here at the time, and she began looking into the thing, but it seems she got discouraged. The fellow must be pretty brilliant to have got the better of her. I understand she’s acquired a reputation as a sleuth. However, she left at the end of a month, so, apparently, she realized the job was hopeless.’

  ‘Why was the murder done? Does anybody know?’

  ‘Only the killer, I imagine. My personal opinion is that it was a revenge job, and, with those sort of deeds, unless you’ve got a low-down on the dead man’s past, you’re stymied.’

  ‘Let’s swim back to the beach,’ said his sister. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘The man I’ve got my eye on,’ continued Telham, sitting up, ‘is a certain Clun. A nasty bit of work, if ever there was one. Besides, he’s slung his hook, always a pointer to guilt.’

  ‘Has he gone far?’ Laura asked this disingenuous question in what she hoped was a manner unlikely to arouse suspicion.

  ‘He’s at Puerto del Sol, a little place further round the coast. Of course, if you’re going in for killing, this island is the ideal place. The police here don’t seem to trouble themselves about anything except agitating for more pay. Clun’s done time already for killing somebody in England, so I suppose he dared not tackle his man there.’

  ‘Wasn’t it rather short-sighted of the victim to come to live in a place where he could so easily be murdered?’

  ‘Oh, do come along,’ pleaded Caroline, before her brother could answer. She balanced herself on the edge of the raft, waited for a wave to lift it the way she desired, and dived in. The other two followed, and the three swam ashore.

  That evening, before dinner, which, as was the island custom, did not appear until between nine and ten at night, Laura broached the subject of the cave to Peterhouse, and was greatly intrigued by his flat refusal to go anywhere near it.

  ‘I used to enjoy making up parties and taking them along,’ he said, ‘but, since poor Emden’s body was found there, I seem to have lost interest.’

  ‘I’ve heard something of the murder – I suppose there’s no doubt it was murder? – from Mr Telham. What a dreadful thing to happen on a lovely island like this!’

  ‘Indeed it was. Emden, of course, was a mystery man. Dressed like the peasants and annoyed the local girls, to put the thing in a nutshell, so some disgruntled islander bumped him off.’

  ‘So you think the murderer was a native of Hombres Muertos?’

  ‘Between you and me, I wouldn’t put it past the landlord here, old Ruiz. He’s a full-blooded Spaniard and as proud as the devil. If Emden had molested Luisa, the fat would have been in the fire. A Spaniard doesn’t stop to think, you know.’

  ‘I heard that the corpse had a knife in its back. That doesn’t sound like the work of a proud Spaniard, does it?’

  ‘He may not have done the job himself. He probably hired Tio Caballo, or one of his gang.’

  ‘His gang? Not the bandits?’

  ‘Who else? When I inform you that they have captured me twice, you will understand what manner of persons they are.’

  ‘Very daring,’ said Laura, tongue in cheek but not betraying the fact.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that! Safety in numbers, you know. But if you wish to visit the cave, dear lady, it is a simple matter to arrange a party and a guide. I’m sure Ruiz will be only too pleased to accommodate you, and there are several new people in the hotel who would join in. I will ask Ruiz myself, if you like.’

  ‘Thank you. I should certainly like to go, but I can’t leave my child all day with Luisa, so I think, after all, I had better postpone my visit. Isn’t there, any thing else of interest? – a steamer trip, perhaps? I love being on the sea.’

  ‘You could go to Puerto del Sol. It’s a beautiful little place, and you don’t need to wait for a liner. You can go by coast road, and, of course, the local steamers call there.’

  ‘Are they clean and well-run? I don’t want my child to pick up germs or fleas!’

  ‘The steamers are run by a Dutch company and are spotless. You would enjoy the trip, I feel sure. And when you get to Puerto del Sol you may run into a man named Clun. He stayed in this hotel until Dame Beatrice Bradley went back to England.’

  ‘Oh, the psychiatrist! I’ve heard of her, of course. Do you mean there was a connexion between her leaving the island and this Mr Clun going to Puerto del Sol?’

  ‘I don’t know what the connexion was, but I rather think there was one. Still, it may have been coincidence. The only thing is that they certainly seemed very thick while she was here. I heard Clun had been in prison in. England for manslaughter, but I don’t know that that had any bearing on the matter.’

  ‘Surely he didn’t tell you so himself?’

  ‘No. I had it from somebody or other – I can’t remember who told me. Do you think it a very long step from manslaughter to murder? Dame Beatrice, I gather, interests herself in questions of sudden death, and, after all, manslaughter and murder are allied under that heading, are they not?’

  ‘I’ve never thought about it. It would depend upon what kind of manslaughter, wouldn’t it? I mean, if you killed somebody by driving your car carelessly, or under the influence, or something of that sort, it wouldn’t be the same thing, in my opinion, as hitting somebody in a fit of temper and killing him.’

  ‘But it seems that’s what Clun did. He told Dame Beatrice – I overheard it at the lunch-table, I remember – that he hit a bit too hard.’

  ‘And you think that a man who did that once by accident – well, anyhow, unintentionally – might do it again, meaning to kill? I don’t know what I think about that. Well, how do I recognize this dangerous gentleman?’

  ‘He’s a dark-haired, saturnine fellow, quite young – thirty, perhaps – with a devil-may-care look on his face. If you stay a day or two at the Hotel Flores you’ll be sure to spot him.’

  ‘That is as far as it will get, I expect. I don’t see myself tapping strangers on the shoulder and asking them whether they’re Mr Clun.’

  She arranged a passage for herself and the baby without difficulty, and the local steamer was all that Peterhouse had claimed for it. The trip round the coast took four hours and landed the passengers at Puerto del Sol at two in the afternoon, so that they were in time for the three o’clock lunch at the Hotel Flores.

  The hotel was small compared with the Sombrero and looked like a typical Spanish house. Its windows were shuttered in green and it had the traditional balcony overlooking the street. In charge of the hotel was a relative of Ruiz, a certain Señora Galjos, moustached, magisterial, and kindly, who impounded Gavin junior at sight, sighed and crooned over him, told Laura the story of her own confinements and, in effect, took charge of mother and child in a manner which brooked of no argument.

  There were so few guests at the Flores that Laura had no difficulty in recognizing Clun from the descriptions she had been given by Dame Beatrice and by Peterhouse.

  ‘One person I can knock off the list of suspects, I hope,’ she thought. ‘Not that Dame B. suspects him, if I’m any judge of her reactions.’

  The bathing facilities at Puerto del Sol were even better than those at Reales, and Laura was almost an amphibian. Her swimming excited interest and admiration, and at the end of the second day she found herself Clun’s guest at the hotel cocktail bar.

  ‘I suppose you know, queen of naiads,’ he said, at the third drink, ‘that you’re consorting with an ex-gaolbird?’

  ‘Really?’ Laura squinted into her glass. ‘That’s interesting. I’ve met a few in my time and heard about, a great many more. My husband’s in the C.I.D., you know.’

  ‘Is he? Pity he wasn’t here a month ago. At least, not so much here as in Reales.’

  ‘Reales? Oh, you
mean the murder.’

  ‘You’ve heard about it?’

  ‘I came here from the Hotel Sombrero. Mr Peterhouse was eloquent upon the subject.’

  ‘Old Peterhouse? Oh, yes, he would be. Did he advance any theories?’

  ‘Two; one definite, one under correction. That is to say, he committed himself to saying, that he would not put murder past the landlord, Ruiz.’

  ‘It is also to say that he told you a little about my own past history and permitted himself to wonder whether breaking a man’s neck by accident might not lead to sticking a knife in a man’s back by design. That’s about the size of it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Laura, who saw no reason for disagreeing. ‘That was about the size of it.’

  ‘It wasn’t Ruiz,’ stated Clun, swigging the liquid in his glass round and round and watching it. ‘My bet, for what it’s worth, is that it was our very dark and nervous horse Telham. Did you meet him?’

  ‘And his sister. I swam with them, in fact.’

  ‘As you have with me. Are you, in other words, a copper’s nark, handsome Mrs Gavin?’

  ‘No, I’m not, but I am holding a watching brief. You’re not unintelligent, Mr Clun. Can it be that prison has sharpened your wits, or have I given my game away?’

  ‘So Dame Beatrice has not left the field of battle! I had a feeling she wasn’t the type to desert a good cause. Tell me more. Have another drink if it will help.’

  ‘No more, thanks. You have one on me. As you’ve almost penetrated my incognito, I’d better help you to the rest.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Clun. ‘Don’t say anything you’re likely to regret. You’re like me, Mrs Gavin. Say or do first, and think afterwards. Steady, now.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Laura. ‘Nice of you, but I’ve got to trust somebody, and, as I don’t know whom Dame Beatrice really suspects, I might as well trust you as anybody else. I’m Dame Beatrice’s secretary and general dogsbody, and I’m here to hold the fort while she looks for some evidence in England. There you are. Now you know all about it, and I shall be grateful for any constructive suggestions. Oh, and, if you don’t mind, please don’t tell anybody else who I am.’

  ‘Have you been to the cave of dead men?’

  ‘No. I can’t take my son there. I don’t know why. It’s just one of those things.’

  ‘I understand that. But couldn’t you go there now? Señora Galjos seems to have adopted your kid.’

  ‘Can one go there from here? – easily, I mean? I’ve got to keep young Gavin fed, you see.’

  ‘You can go to Polje by car in a quarter of an hour. From there you’ll have to hire a mule, but, even then, half an hour’s climb will do it. Allow a quarter of an hour to inspect the cave, and there you are!’

  ‘Oh, well, that seems all right. How do I collect the mule? The car is easy enough.’

  ‘There are always mules at Polje. Fix up with La Galjos to look after the infant and let’s go.’

  With the mental reservation that she would keep an open mind upon the subject of Clun’s bona fides and an open eye upon his antics, Laura agreed, and the excursion was fixed for the following morning. They set out with three other visitors and a guide at half past six in order to avoid the hottest part of the day, and the time for the journey was much as Clun had indicated. They got to the cave before half past seven and Laura had her first sight of the dead men.

  ‘There are twenty-three,’ she said. ‘I should have thought it would be twenty-two now. Wasn’t one thrown down the mountain-side or something?’

  ‘Good Lord! The bandits must have resurrected him. Well, what do you think of the set-up?’

  ‘Impressive, very. There’s one thing I want to know.’

  ‘How long the late Emden could have remained disguised as the twenty-third man if that little mosquito of a boy hadn’t seen twenty-four bodies before the killer had had a chance to get rid of one of them? And that’s interesting, too, you know, because, surely, there was one without the trappings?’

  ‘I don’t know. It hadn’t even occurred to me, I’m ashamed to say. Well, there’s nothing more to be done here. I ought to talk to that boy. So far he hasn’t crossed my path.’

  ‘When he does, you’d be well advised to boot him out of it. The kid’s poison. Mind you, it isn’t his fault. Well, there’s no more to see, I’m afraid. Shall we be getting back to breakfast?’

  ‘I hoped to see the bandits,’ said Laura. ‘I thought this was one of their haunts.’

  ‘Only when one comes without a guide. Union rules, you know.’

  There seemed nothing useful for her to do in Puerto del Sol and she did not feel justified in remaining there merely to enjoy all the sun and the sea, so she returned to the Hotel Sombrero and soon found an opportunity of asking Clement about the twenty-fourth body in the cave, for Laura was not a believer in mincing matters where the young were concerned.

  ‘What was he like to look at?’ she asked bluntly, having introduced the subject with equal brusqueness.

  ‘Oh, him!’ said Clement. ‘He was just a sort of mummy. That means that Mr Emden was already there, togged up and with a mask on his face. He wasn’t nifty, though. The air was perfectly fresh. How soon do bodies go bad?’

  ‘It depends on all sorts of things, I believe. Look here, people seem to have the impression that all twenty-four were robed and masked. You don’t appear to have told anybody about the mummified type you saw.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, actually. After all, it would be a matter of common sense. Besides, as soon as I saw it – it was rather like a monkey, you know – I sort of guessed what had happened.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Emden was pretty well disliked, and what I think is that somebody came here to do him. Definitely, I mean. With murder in mind, somebody followed him here.’

  ‘Followed him to the island? What made you think that?’

  ‘Well, you know my friend Chiquito?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s a semi-Spaniard, like most of the people here, and there aren’t many things he doesn’t get to know. Their lives are a bit dull, I imagine, so they gossip a lot and have a grape-vine and a bush-telegraph and all that. Well, Chiquito told me that Pepe Casita told him that his girl, the maid Pilar on the first corridor, said that Emden was in the most fearful funk as soon as Dame Beatrice and the rest of that mob landed and came to stay at the hotel. He – Emden, you know – hopped it at the first possible minute, and you can’t help putting two and two together, when you realize that, once he left the Sombrero, he was never seen alive again.’

  ‘That isn’t certain, is it?’

  ‘Well, the murderer saw him, of course. And do you know who I think did it? I think it was Mr Telham. He’s got a hang-dog look. You watch him and see.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Botanical Information

  LAURA WAS DETERMINED to earn her unexpected holiday. She felt she had gained very little by her first attempts, for her duty, as she saw it, was to obtain a first-hand impression of the guests and staff at the Hotel Sombrero and (although she had kept any hint of this from Dame Beatrice) to give the bandits and the troglodytes the benefit of her scrutiny.

  ‘I’ll knock off the troglodytes first,’ she confided to the baby, as she gave him his morning six o’clock feed. ‘So do yourself proud, cully, while you’re at it, as I may be late for the next one.’

  She breakfasted off rolls and coffee at seven, went into the Plaza and woke a taxi-driver.

  ‘Cavernas,’ she said.

  ‘A solas?’ The driver looked astounded.

  ‘Sí, sí!’

  ‘Madre de Dios!’ It was clear that for a young woman to venture alone to the country of the cave-dwellers was unprecedented.

  ‘Con presteza!’ urged Laura, unconcerned with questions of precedent but merely with the necessity for haste. ‘Como el viento?’

  The driver contrived to emulate the speed of the wind so successfully that Laura b
egan to wonder whether her command had been strictly necessary. They bounced, swerved, climbed, and ricocheted up the mountain-side at a reckless speed which brought them to the caves in what she felt must be record time.

  The troglodyte girls were already at work on the banana plantations or in the cigarette factories, or (thought Laura, with visions of the bird-loving Mrs Angel) getting themselves shipped off to South America, so the only people at home were the old women and one or two unkempt, unshaven men. At the end of a baffling and fruitless hour she returned to the taxi-driver, whom she had told to wait, and bade him take her back to the hotel. It was some time before she realized that he was doing nothing of the kind, but just as it dawned upon her that they were on a very different route from the one by which they had come, the taxi drew up, the driver got down, and two tall, thin men appeared in front of a bit of scrub behind which they had been hiding.

  ‘Hold-up,’ thought Laura. ‘Oh, well, I wanted to see the bandits, so this is it.’

  The driver opened the door of the cab and bowed as she got out. The two thin scarecrows bowed. Laura inclined her head and graciously extended her hand. In turn, the bandits kissed it.

  There followed a staccato conversation in the island patois. Even if they had spoken Spanish, it was so fast that Laura could not have followed what was said. At last one of the bandits turned to her and told her, in fair Spanish, to pay the taxi. Laura shook her head. She needed the taxi to take her home, she explained. The three men smiled. Laura, on an inspiration, declared that she had to feed her baby at ten o’clock and that it was already half past nine.

  ‘A baby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A boy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old? – Ah, a small baby.’ They looked at one another, shrugged, spread out thin hands, and jerked their heads at the taxi-driver. ‘Take her.’

  ‘And those men are followers of José the Wolf?’ asked Laura, when she had reached the Plaza again, and was out of the car.

  ‘Of Old Fool Uncle Horse,’ the driver said, raising his eyes heavenwards. Laura added a considerable tip to the fare, since she deduced that the taxi-driver had missed a fat rake-off from the bandits if they had decided to hold her to ransom, and walked into the hotel.