Oh, Murderer Mine - Norbert Davis (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

States asking that the guy be extended all aid and courtesy. And here’s another saying the same thing from the American ambassador to Mexico. And here’s one from the State Department—and one from the Mexican Department of State! And whoops! Here’s one from the FBI. You’d better drop this guy quick—before he burns your fingers clear off!”

“Are those about a bird named Morales?” Humphrey inquired, still incredulous.

Hernandez flipped back to the top sheet. “Nope. The guy’s name is Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz. But Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz has this guy’s face and this guy’s description.”

“I am Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz,” said Morales. “Morales is merely an alias I adopted. Are you satisfied now as to my real identity? If you like, you may call the Mexican Consul for Los Angeles. He knows me.”

Humphrey stared at him, goggle-eyed. “Well, what’s the big idea? I mean, going around acting like a janitor and a thunder bird and whatever?”

“May we have a little more privacy?”

“Sure. Come along.”

Humphrey led the way through another door at the back of the room and along a short hall into a smaller office.

“Take that chair,” he said. “Now what…Wait a minute.” He pointed his finger at Doan. “We can’t use you. Scram.”

“No,” said Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz. “I want him to hear what I say. I have my reasons.”

“Oh, all right. Get going.”

“I am concerned with a matter of very great importance. I repeat that so you will understand it clearly—_of very great importance. “_

“I get you,” said Humphrey.

“In the State of Coahuila there is a very ancient, very revered religious shrine. I will not identify it further for reasons that will become clear as I proceed. The shrine was built and blessed in the sixteenth century. In it there were a number of sacred parchment scrolls.”

“Yeah,” said Humphrey eagerly.

“These scrolls are enormously valuable for a number of reasons. Historically, because of their contents. Commercially, because they were ornamented in gold leaf by several of the greatest artists then living. Religiously, because they are believed to have miraculous powers by the people who worship at the shrine.”

“Yeah,” said Humphrey. “Yeah.”

“The scrolls were stolen.”

“Ah-ha!” Humphrey exclaimed.

“They must be recovered. I repeat—they must be recovered.”

“You bet,” said Humphrey. “Positively. I can see that. Who hooked them?”

“Horace Trent.”

“Yah-ha!” Humphrey chortled, “I knew all the time—What?_ Horace Trent?“_

“Yes. Eric Trent’s brother.”

“Well, well, well,” said Humphrey.

“Horace Trent,” Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz said, “Claims to be an archeologist. He specializes in the theft of ancient objects of art of one sort or another. If he can’t steal them, he fakes them. Eric Trent sells them for him.”

“I knew it,” said Humphrey. “I knew it all the time.”

“Horace Trent,” Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz went on, “is in jail now in Mexico. But he sent those scrolls—disguised as weather maps—to Eric Trent before I could find him and arrest him. Again, I must emphasize that it is of much more vital importance to get those scrolls than it is to arrest these two criminals. Eric Trent is perfectly capable of destroying them to clear himself—and, incidentally, his brother. That is why I assumed the identity of Morales, the idiot janitor. I wished to watch Eric Trent without him having any suspicion of me.”

“Why did you bust his instruments?”

“That fool of a professor caught me searching Trent’s office, so I broke the instruments to take his mind off the search. It did. Then I had to explain breaking the instruments by that nonsense about thunder birds, so Eric Trent wouldn’t get suspicions of my actions. Eric Trent is very clever and very dangerous.”

“And how,” Humphrey agreed. “But, say? You shouldn’t have said all this in front of Doan. He’s probably in on that scroll deal. If he isn’t, he’ll try to steal them himself from Trent. I’d better lock him up right now.”

“No. He is the one who is going to get those scrolls for me.”

“He is?” Humphrey asked.

“Yes. He is in Trent’s confidence. He can find out where Trent has hidden them—that is, if he doesn’t already know.”

“Man alive!” Humphrey protested. “You can’t trust Doan. He’s no straighter than a snake.”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz smiled in a very sinister way. “This time he will be honest. Because if he does not get me those scrolls I will testify that I saw him kill Frank Ames.”

“What!” Humphrey yelled, coming half out of his chair. “You saw—Doan, I hereby arrest you for murder!”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz sighed wearily. “Please restrain yourself. I am not going to testify that he killed Frank Ames if he returns the scrolls.”

“You’re not—” said Humphrey groggily, floundering around two laps behind. “You’re not going to—”

“No! Must I keep repeating and reiterating that the recovery of those scrolls is of absolutely paramount importance? The murder is a minor matter.”

“But—but you saw Doan—”

“Certainly. I was the prowler.”

“Ugh,” said Humphrey, completely lost now.

“Kindly pay attention to what I am saying. I was searching for the scrolls at the time Melissa Gregory surprised me. I thought Trent might have persuaded her to hide them for him.”

“But you saw Doan—”

“Yes!”

“Oh, boy,” said Humphrey, blowing out a long, gusty sigh of relief. “At last. I’ve got him. You’ll have to testify against him whether you want to or not.”

“I think you are a complete fool,” said Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz. “You had better refer again to that letter from the Mexican Department of State. I have diplomatic immunity.”

Humphrey stood up and threw his chair into the corner. He raised his fists and shook them impotently at the ceiling.

“Why does everybody I pinch have to have friends or immunity or drag or influence or some damned thing? Why? Why? What have I done to deserve this?”

When no one answered him, Humphrey lowered his fists to his sides and for a moment he looked beaten. But then a crafty light came into his eyes and he regarded Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz intently.

“There’s one thing your diplomatic immunity doesn’t protect you against,” he said. “If I accuse you of murder—unless you testify against Doan—there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz gave a loud and long Latin laugh. He hooked out an arm pointed a finger at himself. “Me of murder?_ Me?_ Tell me, please, who have I murdered?”

“Frank Ames,” Humphrey said. “As a matter of fact I could whip up a pretty good case against you. Already you’ve confessed being the prowler. That puts you on the scene. All I really need to prove now is intent and motive.”

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz started laughing again. When he had finished, he spat out one word: “Ridiculous!” And then, drawing himself up, crossing his arms on his chest and patting one foot impatiently, he said, “And what about Beulah Porter Cowys? I suppose I am supposed to have killed her too? Maybe I disguised myself as a sunlamp or a permanent waving machine and sneaked into Heloise of Holly wood’s Beauty Salon?”

“Maybe,” said Humphrey.

“And maybe not,” said Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz with a positive air. “Do you happen to know a most attractive young graduate student at the university named Shirley Parker? Well, whether you do or not makes no difference. Miss Parker is a special. She is taking her master’s in psychology. She is writing a thesis on sexual behavior—at least sexual behavior has something to do with it—and I am trying to help her by providing her with material…Well, it so happens that at the precise time and moment when Beulah Porter Cowys was killed, I was embarked on a little matter of research for my friend Miss Parker. I was, in fact, in the company of a most attractive young blonde who, though for the moment shall be nameless, could be induced I am sure, in view of the pleasure she seemed to derive out of the assistance she gave me in the research, to testify at the proper time that…”

“What?” Humphrey interrupted. “Get to the point.”

“I have an alibi,” Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz told him. “An iron clad alibi, as you stupid Americans say. Accuse me of killing anybody or anything and I’ll sue you for libel, slander, false arrest, both malfeasance and misfeasance in office, but mostly for malicious prosecution. Accuse me of something—just you dare! I’ll sue you for one hundred thousand dollars or maybe one million dollars!”

“Rot!” Humphrey came back at him. “Nonsense! If you refuse to testify against Doan, I’ll arrest you just as fast as that…” And he snapped his fingers. “In fact,” he shouted, now completely beside himself with rage and frustration, “I’ll arrest anybody I want to for anything I want to so long as I—as I wear this badge.” He pointed to the shield on his vest.

With an unobtrusive but nevertheless lightning quick motion, the Mexican reached over, jerked off the shield and threw it to the floor.

“Your outbursts are distasteful to me,” Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz informed Humphrey. “I shall leave now, but I advise you to remember everything I told you and to act accordingly. I do not propose to be thwarted by your stupidity. Come with me, you.”

Doan followed him meekly along the hall and out through the receiving room.

Sebastian Rodriguez y Ruiz stopped on the steps and nodded coldly. “I shall expect you to search out those scrolls and turn them in to me at once.”

“You just go right ahead and expect,” Doan invited.

“Aren’t you going to do it?”

“No.”

“Did you hear what I just told Humphrey?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“That was a very interesting story,” said Doan. “Of course, there was one little discrepancy in it. Eric Trent doesn’t have a brother named Horace. In fact, Eric Trent doesn’t have any brothers at all. Good-by for now, Sebastian. I’ll be seeing you.”

*

It was nine o’clock when Doan came in the front door of the Pericles Pavilion. He had just spent a couple of hours talking long distance to Mexico City. This is a hazardous occupation which, besides time and money, requires persistence, patience, a loud voice, an extensive vocabulary, and a strong constitution. Right now, Doan was dragging his heels.

The door of the Aldriches’ apartment opened, and the duplicate Aldrich faces, superimposed one above the other like carbon copies, peered disapprovingly out at him.

“Good evening,” said Doan.

The Aldriches continued to peer—in silence.

Doan tried again. “Good evening.”

The Aldriches said: “We do not approve of murder. We do not feel that we can longer acknowledge your acquaintance.” Their door closed. Immediately it opened again. “Or that of your dog,” said the Aldriches. The door closed.

Doan shook his head and went on up the stairs. He knocked on the door of Melissa’s apartment. There was no answer. He went on up to the third floor and tried Trent’s apartment. The door was unlocked, and he opened it.

Carstairs was lying on the chesterfield with his head dangling over one end and his tail over the other. He was snoring.

Doan went in and looked around. There was a note fastened to the lamp shade with a bobby pin. Doan read it. It was from Melissa, and it said:

I am going to the Get Acquainted Dance at Dullwich Hall with Eric Trent. I persuaded Carstairs that I didn’t need a bodyguard just for that, because after all, Eric isn’t the murderer, is he?

Under this, in different handwriting, was the one word: No.

Doan studied that “No” uneasily. He was wondering just who wrote it. After a moment, he put the note down and took the large volume with the Greek title from Trent’s bookcase. He opened it with