Ken Holt - Mystery Of Green Flame Part 9

Mendoza looked surprised. "But it is a fine place to hunt deer."

"At night?" Gonzalez snapped.

"It is perhaps not the best sportsmans.h.i.+p." Mendoza pretended embarra.s.sment. "I use a flashlight."

"And a pistol instead of a rifle?"

Mendoza smiled again. "It is because I realize the flashlight is unfair. It hypnotizes the deer. So I make it fair again. I use the pistol because it is more difficult to aim than the rifle." He glanced toward the door. "And now I may go-now that I have explained all? I am a poor and simple man, but I hope I have made everything clear."

"Oh, quite clear," Gonzalez said dryly. "Except for a few small things, perhaps. For example, why should a poor simple man like yourself force my car off the road into a gorge, and then go off leaving me for dead?"

"I? But Capitan is making a joke. He does not truly believe I could do such a thing."

"On the left front fender of my car," Gonzalez told him, "is a streak of gray paint, like the paint on your car, my deer-hunting friend."

"Ah?" Mendoza looked concerned and then said, "But this is no doubt a coincidence. There are many cars with gray paint."

"Quite so," Gonzalez agreed casually. "And probably a poor simple man knows little of science-has not even heard, perhaps, of the marvelous instrument called a spectroscope?

There was a wary look in Mendoza's eyes now, but he shrugged once more. "Even the word itself I do not know."

DEFIANT PRISONER 97.

"Of course not. Therefore you do not know that this instrument can a.n.a.lyze the paint from your car and determine exactly what is in it. It can also a.n.a.lyze the gray paint rubbed off on my car and tell us if the two are exactly identical." Gonzalez leaned back and looked casually up at the man. "I tell you frankly, Mendoza, we have not yet put our spectroscope to work on the two cars. But what do you think? Will it show the two paints to be the same?"

Mendoza's eyes flicked once around the room, as if seeking inspiration. "But of course, Capitan," he said suddenly, "I see now. My fault is not to explain to you a curious incident that happened to me. A most mysterious incident. This morning I was at Nuevo Laredo, at the border. The Capitan knows this town?"

Gonzalez nodded silently, gestured to him to go on.

"While I am having breakfast in a restaurant my car disappears from the street where I leave it parked. But on a light pole, next to the place where my car once stands, is a message on a piece of paper. It tells me that I will find the car in Monterrey near the Alameda- the plaza."

"And you immediately reported this loss to the police, of course," Gonzalez said.

"But no, Capitan. I do not like to have dealings with the police-me, a poor and simple man. I go instead to Monterrey, to see if my car is there."

Ken and Sandy eyed each other, amazed at the obvious falsity of this tale. But Gonzalez remained cool and unmoved.

"I see. You simply travel the hundred and fifty miles to Monterrey. By bus?"

Ken and Sandy waited. If Mendoza answered Yes, his 98 .

tale could be checked with ease. But Mendoza sidestepped the trap.

"Oh, no, Capitan. Some kind turistas-a man and his wife-gave me a ride to Monterrey. And there"-Men-doza's eyes opened wide as if in pleased astonishment- "there I found the car, just as the note tells me. It is a mysterious incident, no? And it explains to you why I was not in my own car between Nuevo Laredo and Monterrey."

"How do you know that's where the 'accident' occurred?" Ramon asked quietly.

Mendoza was ready for that too. "I only a.s.sume so, Capitan," he said quickly. "Because south of Monterrey I am driving the car myself, and of course I would never do such a thing as you have told me of."

"Very well." Ramon appeared to be completely satisfied with the amazing story. "Simply show us the note which was left for you, when your car was taken, and give us the name of the tourists with whom you rode to Monterrey, and all will be clear."

Mendoza shook his head sadly. "Alas I I did not keep the note. How could I know I would need it? And the kind turistas did not give me their name."

"In that case"-Ramon's voice was still quiet, but now the quietness had a deadly quality-"you had better give us the name of the man who told you to drive me off the road. Without his name, we may be forced to charge you, alone, with attempted murder."

Mendoza's face had paled, but nevertheless he smiled. "Now, indeed, the Capitan is joking. He knows he could not prove me guilty of such a charge." The emphasis he gave to that one word was deliberately arrogant.

Gonzalez did not reply. He merely gestured to the two policemen to remove Mendoza from the room.

DEFIANT PRISONER 99.

Mendoza turned willingly to leave, but at the door he paused. "May I have my things?" He pointed to his possessions on the table.

"Later," Gonzalez said shortly.

"I understand." Mendoza smiled. "Probably you have other machines like this-this spectroscope, which you will use to examine them. But I a.s.sure you, Capitan, they are all innocent, like myself. Or have you not yet had time to discover that I am not a criminal-that there is no record of my fingerprints on file?"

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Sandy said, "He's not going to get away with that story, is he?"

"Who knows?" Gonzalez replied. "He is a cool one, eh? In a small second he invents a good story. And I am certain that there will be no record of his fingerprints, as he says."

"But-"

"Look, Sandy," Mort Phillips said patiently, "what we need is proof-not just a conviction in our own minds."

"In any case," Gonzalez said, "that accident is not of prime importance right now. I hoped I could scare Mendoza enough to make him talk-make him reveal his connection with the man in Baron's car." He shrugged. "But you saw how much I scared him-and how much he talked. We will question him again later, and perhaps some small candle will light up in our minds-"

"Candle!" Ken repeated the word suddenly, so excitedly that the others turned to stare at him. He was clutching Sandy's shoulder. "Remember that old magician's kit we found up in your attic?"

"Sure," Sandy said blankly. "The one I used to play with when I was a kid. But-"

"Weren't there chemicals in there that changed the 100 .

color of candle flames-made them red or blue or green?"

"That's right." Sandy was still completely confused by Ken's questions, and the others were equally at sea. And then suddenly Sandy got it. "Green! Sure-I could make a green flame by putting a little of one of the chemicals on a candlewick."

Ken was already reaching for the lighter, but he paused before he touched it to ask Gonzalez' permission. The Mexican nodded, eying Ken intently.

"Naturally they wouldn't want their lighters to burn with green flames all the time," Ken said, as he carefully examined the small object. "That would be too likely to call attention to them. But if they carried a little bit of that chemical, they-"

Sandy was now peering over his shoulder. "Take the filler plug out," he urged.

Ken removed the small screw, using a thin coin as a screw driver. He sniffed at the cotton stuffing inside. "Smells like ordinary lighter fluid to me," he admitted, but as he spoke he turned the screw over and revealed the small cap attached to its underside. Beneath that cap, Ken knew, should be a spare flint or two.

Slowly he unscrewed the cap and tapped it over the palm of his hand. No flint fell out. He turned the cap over and peered into the tiny hole in its center. "There's a pasty white stuff in here," he muttered, trying to control his eagerness. "I think we could get it out with a pencil."

"Let me try it," Sandy said. "I remember now how I used to do it."

With the other three gathered close around him, he picked up a small dab of the paste on the point of a pen- DEFIANT PRISONER 101.

cil and transferred it to the lighter's wick. Then he snapped the lever.

Flame leaped up-a brilliant green flame.

"Magnifico!" Gonzalez said. "Magnificol" And Mort Phillips pounded both the boys on the back.

The green flame burned for half a minute and then slowly changed back to its normal yellow.

Gonzalez burst into machine-gun Spanish and Phillips listened to him, nodding his head constantly in agreement. Then Gonzalez turned to the boys. "You will please fix the flame again, as before?"

"Sure," Sandy agreed. "But what's it all about?"

"You will see." Gonzalez rubbed his hands with satisfaction.

He looked the lighter over, when Sandy was finished, to make certain it showed no signs of having been tampered with. Then, replacing it on the table, he stepped to the door and asked the policemen to bring Mendoza back again.

"Mendoza," Gonzalez said solemnly, when the blandly smiling face was before him once more, "I will tell you what we will accuse you of-the charge you will face. We know there is a group of bandidos here in Mexico who provide a hiding place for criminals trying to escape the law. The two men who were picked up by the helicopter tonight were going to that place. You helped them. You are part of the gang. We know a great deal about your a.s.sociates-even little things, such as the fact that they use lighters that have a green flame. This green flame is a recognition symbol. So we will soon pick them all up-and you will all be charged with aiding criminals to escape the law. You personally, of course, will also be charged with attempted murder."

102 THE MYSTEKY OF THE GREEN FLAME.

He leaned back calmly, waiting for Mendoza's reaction.

"There are several things wrong with what you say, Capitan," Mendoza began, almost apologetically. But his voice regained its deliberate arrogance as he spoke. "First, you cannot know very much about these bandi-dos, or you would not be hoping to obtain information about them from me, a poor and simple man. You would know I have no information to give. Second-and this proves my first point-you already have undoubtedly tried my lighter, and learned that it burns with an ordinary yellow flame, like any other. So why, Capitan, do you make to me these strange statements about charging me with crimes I have never heard of?"

"All right, Mendoza. You have had your chance. Take him back and lock him up," Gonzalez ordered coldly. "You may have your cigarettes now and your lighter," he added. "You may want them. You will be here a long time."

Mendoza took the two items from the table. Insolently he flipped a cigarette into his mouth. "Perhaps not so long as you think, Capitan," he said. He lifted the lighter and pressed the lever.

Four pairs of eyes watched his face fixedly.

The green flame flared up.

Mendoza gasped. Swiftly he blew the flame out with a puff of breath. For an instant he looked panic-stricken.

Then, with a visible effort, he pulled himself together. He pressed the lever again, quietly, and let the emerald-colored flame burn.

"You are clever, Capitan," he said. "It probably was very easy for a clever man like yourself-who knows of spectroscopes and other such scientific things-to put something in my lighter that makes it burn with a green DEFIANT PRISONER 103.

flame. But I am not afraid. I know a jury would believe that you know far more about such tricks than a poor simple man like myself." He lighted his cigarette then, calmly, and walked out of the room.

The man who entered, immediately after Mendoza's departure, wore a white ap.r.o.n and carried a huge tray. "Capitan," he inquired, "you ordered arroz con polio?"

"Si, si. Put it here." Gonzalez looked tired and defeated, after the unsuccessful attempt to crack Mendoza's pose of innocence. But he tried to smile at the boys. "Perhaps after we have a good meal we will be able, for a change, to have an idea that works, eh?"

"A thousand pardons," the waiter was saying, as he put down his load. "But the cook is sick and unable to prepare the arroz con polio. And so I bring you instead, Capitan, a fine soup which I made myself by opening cans. Six cans, Capitan!" he concluded proudly.

Gonzalez brought his fist down on the desk with a mighty crash. "This," he said fiercely, "is too much!"

CHAPTER IX.

THE EMPTY TRAP.

THE SOUP was hot and filling, however. The rolls served with it were light and crusty. And there were a large pot of coffee and a pitcher of hot milk.

By the time they had all poured themselves a second cup of coffee, the mood around the table was slightly less grim. Mort Phillips wrote out a brief report to be telegraphed to his superior in Was.h.i.+ngton, and seemed relieved when he had finished the unpleasant task of confessing that Baron had slipped through their fingers. Gonzalez sent for somebody to transmit Phillips' message, and the officer who came at his call returned a moment later.

"Mendoza's fingerprints are not on file as a known criminal," he said. Then, as Gonzalez nodded grimly, he handed the Federal officer the report that had just arrived from the Mexico City police.

"Gracias." Gonzalez scanned the paper quickly. "Ah-hah!" he said. "Very interesting. He has not lived at that Mexico City address for more than a year. Mendoza's landlady was glad to see him leave. She says he was a no-good one, always behind in his rent and with no regular job. But he paid her all he owed just before he left. She thinks he suddenly obtained a great deal of 104.

THE EMPTY TRAP 105.

money. He seemed very much pleased with himself, she says. And he asked her to send his mail to his new address-Lazar Street, in the town of Rio Claro."

Even before he finished telling them the news he was on his feet, striding toward a large map tacked to one wall of the room.

The others followed him eagerly. "Is Rio Claro near here?" Sandy asked.

"It is on a road that runs west out of this place," Ramon Gonzalez said. "There." He pointed to the name on the map. "About a hundred kilometers away."

"Only an hour and a half's drive," Sandy said.

"No, my friend," Gonzalez corrected him. "The hills and valleys of that road are not for racing. The trip will take nearly twice that long. But," he added more cheerfully, "Rio Claro itself is in these same hills. It is wild country-an excellent place for a hide-out."

"Then maybe we're getting some place," Phillips said. There was a new optimism in his voice too. "If Mendoza works for this outfit, it seems reasonable that he would live near its establishment."

"Maybe he lives right at it," Sandy said. "Maybe that address-what was it? Lazar Street?-is the place we're looking for."

Phillips laughed. "I doubt it. It's not going to be that easy, I'm afraid. If he left that address with a landlady, it means he's not afraid of having it known."

"I suppose you're right," Sandy admitted. "But don't you think the hide-out might be in Rio Claro somewhere?"

Gonzalez shook his head. "That is unlikely, I think. It is a small town, of some five thousand inhabitants, and the local police would surely have noticed anything out of the ordinary there. But it is clear that we should go 106 .

to Rio Claro, at any rate. I think the hide-out is, perhaps, somewhere nearby. And in Mendoza's house- who knows what clues we may find, eh?"

"We can stake the place out," Phillips said.

"If that means-as I think-to keep it under surveillance-" Gonzalez smiled- "I agree with you."

"That's what it means." Phillips grinned briefly and then looked thoughtful. "By now, I should think, the men in the helicopter will have reported that somebody was at the quarry. They must have seen our lights and probably heard the gunfire. But they won't have any way of knowing, yet, who we were and whether Men-doza tangled with us or not."