The Mystery of the Vanished Victim (10 page)

Keeping out of the pool of light that hit the roof from the neighboring window, the boys peered in. They could see a dark desk with some books and a phone on it. The walls were green, the paint flaking off here and there.

“No one is inside, Gully.”

“Wait! We saw that shadow before and—”

Before Gully could finish, the phone on the desk rang! The boys heard footsteps before they saw the back of a thin, short man. They could only see up to his shoulders.

“Yes?” the man said into the receiver. But even that one word sent a chill of excitement through them. The speaker’s voice had a distinct foreign accent!

Gully nudged Balbir, and they inched closer into the light. The new angle permitted them to see the man’s head. But his back was to them.

“Did you ring the doorbell a while ago? … Someone did … but it was not our pre-arranged signal.”

Suddenly the thin man in the room turned. Both boys suppressed a gasp. The man with the mustache! The mustache and small, hard eyes gave him a cunning and menacing look. His hair was thick and black, and his face pale. The trace of an accent in his voice was distinct as he continued to talk, his words occasionally drowned out by the rumble of thunder.

“The plan must succeed! It will embarrass the Americans … This is no time to back out, my friend … What could possibly go wrong? … Ridiculous! No one will hear the shot … How could anyone see me fire? … No one would ever suspect a rifle being fired from there … I have the telescopic sight and you have seen my marksmanship … Everything is working according to plan … You won’t be suspected … As for me, the way of firing the rifle is also my means of immediate escape … Nothing can ruin our plan. … What did you say? … Oh! Well, yes, one thing could spoil it all—rain!”

With a short laugh, the man put down the receiver.

“What plan is he talking about?”

“Later. Now just watch and listen, Balbir.”

The boys inched back out of the window’s light. Then they saw the mustached man put a glass of milk on a small tray. He added some fruit and a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

Carrying the tray, he started for a door at the rear of the apartment. From his jacket pocket he drew a small pistol and inserted it in his belt. Then he opened the door with a key.

“Someone is locked in there!”

“This way, Balbir! From the next window, we may be able to look into that room.”

Heads bent against the rain, they started across the roof, making for the back of it where it jutted beyond the other building and would allow them to look into the back window of the locked room. But as Balbir hurried after Gully, his foot struck something.
Clang!
An empty tin can scudded across the roof, thumping and banging as it rolled. Almost at once they heard the window behind them being pushed up higher. The mustached man peered out. In his hand was the pistol!

L
IGHTNING
crisscrossed the sky, its momentary flash reflecting from the pistol.

“Quick, Balbir!” Gully rushed toward the other side of the roof.

“Who is there?” the foreign-accented voice rang out above the rumbling thunder.

“Down the back fire escape, Balbir! Fast!” Gully cried, racing for the top of the iron ladder.

The two boys swung over the roof edge and started down the iron steps. On the roof above, they heard the thump of landing feet.

“He is after us, Gully,” Balbir gasped.

“Don’t look back! Keep heading down,” Gully said as they hurried along the wet open stairway. Suddenly, a beam of light from above stabbed down on the fire escape.

“He’s got a flashlight, Balbir! Get back against the wall.”

The two boys flattened themselves against the rough wet bricks of the fourth floor. Above, the mustached man peered over the roofs rampart, a flashlight gripped tightly in one hand. The narrow beam of light cut back and forth across the fire escape, searching for the boys. With an angry grunt, the man rolled over the rampart and started down the fire escape after them. Balbir nudged Gully urgently as they heard the man’s feet clang on the metal steps above them.

“Start down again, Balbir,” Gully whispered. “And hope for thunder to cover any noise we make.”

The two boys, scarcely daring to breathe, edged from the wall and moved stealthily down the steps to the next floor. Clinging to the rain-slicked railing, they raced down another landing as peals of thunder exploded. Suddenly Gully grabbed Balbir’s arm and yanked him into the slight protection offered by a window frame. The flashlight’s beam swept by. Again the boys watched with racing hearts as the finger of light poked about the fire escape, barely missing them.

“He’s turned it off. Come on!”

Balbir needed no prompting. They swung around the slippery landing and hurried down the next flight of steps. Above them they could hear the pursuing feet of the mustached man. Reaching the bottom ladder, the boys gripped it tightly. It slid down just short of the ground. They jumped down onto the soggy mud of a small enclosed backyard. A flash of lightning lit the scene. In that split-second both boys took in the grim situation. The backyard was surrounded by a solid wooden fence, six feet high.

“We are trapped, Gully!” Balbir’s voice was edged with panic.

Just then, they heard the fire escape’s bottom section sliding down again. The mustached man was closing in.

“I’ll give you a boost! Then help me over, Balbir!”

Swiftly, the boys raced to the fence. Gully’s hands cupped Balbir’s shoe, and Balbir pulled himself up. Lying with one leg supported on a cross piece near the top of the fence, Balbir offered Gully his hand.

“Stop where you are!” the harsh voice commanded.

The sound of that menacing order sent Gully hurtling over the fence. The two scared boys looked breathlessly around. Once more, a high solid wooden fence enclosed the small backyard. As they searched for a way out, a beam of light struck Balbir’s turban. The mustached man had pulled himself up on the fence, high enough to look over it. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the yard. It was followed in an instant by a terrific crash of thunder. In the darkness Gully felt Balbir stumble. Then another flare of lightning showed Gully a way out. It was a narrow alley.

Grabbing Balbir’s arm, Gully dragged him toward the alleyway beside the house. Just then, a back door opened and the yard was flooded with light. A burly man came out.

“What are you doing here?”

Windows in the surrounding houses slid open; heads poked out. Voices yelled down, sounding above the rumbling thunder.

“It’s two kids!”

“A couple of sneak thieves!”

“Stop them!”

The man in the doorway hurried to block their way, but Gully and Balbir hit him at a dead run. He spun back, slapping against the narrow alley wall as the boys raced by. They sped out of the alley and kept running on the wet pavement until at last they turned the corner. Ducking into a doorway, the boys stood panting and speechless. Gully glanced down the block. No one was following.

“We’re all right … now,” Gully managed to gasp.

“We found the man with the mustache!”

“Let’s get back to your room.”

The rain dripped from their soaked clothes onto the marble floor of the hall when the boys entered the Jalpuri embassy residence. Gully was vainly trying to wipe his face dry with a wet handkerchief when Prema came down the curving stairs. Taking one look at their dripping clothes, she doubled over with laughter.

Gully sniffed and with as much dignity as he could muster asked to use the phone.

“We saw the man with the mustache!” Balbir exclaimed.

“You did?” Prema’s laughter stopped abruptly. She ran down the steps. “Where? What happened? Oh, why didn’t you let me come along? Come down to the kitchen and tell me about it. I’ll make some cocoa.”

“You tell it, Balbir,” Gully said. “I want to call my grandfather. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Balbir was just finishing the tale when Gully entered the kitchen with the news that Inspector Queen was neither at home nor at Police Headquarters.

“We never did get to see into the locked room,” Balbir said sadly, “and my father is in there, I am sure of it.”

“That’s something my grandfather will have to find out, Balbir. I’m afraid we’ve done all we can.”

“If only I had not kicked that tin can, Gully.”

“Well,” Gully comforted, “we got away. All we lost was our breath.”

The boys felt a flush of warmth surge through them as they downed the hot cocoa Prema had made.

“My father’s back!” Prema remarked, hearing the front door on the floor above slam shut. “We’ve got to tell him what happened.”

Gully and Balbir followed Prema upstairs.

“Wait till you hear my news, Prema—”

“Wait till you hear
my
news, Father!”

Dr. Jind shook hands warmly with Gully and nodded to Balbir. “Your news will have to wait. Prince Behar of Sundastan is flying to New York tomorrow. Do you know who Prince Behar is, Gulliver?”

“Isn’t he the head of those newly merged Asian countries, sir?”

“Yes, Gulliver. We have known for some time that His Highness had requested that I be made his official greeter and escort when he came here to address the United Nations. Now that ceremony will finally take place tomorrow afternoon.”

“How wonderful, Father!” Prema exclaimed.

“It is a pleasant honor. I will drive with him from Idlewild Airport to the United Nations and introduce him to the Assembly. I had the privilege of meeting him only once before, at an official reception.”

“But he remembered you. He must have been very impressed!”

“I don’t think I’m too impressive,” Dr. Jind said modestly, as Srigar came up the stairs. “At least, our limousine wasn’t impressed with me, was it, Srigar?”

“I apologize for the unwanted occurrence,” the new chauffeur said humbly.

“No need to, Srigar. It wasn’t your fault the car broke down and I had to come by taxi. But will it be ready for the trip to the airport tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. The garage mechanic said some bearings were burned out and it will take two days to put the car back into service.”

“I was counting on using it for the drive back to the United Nations with Prince Behar,” the ambassador sighed.

“The convertible is in excellent condition, sir,” the chauffeur suggested.

“I’ve been wanting to use the convertible,” Dr. Jind said with a sly smile. “Now I have an excuse.”

“Then shall I prepare the convertible for tomorrow, sir?” Srigar asked.

“Yes, Srigar, please do. You know, I’m almost glad the limousine broke down!”

Srigar smiled, bowed, and quickly went downstairs.

“And now,” Dr. Jind demanded, turning to the three teenagers, “your news.”

Dr. Jind’s usually calm face turned very stern as Gully recounted his and Balbir’s adventure on East Forty-eighth Street.

“You boys took an unnecessary risk. I can understand Balbir’s natural desire to expedite the investigation. But I must now stand in his father’s place. I forbid any such future expeditions!”

“What happened to your turban, Balbir?” Prema interrupted, frowning at the top of Balbir’s head.

Balbir glanced at a mirror in the entry hall with obvious surprise. A puzzled look crossed his face as he poked a finger into a small hole.

“That is strange. There was no hole in the turban when I put it on.”

“It might have got caught on something during the chase,” Gully suggested.

“This is a clean puncture,” Ambassador Jind said in an odd tone. “Balbir, unwind the turban.”

“It is not important,” Balbir protested.

“Unwind it,” Dr. Jind repeated quietly.

“Please, sir—”

“You did mention once, Balbir, that Sikhs don’t cut their hair,” Gully said, trying to overcome Balbir’s reluctance.

Without another word, Balbir began unwinding the twenty feet of muslin from his head, revealing long, black hair piled tightly on top of his head and held in place by an iron comb. As Balbir handed the unwound turban to the disturbed Ambassador, something fell out of its folds, striking the marble floor with a clink.

Gully scooped up the fallen object. “It’s a bullet!”

D
R
. J
IND
, Prema, and Balbir stared at Gully with amazement.

“Balbir might have been k-killed,” Prema finally stammered. “Just one inch lower—”

“Are you certain it is a bullet?” Dr. Jind asked incredulously.

Gully handed him the spent slug, and the diplomat examined it with obvious worry.

“But Gully,” Balbir said hesitantly, “I did not hear a shot being fired.”

“The thunder! The thunder must have drowned out the sound of the shot,” Gully exclaimed.

“This requires the immediate attention of your grandfather,” the ambassador stated flatly, returning the slug to Gully. “Gulliver, I suggest you return home and tell him of this at once.”

“You’re right, sir. I’ll go now. Good night.”

When Gulliver let himself into his grandfather’s apartment, Inspector Queen glanced up from the evening paper at the rain-soaked boy in front of him.

“Well, Gulliver, I was wondering if you had enough sense to come in out of the rain,” Inspector Queen remarked dryly. “I see you hadn’t.”

“Balbir and I were out investigating—”

“You can tell me after you get into something dry. Until your parents come back from overseas, I’m responsible for your health. Get out of those wet clothes!”

“But Grandpa—”

“Whatever you’re dying to tell me will keep.”

“No, it won’t!” Gully said firmly. He handed Inspector Queen the slug.

The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in Balbir’s turban!”

Inspector Queen waved Gully to a wooden chair. His grandson’s wet clothing was forgotten as he listened to the story of the night’s exploits.

“You were a couple of young fools!” Inspector Queen exploded when Gully finished.

“But now you can act, can’t you?” Gully asked impatiently.

“Yes, Gully. We’ll check it. I’ll get someone to take this to the ballistics lab right away, and send someone over to that apartment. Now go and change before you catch pneumonia.”