The Mystery of the Vanished Victim (8 page)

“Thanks, Mr. Herman. This could be the big break my grandfather needs.”

Gully started for the door.

“Come back!” Mr. Herman called. “If you’re going to call your grandfather, be my guest.” He pointed to a phone on his desk.

Gully dialed the Headquarters number and was quickly put through to his grandfather. Inspector Queen’s gruff, hurried phone manner changed as Gully told what he had learned.

“And Velie missed the notation on the pad, did he?”

“Well, it was kind of dark in that room—”

“Don’t make excuses for him. I’ll send Velie over to do the leg work on running down our Mr. Kolar. Good work, Gully.”

Before Gully could say another word, he heard the phone at the other end being slammed down. Gully thanked the gunshop owner and the three friends filed out.

“How long before Sergeant Velie will report, Gully?”

“At least an hour, Balbir. I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

“I know what we can do,” Prema said eagerly. “The United Nations is just across town. We can go there. I’d like to tell my father about Shamshir’s bracelet and what we’ve found out. Unless seeing the UN again will bore you, Gully?”

“As a matter of fact,” Gully confessed, “even though I’ve been staying in New York at my grandfather’s, I’ve never been to the United Nations.”

In a few minutes they were crossing First Avenue. Ahead rose the round, sun-reflecting copper dome of the United Nation’s Assembly Hall. Flanking it to the south and towering above it, the thirty-nine floors of the Secretariat Building reflected the clear blue sky in their bands of seemingly countless windows. To the north was a green, tree-lined park, surrounded by the black iron fence that bounded the United Nations’ territory. Six blocks of international territory, carved out of the busiest city in the world! An inspiring place. The flags of the member nations flapped colorfully in the breeze as Prema led them to a side entrance.

“This is the delegates’ entrance.
We
can go in here,” she said with a hint of pride.

A United Nations guard at the doorway nodded to them as Prema waved a blue pass. Gully and Balbir followed her across the marble floor and onto an escalator. Gully was still trying to study a huge tapestry hanging on a wall when the escalator reached the first floor and they stepped off.

“This way!” Prema beckoned.

They passed a uniformed girl speaking in French to a large tour group. At a side door to the General Assembly, Prema once again flashed her pass. A guard pulled back a tall, wooden door, and Gully and Balbir followed the slim figure in the
sari
into the huge Assembly Hall.

The towering yellow walls swept Gully’s eyes up to the round blue dome above, but his glance was quickly brought down again to the sight of row upon row of delegates seated behind long desks that curved across the spacious floor. Prema led the way and the three sat down in the special visitors’ section to one side of the Assembly floor. Gully leaned forward eagerly, entranced by the great variety of faces before him. On the desks, he could make out the signs identifying the delegations from Ghana, Indonesia, Israel, Jaipur, Japan, and Jordan. The drone of a voice speaking a foreign language turned Gully’s attention to the speaker’s rostrum. There, on a raised platform, a whitish marble desk under the United Nations emblem was occupied by three men. They were closely following the words of the speaker. who stood at a dark desk directly in front of and below them. The speaker was shuffling his papers angrily, as his voice rapped out short, staccato sentences.

“Here, put these on and turn the dial to number two—that’s the English translation.”

Gully took the earphones Prema offered him and fit them over his blond head. Suddenly, he heard a rapid flow of Spanish. He turned the indicator on the small numbered dial by his seat and made out a few French words. Then he put the indicator at number two. He slumped back in the form-fitting blue chair, listening to the English translation of the speech being given by the delegate, who was from a Central European country. The speaker’s fists suddenly pounded the rostrum to emphasize his words.

“Move the United Nations! That is the only solution to this intolerable situation. Move it from New York City. Let us bring it to some place where we will find safety from insult and provocation.”

The translator kept pace in calm, even tones, his voice flat and emotionless. Above the quiet droning in the earphones, Gully could hear in sharp contrast the excited speaker’s voice reaching heights of furious denunciation. The translator raced on, trying to keep up with the speaker’s flow of words. “What do we see when we walk from this building? Capitalist pickets carrying signs calling us, ‘Murderers! Enslavers!’ And this the American authorities permit. Have you looked at the faces of these paid agitators? Hate for us is frozen on their faces. The insulting signs, the jeering voices, they would be enough. But there will be more! Soon, these hirelings will try to attack us while we come here on our peaceful missions. Yes, fellow delegates, I say we are not safe in this country. One day, the police of this city will not be able to cope with some psychotic murderer among those pickets. Someone will be killed, killed on the steps of the United Nations, whose very dedication to peace is threatened by being in this city. Do not wait for someone to be killed. My delegation proposes the immediate removal of the United Nations from New York City … from America … to a country that will afford our entire membership respect. Respect and even more important—protection!”

Gully saw the speaker scoop up his papers forcefully, give a curt nod to the Assembly President behind him, and stride purposefully back to his seat among the rows of desks.

“The next speaker,” the Assembly President calmly called, “is the distinguished delegate from Jaipur.”

Prema nudged Gully with her elbow. Her dark eyes glowed as her father walked calmly down the middle aisle between the rows of desks and delegates. He bowed to the President and took his place at the speaker’s rostrum. He carried no papers, only a look of confidence.

“Mr. President and fellow delegates,” Dr. Sujit Jind began in English, “we have heard the last speaker’s impassioned plea to move the United Nations. I can understand the distinguished delegate’s annoyance and concern with the pickets outside the United Nations area. But no matter where we meet, we will be faced with local customs. And it seems that the custom in America is to permit peaceful pickets to protest. But he very rightly has raised the more serious question of the danger of physical harm to a delegate or delegation. Let me remind the distinguished delegate that despite the cries and signs of protest on the street outside, the New York police department has very efficiently given us adequate protection. I am certain it will continue to do so. I further suggest that the idea of moving the United Nations would be prohibitively costly. The land on which we meet, costing many millions, was given us both by the city and—if the delegate will allow me to mention it—by a renowned American capitalist.”

A rustle of laughter swept across the wide Assembly floor.

“To state our delegation’s position, in brief,” Dr. Jind continued, “we feel that all members are safe. We feel that the costs of moving would be an unnecessary burden. The international political complications of such a move cannot be foreseen. And we believe time spent discussing this question could be more usefully spent on finding ways of preserving the peace in several troubled areas of the world where the peace is threatened. That, after all, is the United Nations’ primary function.”

Flashing a brief smile at the Assembly President, Ambassador Jind walked briskly from the rostrum.

A few minutes later, the motion to place the moving of the United Nations from New York City on the Assembly’s agenda was tabled by an overwhelming vote. The Assembly President adjourned the meeting and, as the delegates left their seats, a babble of many languages filled the great hall.

As Sujit Jind made his way up the aisle, a man stepped from between the rows of seats to speak to him. It was the delegate who had been speaking so vigorously from the rostrum when Prema, Balbir, and Gully had come in. As the man turned away into the crowd, Gully saw a puzzled frown on the Jalpuri’s face.

It had vanished a moment later, though, when Dr. Jind caught sight of Prema waving to him. He quickly joined them in the gallery.

“That was a wonderful speech, Dr. Jind.”

“Why, thank you, Gulliver.”

“Father, what did ‘the distinguished delegate’ say to you down there?”

“He asked me how I could feel safe when my guard had been kidnaped. I replied that, of course, the disappearance of my guard had nothing whatever to do with the United Nations.” Dr. Jind’s voice was firm, but the puzzled look returned to his eyes.

As they walked out of the Assembly Hall, Prema spoke rapidly, informing her father of the morning’s developments.

“Well, Balbir,” Dr. Jind said, “it seems you did go to the right place for aid. Gulliver may well have given the police the clue that will locate your father.”

“I don’t think I did very much to help—”

“Nonsense, Gully!” Prema interrupted. “Even Balbir’s mynah bird calls you ‘detective’!”

“Do you think your grandfather has had time to track the mustached gentleman to his address?” Dr. Jind inquired.

Gully glanced at his watch. It was over two hours since he had spoken to Inspector Queen.

“It’s possible he’s checked out the lead, sir.”

“Then perhaps Balbir’s father is already with the police. Step in here,” the ambassador said, ushering them into an office. Gully quickly phoned the inspector.

“Grandpa, what did you find out?”

“Sergeant Velie just came back. There’s no such address—”

“But it was on his driver’s license,” Gully protested.

“No driver’s license was ever issued to anyone named Fred J. Kolar.”

“But the gunshop owner saw the man’s license.”

“Of course he did, but it was forged.”

“If it was forged—”

“That man has a reason for concealing his identity. We’re trying to find the man with the mustache. But so far, Gulliver, we’ve come to a dead end!”

G
ULLY
slept fitfully that night. Through his dreams, weaving like an evil pattern, was the mustached face of the mysterious man. Gully saw his cruel eyes glaring at him murderously … and awoke with a start. When he fell asleep again, the man in the hat with the turned-down brim was buying rifles in the gun store, and once again Gully suddenly awakened. He paced about his room, trying to put the man’s face from his thoughts. But Gully knew he would not rest easy until Inspector Queen had finally tracked him down and found Balbir’s missing father.

At last, tired from the excitement of the day and his interrupted rest, Gully flung himself on his bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Butterly had just put down the orange juice in front of Inspector Queen when Gully hurried in.

“Morning, Mrs. Butterly,” he said, sliding into his seat. “Any news, Grandpa?”

“No, Gully, this Fred Kolar is still at large.”

“But we do know a lot about him.”

“True—if he’s the same man who drove the black car and bought the rifle. There are over eight million people in this city, Gulliver. More than one man could have a mustache and wear his hat brim turned down.”

“If he is the same man,” Gully continued as he buttered his toast, “he must have something to do with Balbir’s father. The man who was with Shamshir Singh at the rooming house wrote down the address of the gun shop.”

“Gulliver, we’re working on this. But the chances are the name is as phony as the address.”

“Maybe it’s another number on the same block—”

“I’ve already alerted the patrolman on that beat to be on the look-out for a man meeting Kolar’s description,” Inspector Queen said patiently.

Breakfast was finished in silence. As Inspector Queen rose to go, he put his hand affectionately on Gully’s shoulder.

“I know you’re only trying to help, Gully. I’m sorry I have to keep disappointing you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t keep making obvious suggestions, Grandpa.”

“No, you never know when we may have overlooked something. And so far, you kids have produced our best leads.”

“Maybe, but they seem to lead to dead ends.”

The door hadn’t been closed behind Inspector Queen for more than two minutes when the phone rang. Gully grabbed it on the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Inspector Queen, please.”

“Gosh, you just missed him. Try him at Police Headquarters in about half an hour.”

“I just tried him there and they gave me this number,” a friendly voice sighed. “Say, is this Gulliver Queen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Mr. Herman. From the gunshop. You might be interested to know that your Mr. Kolar’s check bounced. And when the police checked with me yesterday, I learned that his name and address were false.”

“I’m afraid they were, Mr. Herman.”

“Well, friend Kolar just entered another gunshop not half an hour ago!”

“He did? How do you know?” Gully asked eagerly.

“Well, you see, when I learned yesterday that Kolar had pulled the wool over my eyes, I was burned up. Last night, we gunshop owners had our monthly get-together at a little Italian restaurant and one of my friends asked me why I looked so glum. I told them all what had happened and described Kolar. This morning, one of them called to tell me that Kolar had come into his place.”

“Did he call a policeman?”

“He didn’t have time,” the voice on the phone replied. “But he did get near enough to hear the address our mustached friend gave a cab driver. He told him to drive to some address on East Forty-eighth Street.”

“I’ll tell my grandfather the minute he gets to Centre Street. This could really help him find Kolar. By the way, why did he go to that other gunshop this morning?”

“He bought a telescopic gunsight for his rifle.”

Gully hung up quickly. He dressed in a flash and was out the front door before Mrs. Butterly could call him back to pick up the things he had left strewn around the bedroom in his haste. In his excitement, Gully forgot his weekly budget and hailed a cab.