West of Guam (39 page)

“There was—the third man—”

He watched Mendez’ eyes narrow. But the Spaniard shook his head.

“I said that either you lie, or two others lie,” Mendez said grimly. “I am one of those two others, and I do not lie. And the other one—she is—”

His body stiffened; for a second rage showed in his eyes. And then suddenly, as though he remembered that it would not matter, he relaxed. He smiled grimly. Jo Gar widened his almost colorless eyes.

“A woman—” he said very slowly. “There was a woman who—”

His own voice died away. Mendez smiled coldly. He lighted a cigarette.

“It makes no difference to you,” he said. “You have killed one of the three who might have had the diamonds. I tell you that I was one of the three, and I did not have them. A woman was the other.
You
say you have one of the stones.
I
say you have them all.”

Jo Gar said thickly: “Then why did I go to the shop of the blind Chinese?”

Mendez continued to smile. “That is simple,” he replied. “Benfeld, who had told us much about the diamonds because he was in Holland when they were insured, and because he needed money which we gave him, was desperate when told that if he did not help us he would be exposed. He attempted to have you murdered, but he worked crudely, and you were suspicious. You avoided our guns—but you knew that there was a blind Chinese in Honolulu who was important. You were curious. You had the diamonds, but you wanted the thieves, the killers. And you were lucky—until you left Barrington.”

The Island detective shook his head. Mendez was about to bargain with him, to make an offer—a final offer. He knew that. But Mendez would not bargain honestly. He could not. There had been three persons on the
Cheyo Maru
—three who were important. And one had been a woman. One was Mendez. The other was dead. Jo Gar had recovered one diamond—nine were missing. Yet he believed Mendez in one thing—the Spaniard was convinced that the man he had killed had possessed all of the diamonds, and that the Island detective had them now.

Jo Gar said slowly: “I tell you the truth, Mendez. Ten diamonds were stolen in Manila. I have recovered only one of them. I do not think the man I killed had more than that one. I believe you—you have none of them. The woman has tricked you into thinking—”

The Spaniard moved across the room and struck him heavily over the face. He stepped back, rage in his eyes. The Island detective pressed his lips tightly together. Mendez backed across the room. He took his gun from a pocket, stared at Jo. His eyes flickered to those of the Chinese, and he suddenly became thoughtful.

Jo Gar’s tongue touched his lips and tasted blood. His brain was working clearly, in spite of the blow. He had something to work on now. Benfeld had given information that had led to the thieves tracing the diamonds, learning where they were. Three had got away from Manila aboard the
Cheyo Maru,
and one was a woman. He had not thought about a woman.

He muttered very softly: “It is
she
—who has the other nine stones. In some way—she got them, leaving the man in white only one—”

His muttering stopped as he watched Mendez’ eyes slit on his. The Spaniard was smiling with his thin, straight lips—but his eyes held a cold hatred. He looked at Jo Gar, but he spoke to the Chinese.

“You tell driver—no need him. You take rifle and go where I show. Driver go back to Honolulu—keep quiet or it be bad. You stay with rifle ready. You know what I tell—much gold for you. Good?”

The Chinese rose and grinned. He said in the same doggerel manner:

“Good.”

He showed red gums as he grinned at Jo Gar. Then he went from the plantation shack, closing the door back of him. Mendez waited several minutes, and then glanced through one of the windows that faced the east. The shack was almost atop a rise—the moonlight seemed brighter now.

Mendez said tonelessly: “For you—it will be a—red dawn, Señor Gar. One way or the other. If you tell me the truth—you will watch the sun come up from the path and go back to town. If you refuse to do that—you will go out of this room—and the Chinese with the rifle—”

He broke off, shrugged. Jo Gar said wearily: “I have told you—the truth.”

The Spaniard walked to within a few feet of him, stared down at him.

“One of Tan Ying’s men tried to knife you tonight, Gar,” he said slowly. “That was hate. He did
not
knife you because he was knifed first. I used him—to help me. Two hundred thousand dollars is more money than I need. Half of that is sufficient—for me. The other half—that is for you.”

Jo Gar stared at the Spaniard. “And—the woman?” he said slowly.

He watched Mendez’ facial muscles twitch. But the thin-faced one showed his teeth in a smile.

“I will—see to her,” he said slowly, softly.

Jo Gar shook his head. “You could not—run the risk of allowing me to go free, Mendez,” he said steadily. “If I gave you five diamonds—you would kill me—very swiftly.”

Eagerness showed in the Spaniard’s dark eyes. He took a step nearer Jo.

“I swear to it—by the name of—”

His words died; rage replaced the eagerness in his eyes. Jo Gar was shaking his head slowly. The Island detective said:

“I have recovered—only one stone.”

Mendez reached down and struck him across the left temple with his right fist. Jo pulled himself up from the chair, but was battered down again by a sharp blow. He slumped low, groaning. Mendez moved away from his chair.

There was the sound of a match striking, and a little later Jo smelled the odor of a cigarette. He rocked his head from side to side, but did not look up. Mendez said grimly, harshly:

“You will have—until dawn. And then you will go outside—walking. The Chinese is less than fifty yards distant, with the rifle. I will remain inside until the sound of the shots has died. The Chinese will go away—after he has seen you fall. It is all—very simple.”

Jo Gar raised his head slightly. He wiped red from his face with the back of his right hand.

“That will not get you—the Von Loffler—diamonds,” he breathed thickly.

Mendez pulled on his cigarette, leaned against a wall of the plantation shack and smiled.

“If you go to your death—that way—I will believe you,” he said. “Then I will know where to look. But she has never—”

Jo Gar tried a grim smile. “She has never—lied before?” he muttered. “Women are often—like that. There must be—the first time. And white glass—worth thousands—is a reason for—lies.”

Mendez pressed his lips tightly together. “You’ve tricked—too many men, Señor Gar,” he breathed. “I hate you for that—and I do not believe you. You have the diamonds—ten of them.”

Jo Gar raised his eyes. Suddenly his body stiffened. He said weakly:

“I do not think—they are worth it. But five—that is too many—to give. I will—give you—three—”

Mendez dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his shoe sole. He took rapid steps to Jo’s side. His eyes were shining. “You will give—five!” he snapped.

The Island detective stared at him stupidly. But he shook his head from side to side. Mendez swore and struck at him savagely. The Island detective let his head fall low; he closed his eyes. Mendez struck him again, then moved across the room.

“By dawn,” he muttered hoarsely, “you will give me—the five!” Jo Gar said weakly, his eyes expressionless:

“And what proof have I—that you will let me go away from here—safely?”

Mendez shrugged his shoulders. He was confident of winning. He felt that Jo was breaking down; it had been a long night. Ten diamonds—perfect and of large carat. Two hundred thousand dollars! The Island detective could read his thoughts. He was so sure of winning, so sure the man in the chair before him possessed the diamonds.

And Jo was thinking of a woman—of the third of the three who had held up the Delgado jewelry store in Manila, and one of those responsible for the death of his friend Juan Arragon. She would be one of many women aboard the
Cheyo Maru,
which would leave Honolulu for San Francisco at noon—but he knew that
he
would not be aboard the boat that had brought him from Manila.

Mendez would see to that. The Mendez who stood before him now, mocking and battering him. The Mendez who was convinced that he had the ten Von Loffler diamonds, and who had already told him too much.

“Red dawn”—the Spaniard had said. There had been a mockery in those words, too. His lips shaped themselves into a bitter smile as he remembered the advice that Barrington had given him—advice to return to the
Cheyo Maru.

Mendez said very slowly: “Well—there is an end to this, Gar. I will give you five minutes. The sun is getting up. I have much to do. If you swear to me—”

Jo Gar got unsteadily to his feet. Mendez regarded him with a twisted smile. The Island detective was unarmed and very weak. And once before tonight he had failed to surprise the Spaniard. Mendez said grimly:

“Steady—you are not accustomed to being—knocked around—”

The Island detective said thickly: “I do not want to die, Mendez. I will tell you the truth. But you must swear to
me
—that I will go free.”

Mendez’ eyes showed eagerness again. But the next second they had narrowed, and held a hard expression.

“I swear to you—that you will go free—if you tell me where the diamonds are.”

Jo Gar nodded his head. He knew that no matter what he said he would not go free. He raised his head and looked Mendez squarely in the eyes with his bloodshot ones.

“I
did
get them—from the one—on the boat,” he said steadily, softly. “I have had them—with me—
on
me. But in the car—it seemed very bad. I was—afraid. I had them in one of my Manila cigarette packages, mixed with a few cigarettes—”

He paused, swayed a little. Mendez stepped in very close to him. His voice was shaking.

“In your—cigarette package!” he breathed fiercely. “You had them—” Jo Gar nodded as Mendez’ voice died. He said weakly, brokenly:

“The Chinese—on my left. He had a sacklike coat. I slipped the cigarette package—in a pocket—his right pocket.”

Mendez swore sharply. He muttered angrily:

“The Chinese—”

His body swung away from Jo Gar instinctively. His fingers clutched at the knob of the door that opened on the path. And then, suddenly, he remembered. There was the rifle.

His body started to turn, but even as he threw up his arms in protection, Jo Gar swung outward and downward with the chair he had lifted from the floor. All his remaining strength was in the swing. Wood crackled as Mendez’ arms were battered downward—the bamboo was not heavy, but Jo had found power for his final chance.

The Spaniard’s arms swung loosely—his head fell sideways under the impact of the blow. He staggered back from the door, his eyes staring. And in a swift movement Jo Gar had the door opened.

Mendez struck at him weakly—the Island detective had little power in the blow that caught the Spaniard on the right shoulder, spinning him around. But it knocked Mendez off balance—he plunged towards the opened door. He was almost to his knees as his body angled beyond the plantation shack.

The first shot crashed. There was a second—and then two more. Jo Gar stood motionless, listened to two more shots from the repeating rifle. Then there was silence, and later a crashing in the foliage below the shack.

After a long minute the Island detective went outside and made certain that Mendez was dead. Then he went back into the room. It was all red with the rising sun. He sat in a chair for a few minutes. He got a package of Manila cigarettes from a pocket and lighted one. He thought of the woman a man who was now dead had spoken about. Five minutes later when he stepped over the body of Mendez to leave the plantation shack he did not look down. But as he went down the path towards the road he muttered thickly:

“He did not lie—about two things. The Chinese was waiting—with his rifle. And the dawn was—very—red.”

When the cabin phone made a buzzing sound, Jo Gar was dozing. A soft, warm breeze blew in through the port; the
Cheyo Maru
was some seven hours away from the Hawaiian Islands—and Honolulu. The diminutive detective sat up wearily and turned his bruised face towards the French phone. When he spoke his words were low and precise: “Yes—this is Señor Gar.”

The voice at the other end of the wire was flat, almost expressionless. It was low and a bit throaty.

“You would give much, Señor—to recover the other nine Von Loffler diamonds?”

The questioning note was very faint, but the words had an immediate effect on Jo Gar. His small body stiffened; he sucked in his breath sharply. There was silence at the other end of the line. Jo said, finally:

“Yes—much.”

There was another silence. Then the voice sounded again, with no more expression.

“How much, Señor Gar?”

The Philippine Island detective narrowed his gray-blue, slightly almond-shaped eyes. He said very quietly:

“I do not appreciate jokes. Many aboard this boat are naturally aware of my identity. Quite a few men have died because of the Von Loffler stones. If you are—”

“I am not joking.” For the first time there was some tone in the other’s voice. “I have information that will be of value to you.”

Jo Gar said steadily: “Then pardon me. If you will allow me to talk with you in your cabin—”

For the second time there was an interruption. The other’s words were sharp now—very sharp.

“I have asked you a question, Señor Gar. I am aware of many things concerning the Von Loffler stones. Ten were stolen from the jewelry shop in Manila. You have recovered one. Your friend Juan Arragon has been murdered. You have killed—and others have killed. You believe that the nine missing stones are aboard this vessel, and that a woman has them in her possession. Is it not so?”

The Island detective closed his eyes. “It is as you say,” he said simply. His mind was working very fast; his head was clear enough.

The voice continued: “You very narrowly escaped death more than once—in Honolulu, Señor Gar. The missing stones are worth almost two hundred thousand dollars. I can tell you that the one who carried out the orders of Benfeld, and who was responsible for murders that included your friend Arragon—that person is aboard the
Cheyo Maru.
”