“Oh, I say,” protested Frank. “I can take care of myself as well as Bob.”
“Yes, I know,” answered Mr. Hampton. “The truth is you probably can take care of yourself better than Bob, that is you think a bit faster. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. But, there. Cornell and Bob, as you see, have reached the stairway and disappeared down it, while Ramirez and Ramon are still ten or twelve feet distant and held up by the crowd. That’s good. Our boys will be able to wait for them outside, and should manage to follow them without arousing suspicion.”
“I was thinking of Don Ferdinand, Dad,” said Jack. “And so were you, I could tell. I wonder now whether Ramirez is really mixed up with the Don’s failure to keep his appointment with us today?”
“I’d say he was,” said Frank. “Remember that telegram spoke of ‘important developments’.”
Mr. Hampton nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I thought it would be wise for Cornell to trail those two rascals. But I can’t help wishing that Bob hadn’t gone.”
“Well, it’s too late to be mended now,” said Jack, practically. “There. Ramirez and Ramon also have reached the stairway. There, they have started down. It’s a good thing Bob and Captain Cornell were so situated that they managed to get down first. It certainly will make matters easier for them.”
Mr. Hampton nodded. “Yes, and a good thing they got away when they did, for, see, the crowd is beginning to subside at last.”
The boys gazed below them at the stands. Many still shouted, but large sections were desisting and beginning to sink back into their seats. As for Estramadura, the matador, he had disappeared. The corpse of the slain bull likewise had been removed while their attention was otherwise engaged, without their having been aware of what was transpiring in the arena.
“Now I expect this other matador, the Mexican, Juan Salento, will have his chance to show his prowess,” said Mr. Hampton. “Well, I suppose we may as well see it out. We’d have a hard time leaving now, anyhow, for once the next bull fight begins it would be much as our lives would be worth to try to pass in front of these fellows in making our way to the exit.”
They resumed their seats, and Jack leaning over the parapet behind them searched the ground far below for signs of his companions or their quarry but without success. The exit was hidden from his view. Then he turned back to Frank and seeing the latter’s woe-begone expression he burst into a laugh.
“Brace up, old thing,” he said, slapping Frank on the back. “I feel just as bad about being left behind as you. But what must be, must. We’ll have our chance yet, never fear. I feel in my bones that something is going on that spells action for us.”
Bob and Captain Cornell bounded down the long stairway at a breakneck pace, but one which, fortunately, did not succeed in mishap, and emerging upon a rutted dirt roadway on the shaded side of the huge amphitheatre, paused to catch breath and take their bearings.
Through the lucky circumstance of having been on the topmost row of seats, they had been enabled to reach the stairway ahead of Ramirez and Ramon. They had brushed by the guard at the head of the stairs without that barefooted swarthy devotee of the bull fight even being aware of their departure.
The army man was first to reach the outside, and he was taking a rapid survey of the surroundings when Bob came to a halt beside him. Big Bob was still chuckling over the neat way in which he had managed to take a hand in the adventure, knowing well that a moment more and Mr. Hampton would have laid on him an injunction to stay which he would not have cared to disobey, and fully and keenly aware, besides, that right now Jack and Frank were filled with envy of him.
What they saw was a broad straggling roadway encircling the amphitheatre which stood on the edge of town. The last houses of Nueva Laredo lay to their left and some distance away, too far to afford cover in case they wanted to hide while spying on the movements of the two Mexicans who any moment would appear behind them.
Across the roadway, however, were parked hundreds of automobiles whose owners, Americans and Mexicans, were somewhere in the crowd watching the bull fight. Captain Cornell’s roving glance fell on these cars, and he made a quick decision.
“Come on.”
He raced diagonally toward the parked cars, running toward the right in order to get out of the range of vision of anyone descending the stairs.
First casting a quick glance behind him and noting that Ramirez and Ramon had not yet come into view, Bob followed. Captain Cornell ducked in behind the first of the cars, a disreputable member of a universally known family, and halted. Bob was hard on his heels.
“What now?” asked Bob, with a laugh.
Without waiting for the other’s reply he ran an appraising eye over the parked cars. They presented a far different sight from an orderly automobile park in any American city, for they were scattered about the uneven hummocky surface of a sandy field in what looked like inextricable confusion. Nor were any caretakers in sight. As a matter of fact, all male human beings and a good many of the other sex who were anywhere near that amphitheatre were inside of it. Who cared to watch automobiles when he could watch a bull fight, instead!
At that moment a renewed outburst of cheering signalized the advent in the arena of the bull which Juan Salento would be called on to fight, and big Bob heaved a sigh.
“Golly, listen to that. Did we come out here on a wild goose chase? I don’t believe those two rascals are going to appear, after all. And we’ll go and miss the fight.”
But hardly had he completed his lament than Captain Cornell’s warning voice ordered him to stoop below the side of the car, and Bob crouched down. None too soon, if he wanted to escape being seen, for two figures emerged from the exit and stood looking about. There was no mistaking them.
Bob was too busy watching through eyes which just topped the side of the car that hid him from view, to talk. He wondered what they would do, but was not long left in doubt. Apparently satisfied, after a long look behind him up the stairway, that he was not for the moment pursued, Ramirez started to cross the road.
He did not head directly toward the position where the two Americans crouched in hiding, but, instead, made an almost straight line from the exit. This enabled the two in hiding to keep the body of the car between them. Ramirez would reach the parked cars, however, not twenty-five feet away.
Captain Cornell did some rapid thinking. How to keep his quarry in sight would be a problem if, as he suspected, Ramirez got into his own car. The two Mexicans would drive off, and—
“Hey,” whispered Bob, “if they have a car here, we’ll be out of luck, unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Unless we steal one and follow. This flivver right here isn’t locked. And you can start her battery with almost any old key,” said Bob.
“Good boy,” approved the army man. “We may have to do that very thing. Some poor devil would be out a car, but, of course, we could square that. And there’s not much chance,” he added, thinking fast, “that he’d discover his loss and start the police on our track before the end of the bull fight. By which time we ought to be all right, hey?”
“Wonder what’s the matter now?” Bob whispered, disregarding the other’s remarks. He raised his head a trifle, cautiously, staring toward Ramirez and Ramon.
Captain Cornell did likewise.
The two Mexicans had halted in front of a car of midnight blue, long-snouted, with German nickel trimmings. It stood on the edge of the parked cars, indicating its owner had arrived early at the bull fight. Late comers had been forced to go farther along the road or to burrow deeper into the field. Here, with one foot on the running board and a hand extended to grasp the handle of the left front door, Ramirez paused and, facing about, appeared to be scolding his companion.
“He’s certainly giving that old fellow, Ramon, fits about something,” whispered Bob. “Wish I could hear what he’s saying.”
That a disagreement of some sort had arisen between the two Mexicans was plain. Old Ramon stood with hanging head, just out of reach of Ramirez, while the latter berated him in a voice too low for the words to carry to the eager ears of the two watchers.
Bob strained his ears to hear, but that Captain Cornell’s thoughts were otherwise engaged was evidenced when he suddenly emitted a sharp exclamation under his breath, and then squeezed Bob’s arm.
“Doesn’t that car look familiar to you?” he demanded.
“Why, I don’t know.” Bob was puzzled. There was something vaguely familiar about the appearance of the big car beside which Ramirez stood, yet he could not identify what it was.
“Well, it looks familiar to me,” said the flyer in an excited undertone. “That’s the car your friend Don Ferdinand was riding in last night when he bumped us, or I miss my guess. Look again.”
“Golly,” breathed Bob, “you’re right.”
“You bet I’m right.”
“But how—”
“Yes, how? How does this rascal Ramirez happen to be driving it today? Didn’t Don Ferdinand say he was visiting friends and either tell us outright or else leave us to infer that the car belonged to those friends?”
“That’s what.”
“Well, then, how does Ramirez happen to be here in it? Say, young feller, this is certainly worth investigation. The plot thickens. I wonder—” The flyer suddenly ceased talking.
“Wonder what?” asked Bob, who did not take his eyes from the two Mexicans, and was interested to note that Ramirez had advanced threateningly toward Ramon who, in turn, had backed away.
“Why, I wonder if your friend, Don Ferdinand, really is playing a deep game, and is in cahoots with this Ramirez.”
Bob shook his head. “Oh, that’s a bit too thick, Captain, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Yes,” admitted the Captain, “you’re probably right. But what then? How account for that car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Don Ferdinand is in trouble, captured, killed.” Bob’s voice grew troubled. “He’s such a reckless old firebrand. And this fellow Ramirez looks like a bad hombre.”
“He is a bad hombre,” said the army flyer. “There.” His hand gripped Bob’s arm. “Look at that. By George, I can’t let that—”
And without finishing his sentence, he whipped out his service automatic and would have darted into the open, but for the fact that Bob by main strength restrained him.
“Hold on, you hot head,” said Bob. “He’s putting up his gun already. Ramon is giving in. You sure would have spilled the beans.” And he wiped his face, on which the perspiration had suddenly broke forth.
Captain Cornell looked a trifle shame-faced, yet defiant, as he slid his weapon back into its scabbard.
The little drama which had so roused him was over. Although unable to hear what was said between the two Mexicans, the watchers guessed at the meaning of the tableau which had just played itself out. Ramon apparently had been reluctant to accompany Ramirez further. The latter had argued. Then he had whipped out a revolver. It was this which had caused Captain Cornell to start to take a hand. But Ramirez had needed only to display his weapon. Ramon had yielded. Already he was in the front seat, and Ramirez was climbing to his seat behind the wheel.
“Hate to steal a car,” said the flyer grimly, as Ramirez started his motor. “But I reckon we’ll have to do it. Of course, we can find the owner later and square it with him. But Ramirez mustn’t escape, with the fate of your friend, Don Ferdinand, undecided.”
Bob nodded, his lips grimly compressed.
With a roar, the big blue car pulled out into the rutted road, and started away in the opposite direction from them—the direction toward town. So worn was the road that Ramirez apparently was keeping the car in low gear and not making much speed. It was that fact which decided Bob. There would be a possibility of keeping the fugitive in sight.
He vaulted into the flivver.
“I’ve got a key here that I think will switch on the juice,” he said, bending toward the dash board of the ancient vehicle. “You get around front, Captain, and crank her. No self-starter on this model. Must be the vintage of ’76. Hurray,” he shouted the next moment, caution forgotten, “the switch is on. Now give her a twirl, and look out for the kick.”
Captain Cornell leaped to the front, seized the crank and began to spin it. One turn, two, without result. He cast a glance of dismay toward the disappearing car bearing Ramirez and Ramon away. Then he gave the crank another desperate turn. This time the response was instant. There was a sputter. Bob fed more gas. Then the engine broke into a roar, and the old car shook and rattled as if with ague.
“All aboard,” sang out Bob, who was now in the grip of the spirit of adventure, and had cast scruples to the wind. They needed a car, and Captain Cornell was an American Army officer. They could commandeer this flivver, if they wanted to! While Bob was thus consoling himself, he was at the same time steering the car out into the road.
Captain Cornell leaped into place beside him, just as the big blue car rounded the distant curve of the amphitheatre.
“Give her the gas,” shouted the flyer. “Let’s go.”
They went.
As Bob raced down the rutted roadway, there were only two thoughts in his head. Would they be able to keep Ramirez in sight? And would their commandeered car hold together? It creaked, groaned, squeaked, grated, whined and wheezed, but—it covered the ground. And, gaining confidence in his vehicle, Bob opened the throttle to its fullest extent. The ancient car seemed to leap from ridge to ridge of the rutted road like a mountain goat jumping from crag to crag. And like the goat it made most amazing speed.
So much so, in fact, that when again Bob caught sight of the midnight blue car ahead, he had gained on it. His first question was answered. At this rate of speed he most certainly would be able to keep Ramirez in sight. In fact, he cut down his speed in order not to close upon Ramirez to the point where he might arouse the latter’s suspicion.
Thus the two cars, parted by the length of a city block, burrowed by means of the bumpy dirt streets deep into Nueva Laredo. The sun shone hot and dust, whirled up by a brisk wind and further stirred by their passage, settled upon them in choking clouds. Here and there some ancient crone slumbered in the open doorway of a hut, seeking the comparative coolness created by the draught of heated air through the doorway. But otherwise the streets were deserted. Everybody who could walk, crawl or ride had gone to the bull fight.
This way and that bounced Captain Cornell on the frayed seat beside Bob.
“Great guns, boy, take it a little easier, can’t you?” he pleaded in gasps.
Bob clutched the wheel more tightly as a hole in the road almost twisted it from his grasp.
“Slow up and we’ll lose ’em,” he said.
The flyer groaned.
“Expect that’s right,” he managed to say between gasps. “Ouch. Have a heart. How are they getting away with this pace? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Balloon tires on that baby,” said Bob, “and snubbers. They’re riding in a Pullman and—”
“And we’re in a freight car,” groaned the flyer.
“Don’t find fault with the gift horse,” laughed Bob, narrowly avoiding a particularly atrocious hole with the front wheels of his chariot of joy only to flop into it with the rear wheels.
Captain Cornell almost bounced out of the car.
“Have a heart, Bob,” he begged.
But Bob held grimly on. They were on the outskirts of the town now. For the last several blocks they had been driving through a particularly low quarter. The huts were of the poorest, being mere jumbled collections of shingles and tin or of ’dobe, with here and there a little patch of desert grass enclosed in a rickety picket fence before the more pretentious. As if satisfied with having done its worst, with that last dreadful jouncing given them, the roadway had become a little better. Bob was still keeping his distance of a block behind the leading car. He was wondering whether Ramirez and Ramon were aware of his presence behind them and, if so, whether their suspicions were aroused. He was likewise beginning to ask himself whether the chase would lead beyond the outskirts which now loomed ahead, the thinning out of the houses giving warning of approach to the open country beyond.
“If they lead us out into the country we’ll be out of luck,” he commented. “Don’t know how much gas we have. Probably not much. That’s always the way when you need it. We’d look fine, wouldn’t we, if we got ten or twenty miles down into Mexico and the old bus died on us? Besides, if we get out of town, they certainly will know we’re following ’em.”
“Uh-huh.” Captain Cornell grunted. He was thinking along similar lines.
“Maybe, they’re not suspicious of us yet, however,” Bob said, as another thought came to him. “Notice we haven’t turned any corners for blocks? Sticking to a straight road that way, it doesn’t look so much as if we were following them. Might just be going the same way.”
The car ahead slowed down before a two-story frame house on the right hand side, and halted alongside the wooden fence enclosing a small weed-grown plot of ground in front. The house stood in the next block. A street intervened.
“Turn right up this street,” commanded Captain Cornell quickly, and big Bob complied without asking why.
At the same time he slowed down, but the flyer shook his head.
“Keep going until the next cross street, then turn left and we’ll stop. That way, if they’re watching us, we’ll get out of sight. Then we can leave the car and sneak back to have a look from cover at that house.”
Bob turned the next corner, finding himself in a street as deserted as any they had passed through, and with only a few houses in the block. All were mere huts. Not a person, man, woman or child, was in sight. The only signs of life were a few chickens pecking dispiritedly at the ground under a drooping pepper tree in the shade of which Bob brought the car to a stop.
“Whew,” he ejaculated, whipping out a handkerchief and wiping his streaming face. “That was what you might call a real joy ride.” He climbed out and looked curiously at the springs of the old car. They were rust-covered but sound. Bob shook his head, marvelling. “How those springs stood it, I don’t know,” he said.
“Come on. Let’s hurry,” said the flyer. “We’ll hike up to the next corner and then turn back toward the street we left them on. That’ll put us beyond them and, unless they’re watching for us, we ought to be able to spy on that house without much trouble.”
Bob fell into step beside his companion and they moved along briskly despite the oven-like heat which brought out a profuse perspiration before they had taken a half dozen paces.
Turning the corner to the left, they saw open ahead of them a somewhat more pretentious street. At least, it possessed a plank sidewalk upon that side along which they proceeded, and the houses, which were more numerous, seemed better built and the enclosures before them were better kept.
Captain Cornell’s glance roving above the low line of the single-story ’dobe houses was quick to observe the rear of a two-story house on the intersecting street ahead, and he called Bob’s attention with the remark:
“There’s the house. Maybe, we can find a vacant lot ahead which will permit us to approach it from the rear.”
But Bob paid little attention for at that moment he, too was noting something of interest—nothing less, in fact, than a lofty three-strand aerial of considerable extent in the rear of a small ’dobe house which they were approaching. As they drew abreast of the swinging gate in the picket fence which, for a wonder, was not a-dangle from only one hinge, but was neat and trim as were all the immediate surroundings of the place, a boy in his ’teens stepped to the door and glanced at them inquiringly.
Acting on impulse, Bob halted at the gate and, smiling at the lad, whose dark, olive-tinted face was bright and intelligent in expression, he pointed toward the aerial and asked in Spanish:
“Radio? You have a receiving set?”
“Oh, yes, senor,” the boy replied, moving forward a step or two, “but more than that, I send, too. I have a two-way station.”
Captain Cornell had halted a step of two beyond Bob. No man on the Border Patrol could go long without acquiring a knowledge of Spanish, and as a matter of fact he had fluent command of the language. He understood, therefore, the nature of the remarks exchanged by Bob and the young Mexican lad, but he wasn’t interested. His thoughts were taken up with the problem of how to approach the rear of that house of mystery without detection. So now he turned to Bob with a trace of impatience and said in English:
“Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Bob glanced aside so that the Mexican boy would not observe and winked by way of reply. Captain Cornell was mystified, he didn’t understand. But he had a good deal of respect for his companion, little though he knew him, so he decided to hold his hand a moment until he could discover what Bob had in mind. For that Bob was up to something, he felt assured. He moved closer.
Bob laughed, leaning on the gate as if he had nothing in the world to do but exchange pleasant conversation with the Mexican boy.
“Radio certainly is fascinating,” he replied in Spanish. “But I shouldn’t have thought it would keep you from the bull fight.”
“You are an American, senor, aren’t you?” asked the boy, a trace of scorn on his features. “The senor speaks my language well. But I can tell. Well, that accounts for your mistake. Not all Mexicans are animals.”
“Oh, here, here,” cut in Bob, apologetically, “I didn’t mean any harm. Why, I’ve just come from the bull fight myself, and I thought it mighty exciting.”
The boy’s expression became somewhat mollified.
“You see,” Bob hurried on, anxious to overcome the bad impression he obviously had created, and still a bit puzzled as to just why the boy had taken offense; “you see,” he said, “I, myself, am a radio enthusiast, and I know just how wrapped up in it a fellow can become.”
“Oh,” the boy moved closer. “The senor Americano will forgive my hasty temper. You see, he added, breaking into more hurried speech, “my mother is a widow who lets me do as I will in working with radio. But all her friends, they say”—and he shrugged—“they say she is foolish, touched in the head, to let me do so. They say, senor, that the good God did not want us to hear through the air for long distances or he would have equipped our ears. They say what I do is sacrilege.”
He laughed with a touch of bitterness.
Bob was taken aback. He saw now why his remark about the bull fight had given offence. The boy was embittered against people of his own race. Poor kid, thought Bob, what a tough time he must have! Fortunately his mother supported him. Though how a Mexican widow, living in this poor quarter of the town, should possess enough money to enable her son to indulge his hobby was a facer.
While he still struggled mentally for a reply, Captain Cornell cut in with:
“Come on, Bob. They’ll get away, maybe. Thought you had something up your sleeve! But just chinning this kid isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Bob saw he would have to inform his companion of what was in his mind, so he replied rapidly:
“Just a minute, Captain. What I wanted was to get the boy’s interest and then ask him about that house.”
“Oh.” Captain Cornell saw the light, and his impatience in a measure abated.
“Well,” said Bob, addressing the boy again, “my friend here is anxious to be gone, so I suppose I’ll have to stop. I’d like to talk some more to you about radio, though. Maybe, some time, you’ll let me have a look at your set.”
“Oh, yes, senor,” said the boy, all eagerness. “Right now, if the senor wishes.”
“No,” said Bob, “I’ll have to be moving. By the way, though,” he added, letting his glance rove toward the rear of the two-story house on the next street, the upper windows of which could be seen above the low ’dobe adjoining the boy’s home; “by the way, though, do you know who happens to live in that house?”
The boy stepped closer, in order to face about and see what place Bob was indicating.
“Oh, that house. Why, senor, it is somewhat of a mystery in this neighborhood. A Japanese gentleman lives there, and many Japanese come and go continually. But none of us has ever spoken to those people. The windows, as you see, are always shuttered.”
He turned around to face Bob and drew closer. Instinctively, his voice dropped as he added:
“Every now and then there are many cars which come up there at night and then depart—nobody knows where. They are closed cars. And last night, senor, there was a scream, a terrible scream. I was sitting up very late at my radio, and had just gone to the door to get a breath of air. Then I heard it.”
“Hey, Captain,” said Bob, excitedly, turning to his companion, “hear that?”
Indeed, Captain Cornell had heard, and he immediately moved into place at the gate beside Bob and began asking excited questions in Spanish. Was it a man or a woman who screamed? A man? Oh, and the Captain’s face betrayed disappointment. Mere mention of the fact that a scream had shattered the midnight quiet in this remote quarter had aroused his sense of the romantic to a point where, with nothing else to go on, he had imagined the beginnings of a pretty mystery centering about a damsel in distress.
What a come-down to find not a woman but a man had screamed! Still he was an incorrigible romanticist. His imagination leaped to other possibilities. He shot other questions at the boy. There had been a fight, not so? Shots had been fired? The Mexican police had appeared on the scene?
But to all these questions the boy shook his head by way of reply. No, nothing. Only that first blood-curdling scream, such a scream as made the hair stand on end. He, Juan Salazar, was his mother’s sole defender. He had therefore not deemed it advisable to leave the house defenceless and go to investigate. And at that statement, both Bob and Captain Cornell found it difficult to repress their smiles. But they managed to do so and thus avoided giving the boy deadly offense. On the contrary, continued the boy, he had withdrawn indoors, barred the door and put out his light in order not to call attention to his house, in case—in case——
Captain Cornell came to the youth’s rescue with a grave nod.
“That was the right thing to do.”
“But, oh, the senor must believe me,” said the boy. “It was a terrible scream.”
Bob and the flyer looked at each other. “Couldn’t have been Don Ferdinand,” said Bob. “He didn’t disappear until this morning. At least, it was only a few hours ago that we got his telegram.”
“Mind reader,” accused the flyer. “That’s just what I was thinking of. But—then who was it?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Bob. And then a daring light came into his eyes. “What do you say to our making an investigation?”
“Huh. How?”
“Why—why—I don’t know. How would you go about it? Just mosey up to the door and say to whoever comes: ‘Who made that noise last night?’”
The flyer gave a short laugh. “We’d get far, wouldn’t we?”
“Well, we might go up to the front door and ask to see Don Ferdinand. Just say we noticed his car in the street and dropped in to see him.”
“Huh.” The flyer grunted disgustedly. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Well, then, think of something yourself,” said Bob. “What’s the matter with that last idea, anyhow? We’ve got—no, by George, I haven’t any weapon. But you’ve got your service automatic. I know, because you pulled it out back there outside the bull ring. We’d certainly take ’em by surprise, and something might come of it.”
Captain Cornell shook his head pityingly. “You’ve been out in this sun too long, old man,” he said.
While this semi-humorous conversation had been going on, the Mexican boy had withdrawn a short distance and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets and his eyes bent toward the ground in thoughtful contemplation. Now he looked up and glancing toward Bob said:
“The Americano might like to know that there is something strange about that house. I found it out by accident one day. On that street beyond”—pointing toward the lane on which the two Americans had abandoned their commandeered car—“there is a deserted house. It is only a poor sort of place of ’dobe. But one day I saw a man come out of it, carefully, looking around as if to make sure he was not observed. So, then, I happened to pass that house later and, seeing that it was a time when nobody was in sight, I tried the door. It was open, and I went in. There, senor, I found a trap door which I opened. Beneath it were steps. I even went down them and found at the foot a tunnel. Senor, it was really none of my business, so I did not investigate farther. But that tunnel leads to the house of the Japanese.”
“Hey? How do you know?” barked Captain Cornell.
Conscious that he held their interest, the boy regarded the flyer with a superior air. Then he unbent. What good was it to possess a secret, if you couldn’t share it?
“Oh, senor, that is not difficult,” he said. “The man who came out of the door of the little house was a man I had seen entering the house of the Japanese. He is of my race, and he has a crooked nose and a limp of the right leg. I could not be mistaken.”
“Ramirez,” ejaculated Bob, and Captain Cornell nodded.
“You know this man?” asked the boy quickly.
“Yes,” said Bob hastily, “we know of him. He is a rascal.”
As for Captain Cornell, he appeared to be lost in thought. After a long moment he turned to Bob. “Well, we’re on the track of something, that’s sure. Let’s walk up to the corner and see if the car we followed is still there. Then we can talk it over. Guess, we’ve learned all we can from this kid.”
Bob nodded, and turning to the Mexican lad he again dropped a warm word about radio, promising to return some time and examine the boy’s apparatus. The lad beamed, his earlier offended state forgotten. Then Bob and the flyer walked briskly toward the distant street intersection, a long block away.
“What do you make of this?” Bob asked. “This house owned by a Japanese—with lots of other Japanese there—people driving away at night—the secret passage—that scream last night?”
“I don’t know,” confessed the flyer. “I’m beginning to get the glimmerings of a vague suspicion. Not all we have learned, however, fits in with it.”
“What is it?” pressed Bob.
“Not worth mentioning yet,” said the flyer. “But here’s the corner. Now for a look—see.” And halting at the edge of a building on the corner, he peered around it and along the length of the thoroughfare down which they had jounced and jolted not long before.
Bob likewise stole a glance from shelter, chuckling as he did so.
“We must look like a couple of conspirators in a melodrama,” he said, “pussyfooting up to the corner and then poking our heads out this way. Good thing everybody’s gone to the bull fight or we’d rouse somebody’s suspicions and, maybe, have the place down about our ears. But there isn’t a soul to see us. The place is like a village of the dead.”
Little enough, however, was there to see. The long street was deserted as far as the eye could rove. It lay baking under the late afternoon sun, and the only object of interest anywhere apparent was what they had looked to find—the handsome car midway down the block.
“Calle Lebertad,” read a battered and defaced street sign on a post on the opposite side of the street. Doubtless, a similar sign appeared on the post ahead of them on their corner, but, as it faced outward, they could not note it. Bob called the flyer’s attention to the sign, remarking that at least they now knew what street the mysterious house stood on.
“A lotta good that does us,” said Captain Cornell, slangily, in disgust. “I’d like to get closer to that house, Bob. I have a hunch we might overhear something.”
“So would I?” Bob promptly agreed. “I’ll bet Don Ferdinand is in there, and I’d like to get him out.”
“Not much chance of that right now,” said the flyer. He was silent, thinking. Finally he gave a decisive little nod. “By George, it’s better than doing nothing.”
“What is? Shall we have a try at storming the place?”
“No, of course not. But I think I’ll take a stroll down the street. Maybe I’ll hear something. The house is isolated. It’s probably open on account of this heat. If people are talking inside, I may catch a hint of what’s going on.”
“You’ll take a stroll?” said Bob. “Why not ‘we’?”
“No, I’ll go alone. Best not to put our eggs in one basket. Besides if by any chance, somebody jumps me, I’ve got a gun and can defend myself. You haven’t.”
“Huh. Guess I can swing a mean fist.”
The flyer grinned. “Nothing doing. I’ve got charge of this expedition, and orders are that you stay here and watch me. Besides, if I get into trouble, you’ll be free to bring aid, while if you were along and we both were done in—just supposing the worst that might happen—where would your friends look for us?”
Bob grumbled, only half-convinced.
“I’ll stroll around the block and join you here again,” said the flyer. “Nothing’s going to happen. Really, there’s not much sense in my going, only I do feel that there’s a chance of learning something. In case anything does happen to me, hop back to our stolen flivver and light out for Laredo and when you get near the Bridge abandon the car so that you won’t be stopped in case the owner has sent out a police warning. We’ll square accounts for that car later. Cross the Bridge and go to the nearest telephone and call the Border Patrol. Ask for Captain Murray. Remember that name, Murray. Tell him what’s what, and he’ll attend to the rest. And don’t by any chance make the mistake of trying to come to my rescue single-handed, because without a gun you’d be a goner. And you’d be throwing away my chance, too. I don’t think anything’s going to happen, but if it does, I want to be sure you’ll stick to that plan. How about it?”
“Oh, all right,” said Bob, ungraciously. “I’ll do as you say. Only you must see that it doesn’t give me a chance for action.”
“That remains to be seen. If you should have to call for Murray, you’ll have to be his guide. And that would bring you action a-plenty.”
“Wouldn’t he be out of luck, invading a foreign country?” asked Bob, curiously.
“Leave that to him. Anyway, what are we doing?”
“Oh, we’re just acting on our own,” said Bob. “That’s different.”
“Not much. Well, so long. See you in a couple of minutes.”
“So long,” answered Bob. “And the best of luck.”
Thereupon Captain Cornell strolled nonchalantly around the corner, and set off at the dawdling pace of the loafer, toward the house of mystery and the car of midnight blue.
It was a silent sun-drenched street. Down at the bull ring they were just then watching Estramadura in the act of despatching his second bull, with ahead of them the prospect of Juan Salento playing a return engagement, making the fourth and final fight of the afternoon. No well-regulated bull fight at Nueva Laredo would pretend to be worthy of consideration without four encounters. Estramadura had been followed by his Mexican rival, who had successfully defended his reputation and had performed even more thrillingly than his fellow matador from Spain. Practically all Nueva Laredo was down there making holiday, and so not a soul appeared in sight on the sun-filled Calle Libertad except Captain Cornell.
Reconnoitering from the corner, Bob watched the departing back of his companion, enviously at first. Just his luck, he thought somewhat bitterly, to be left out of the fun. He recalled his words earlier uttered to Frank and Jack to the effect that no adventures ever were going to happen to him again. Well, wasn’t this proving the truth of his prophecy, he argued? Here he was, led up to a possible adventure, and then left standing safely, out of all possibility of becoming involved in it himself.
Then he grinned to himself as he noticed Captain Cornell swinging farther along the silent, deserted street. Probably, after all, nothing was going to happen to him, either. It certainly looked as if that house of mystery, with the midnight blue car at the door, was incapable of producing adventure. Captain Cornell would have his walk for nothing. He’d just swing around the block and come back to where Bob was standing, and have his pains for nothing.
Bob grinned as he shifted weight on the other foot, and sought a new resting place for his shoulder against the ’dobe wall of the little house against which he was leaning. It was a sour grin. After coming this far, after running off with somebody else’s car, Bob wanted something to happen. Nevertheless, nothing was going to happen. Of that now he became convinced. It took Captain Cornell an interminably long time to reach the house of mystery. But now at last he was abreast of it. Bob peering forth contracted his brows in a frown of disappointment. He didn’t want any harm to come to his companion, of course. Just the same, he did have the feeling of having been cheated by fate. There was Captain Cornell sauntering leisurely by the house into which Ramirez had disappeared, glancing casually at the car of midnight blue and pausing a moment to examine it.
Bob paid due tribute to that bit of acting. “Just what a fellow strolling by might be expected to do,” he told himself. “Naturally, when he sees a handsome car like that, all by itself, out here in the ‘Sticks,’ he’ll give it a glance.”
Then two men came out of the house. The figure of one was unfamiliar. The other, however, Bob made sure, despite the distance intervening, was Ramirez. Captain Cornell straightened up at the sound of footsteps behind him.
Bob held his breath. No, they were merely going to climb into the car, it appeared. And the doughty flyer was saying something to them. Doubtless, a word of apology for examining the car. All three stood in a little group. Ramirez and Captain Cornell seemed to be engaged in conversation.
Suddenly, so swiftly that for the moment Bob was left stunned and breathless, the other of the precious pair who was slightly in the rear of the American flyer hit him on the head with some small object. Captain Cornell did not even scream. Instead, he fell forward stricken into the waiting arms of Ramirez, and the latter and his companion started dragging him up the steps.
At that Bob’s wits returned in a measure and, darting away from the corner as if hurled from a bow, he shot forward at arrow-like speed. He uttered no sound, his feet made no noise on the dirt sidewalk that could be heard far down the block. And Ramirez and his companion did not look toward him.
But before he had gone a hundred feet, the two men dragging the insensible form of the American flyer disappeared within the house.
Bob groaned and pulled up short. To dash on and beat at the doors of that sinister house, unarmed and alone, would be nothing less than madness. It was the thing which he felt like doing, but good sense warned against it.
No, he must think of some other way of rescuing his companion. And now, as standing there in the street, the knowledge of what depended upon him alone came to him, he was filled with anxiety lest already he might have attracted unwelcome attention to his presence. He looked around quickly to see if he was observed, but the street was as blank, as deserted, as before Captain Cornell had started strolling down its length.