Mystery Of The Sea Horse (15 page)

down. "Don't get wet, senor. I'll take you anyplace."

Sprinting to the open window of the cab, the Phantom asked, "The couple who just came out. Which way did they go?"

The man tugged at the left side of his lopsided mustache. "No one has come out of there in the past ten minutes, senor. A very slow night."

The Phantom returned inside. "Getting closer," he said to himself. "But not close enough."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The rain continued.

A little after ten the next morning, the Phantom received a phone call. "Senor Walker?"

"Yes, speaking."

"This is Jimenez," said the man on the other end. "We met yesterday, you recall?"

"Do you have some information on where Torres is?"

"No, senor. But if you can meet me near his cantina in one hour, I can take you to his partner, who will be able to help you," Jimenez promised him. "Also, could you be prepared to pay me, say, twenty-five American dollars?"

"I'll see you ?n an hour." He cradled the receiver, smiled across the room at Diana. "This may be something."

The dark-haired girl was sitting in a wicker armchair. "Another solo performance?"

'Yes, that's the safest thing." The Phantom fetched his trench coat out of the closet. "You stay here or in your room."

"Where are you meeting your informant?"

"In the vicinity of the Ail-American Cantina," he replied. "I want to get there a little early to make sure no one is planning an ambush." He kissed her on the cheek as he left the room.

There was only Jimenez. He was huddled in the doorway of the little grocery store next to the cantina, watching the rainy street. The same shaggy yellow dog was scavenging his way down the block. "Over here, senor," called Jimenez when he saw the Phantom approaching.

The Phantom had arrived nearly a half hour before and carefully checked out the neighborhood. When he was satisfied that this didn't look like a Danton setup, he let himself be seen. "Ready to go?" he asked the small thin Jimenez.

"It is not that distant, senor." The other man was wearing a thick black overcoat and a Panama hat. "We can walk."

The old shopkeeper peered out of his store, recognized the Phantom, and asked, "How are you today, senor?"

"Fine and yourself?"

"I would do better if rogues and rascals didn't use my place of business as a shelter against the rain." ~

Jimenez gave him a brief scowl before stepping down onto the sidewalk. He proceeded to lead the Phantom downhill and quite close to the sea. In front of a small warehouse made of black stone, he stopped. "The twenty-five dollars which was mentioned, senor?"

"Here you are." Rain and wind slapped at the money when he drew it from his wallet.

There was an awning of tattered canvas over the wooden warehouse door, and it kept some of the rain off the two men. "His name is Ramirez," explained the Phantom's guide. "He may want ... oh, perhaps fifty dollars to tell you what he knows."

"He's expecting me?"

"Yes, senor. It is all arranged." Jimenez's narrow wrist shot out beyond the cuff of his heavy overcoat as he rapped on the door three times, then twice. "Even this knock is prearranged."

Nothing happened.

Jimenez cleared his throat before knocking again.

Still no one came to let them into the black stone building.

After a third series of knocks, Jimenez said, "Perhaps we would do well to return at a later—"

"Well go in now and look around." The Phantom tried the door. It was locked.

"Allow me," offered Jimenez. He slid a device out of an inner pocket. After glancing up and down the wet waterfront street, he went to work on the lock. "There, it is open," he said after a half minute.

The Phantom turned the knob, pushed the door slowly inward. All the lights seemed to be on inside die place. He crossed the threshold.

Following him, Jimenez called out, "Hey, Ramirez! Have you forgotten our appointment?"

The large room was half-full of cases. Canned goods for the most part, judging by the stenciling on the cartons. There were also sacks of flour and corn meal.

And toward the rear of the warehouse, just in front of a wide sliding door, a man was sprawled on the concrete.

The Phantom ran toward him. "Is this Ramirez?" he asked.

Jimenez had approached the sprawled man more slowly. "Yes, senor. This is he."

Getting up from beside Ramirez, the Phantom said, "He's been dead about an hour."

The sun came out and Diana mused, "I don't suppose it would hurt if I left for a little while."

It was getting on toward noon. She'd returned to her own bungalow and had been sitting near the

phone. She'd tried to read a paperback she'd brought with her, and a copy of the local daily.

Standing, she said to herself, "We may be going home today and I haven't even picked up a gift for Uncle Dave."

She put on a light coat, wrote a note which said: "Gone down to the market plaza to shop for flamboyant shirts. Back shortly. Love, Diana." She slipped that under the door of bungalow eleven on her way out.

Roughly ten minutes after she'd arrived in the shopping area, when she had hardly had time to look into more than one of the bright shops, she noticed the gray-haired man.

He was across the cobblestone street, alone, studying a display of silver bracelets in a shop window. The newly emerged sun made the silver sparkle and flare.

Diana reversed her direction and walked back toward the corner. Then she crossed the street. There were dozens of people out on the sidewalks now, more arriving all the time. It shouldn't be too difficult to trail the gray-haired man, she thought. Perhaps he wouldn't lead her directly to Chris Danton, but she'd follow him anyway. She should be able to find out where he was staying and then let the Phantom know.

The man moved on, sauntering along the street, studying the shop windows. He paused to check the price of a fat wicker basket, then strolled on. A fat woman with a pushcart offered him a tortilla wrapped around meat and beans. He glanced at the tortilla which rested in her palm, shook his head, and continued his stroll.

Halfway down the block, an alley branched off. The gray-haired man turned down that.

Diana, following at a safe distance, came to the

mouth of the alley. There didn't seem to be anything down there except a tiny cafe at the alley end. The man must have gone in there. She decided to go closer to the cafe.

She was ten yards down the alley when someone said, out of a shadowy alcove, "Over here, Diana."

The small red-haired Laura was standing there. She had a .38 revolver pointed straight at Diana.

"Laura," she said.

"You walked right in, didn't you?"

"I—" Someone grabbed her from behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"It's coming along, yes, very nicely." Chris Danton, in a black pullover and dark slacks, was standing on a catwalk watching his men at work on the
Sea Horse.

The yacht was nearly two hundred feet long, with funnel and superstructure of aluminum alloy. Her original color was white, but she was in the process of being painted a dark gray. A half-dozen men, some sitting on platforms lowered from the lifeboat davits, were painting the
Sea Horse's
starboard side.

Chuck Piper rubbed several times at his short hair. "I don't like it down here," he complained. "I feel odd, all pressed in sort of."

Danton laughed. "That's only natural. You're in a cave."

The
Sea Horse
was floating in black water inside a huge cave. The only light came from vapor lamps fitted into the rough cave ceiling.

"I wish we were long gone from here," said Chuck.

"Shell be finished in another few days," said the handsome Danton. "Then we will once again adopt new names and new identities. We'll set sail for new ports of call."

Chuck pointed at the yacht. "All that stuff is still hidden down there."

"No place safer," Danton assured him.

"Too many people know about us."

"You use the wrong tense, Chuck. Some people

knew about us." Danton took a cigarette from his silver case. "Did you have any trouble with Ramirez?"

"No, none. He's out of the picture," answered the blond young man. "And I got us enough supplies to last through the rest of our stay here. But this guy . . . this Phantom is still going to nose around. He almost got to Ramirez. How did he think to come down here to Mocosa in the first place?"

"Obviously there's been a slight security leak somewhere."

"Maybe you said something to the girl."

Danton laughed again. "Does that seem likely?" He lit the cigarette before asking, "And what about the fair Diana?"

"I got a call from Laura about twenty minutes ago," answered Chuck. "She says the girl left her bungalow, all by herself. Laura and Edwards are going to see about grabbing her."

"Good."

"What do you figure to do with her if they bring her over here?"

Smiling, Danton said, "I'm not exactly sure. Something effective."

Chuck took a few steps on the metal flooring of the caveside catwalk. "I also heard from one of our contacts in Santa Barbara."

"Don't tell me Marcus and Busino are in hot pursuit?"

"Not them, no," said Chuck. "But somebody else."

Danton frowned. "Who?"

"Some peaceful-looking blond guy has been asking questions," replied Chuck. "He was calling himself Helmann most recently."

"Helmann? Who is he?" asked Danton. "Is the

syndicate thinking of trying to hold us up again?"

"He's not syndicate, not interested in junk," said Chuck. It's about something else.

That's all I know."

"Ah," said Danton, nodding. He moved to a metal exit door. "Find out all you can about this Helmann. And tell the men to paint faster."

For a long while, there had been no light in the room.

Then a flashlight appeared some distance from her, floating in the blackness.

Diana remained silent, watching the glare of yellow drifting closer. She was sitting on a dirt floor, among debris which seemed to be mostly broken pottery. The room had no windows in its thick adobe walls. There was one door, locked and bolted on the outside. Apparently, the whole room, including the door, was soundproof. At least no one had responded to the shouting Diana had done during her first few minutes here.