Vultures in the Sky

by Todd Downing

  “Did you have any particular reason in your mind to account for the stopping of the train?”

  Jeanes’ expression did not change but Rennert had the feeling that for a barely perceptible instant the weak blue eyes had held a cold, sharply speculative look.

  “No,” the man said evenly, “I had no particular reason in mind. I had supposed that we had stopped at a station but the unusual delay struck me. I thought that I would step to the platform. I could, of course, see no lights and so returned to this car.”

  Rennert was worried more than he would have admitted by the man’s manner. He thought: He is lying. The stopping of this train upon this barren desert, miles from any station, was not to him an unexpected eventuality. He had anticipated it, rather, and has been waiting for something to happen. He is still waiting.

  He turned to King and said: “That brings us to you, Mr. King. What were your actions after the stopping of the train?”

  King passed a tongue over dry tight lips and said in a quick precise voice: “I was in the diner with Mr. Radcott when the train stopped. We both got up and went into the smoker. Mr. Searcey joined us there a few minutes later. I was rather—well, nervous— about the train stopping, so I left them and went down the steps. I talked to you a few minutes, you’ll remember, then came back here to the Pullman.” He cleared his throat. “That’s all.”

  “Who was in the diner when you and Mr. Radcott left?”

  “Mr. Searcey, Mr. Spahr and—and Miss Van Syle.” He looked up. “Is that what you said her name was?”

  “Yes, Mr. King, that was her name.” He thought a moment. “And how long was it between the time the train stopped and the time you and Mr. Radcott left the diner?”

  King considered. “Not more than four minutes, I should say.”

  “And how long after that did Mr. Searcey join you in the smoker?”

  “Not more than ten minutes, I should judge. Probably less than that.”

  “Did anyone else come into the smoker while you were there?”

  “Oh, yes,” King sat up straighter in his seat, “I had forgotten. Mr. Spahr came in two or three minutes after Mr. Searcey did.”

  “He remained there how long?”

  “I don’t know. He went into the lavatory and was still there when I left.”

  “You went directly from the smoker to the steps?”

  “Yes, I met the conductor at the top of the steps. He had just come up. I stopped and tried to talk to him, to ask him why the train had stopped but he didn’t seem to want to talk, so I went on down and joined you.”

  “And after you left me and came back into the Pullman whom did you find here?”

  “Miss Talcott and Mr. Jeanes. As she has said, he went toward the rear of the car and stayed a short time.”

  Rennert stood for a moment, cataloguing these details in his mind. He was searching, too, the faces before him for an indication that one of them was aware of a misstatement in the testimony of another. The time had been so short and they had been so closely confined within the two cars that it seemed impossible that anyone could have an alibi for the time spent in the compartment.

  He looked next at Radcott, who was sitting with a frown of concentration upon his face, as if in preparation for questioning.

  He seemed rather startled, notwithstanding, by Rennert’s attention.

  “I really don’t have much more to say. It was just as Mr. King has told you—I went to the smoker with him and talked with him and then with Searcey until you asked us to come in here.”

  “You agree with Mr. King’s estimate of the time that elapsed between your entering the smoker and Searcey’s joining you there?”

  Radcott pursed his lips. “I suppose so, though I’d say it was less than ten minutes, considerably. I really don’t remember exactly.”

  “And what did Mr. Spahr do after Mr. King left?”

  “He came out—he was, well, rather sick—washed his face and went out.”

  “That’s the last you saw of him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t leave the smoker?”

  Radcott shook his head decidedly.

  Rennert looked at Searcey, who was next to Radcott. He was sitting forward in his seat, resting one hand on the back of the seat in front of him while with the other he slowly stroked his long chin.

  “As you know, I was in the diner when the train stopped,” he said thoughtfully. “King and Radcott were there, at one table, and Spahr and the young woman at another. King and Radcott left, about three or four minutes after the train came to a stop, as they’ve said. The woman got sick, I think, or began crying about something and left.” He met Rennert’s gaze squarely. “I know you’re going to want to know the time she left so I’ve been trying to get it straightened out in my mind. I should say that it was about five minutes after King and Radcott. I stayed about three minutes longer then left at the same time Spahr did. I went to the smoker, where I found King and Radcott. I didn’t leave it until you came in.”

  “And where,” Rennert put the question quietly, “did you leave Mr. Spahr? According to Mr. King and Mr. Radcott he did not come into the smoker until several minutes after you.”

  Searcey’s face was as expressionless as the blank surfaces of his glasses.

  “I left him at the door of the smoker,” he said. “He started to come in with me but changed his mind.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know,” the words fell flatly into the stillness of the car.

  Rennert saw the eyes of all of them travel from Searcey’s face to the seat where Spahr was sitting.

  The young man’s eyes were half closed and there was a drawn expression on his face, as if he were holding his face immobile by an effort of the will alone.

  “And now, Mr. Spahr,” he said evenly, “you’re the last one. Are the statements which these men have made as to your movements correct?”

  Spahr nodded dumbly, his teeth pressed against his lower lip.

  “You left Mr. Searcey at the door of the smoker?”

  Another nod.

  “Where did you go then?”

  Spahr kept his eyes averted and said in a thick voice: “I went back to the diner—I’d forgotten something.”

  “What, Mr. Spahr?”

  “My cigarettes.”

  Rennert, glancing back, saw Searcey’s gaze directed at the man who was speaking. There was a curious intentness on his face and his lips were two straight hard lines.

  “You came back at once to the smoker?” he turned his attention back to Spahr.

  “Yes.”

  “And were sick?”

  “Yes,” a perceptible pause, “I’d taken another drink of wine back in the diner.”

  Rennert regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “Did you see anyone in the diner, the waiter for instance, who can testify to your presence there?”

  Spahr stared at him. “No.”

  “Mr. Searcey has said that the young lady was ill or crying. Is that true?”

  Spahr’s eyes surveyed him blankly. “Yes, that’s true, she was crying about something. I don’t know what about. She wouldn’t tell me.”

  Rennert watched him for a moment, then looked slowly over the faces of the others.

  “Do any of you find any inconsistency or false statement in what anyone has just said? If so, I should advise you to speak out at once, since it is to your own interest to do so.”

  A long interval of silence.

  Rennert was conscious of a feeling of disappointment as be sought vainly for an expression upon some face which would indicate that someone had slipped up upon some detail, however trivial. He saw nothing. Spahr sat with one hand shading his eyes. The eyes of the others met his without wavering.

  Rennert brought out of his pocket the piece of paper which King had given to him outside Saltillo.

  “That brings us,” he said, “to another matter, which may or may not be connected with the deaths which hav
e occurred on this train. I have here a paper which was given to one of the passengers on this car by mistake at Saltillo. It bears a message meant for another of you. For whom was this message meant?”

  Searching their faces he saw in the eyes of one of them confirmation of his suspicions.

  “It is in Spanish,” he said, “translated it reads: ‘Our friends in San Antonio warn that danger hovers over your train. You are being watched. Take care!’ Does that have any meaning for any one of you?”

  One pair of eyes froze and the lips beneath them moved silently, as if in prayer.

  No one spoke.

  In the stillness which lay upon the car Rennert could hear very distinctly King’s stertorous breathing at his side. At the rear Miss Talcott was leaning forward in her chair, an intent look upon her face. Her eyes were calculative, fixed on his face. He waited but she said nothing and after a moment sank back onto the seat while her eyes sought a point above his head.

  Rennert looked down at Jeanes’ white face and said: “Under the circumstances, Mr. Jeanes, I am going to have to ask you to tell us the contents of the message which you received and tore into pieces at the station at Vanegas.”

  14

  Search (8:17 P.M.)

  Jeanes’ eyes closed as if involuntarily, at a threatened blow. When he opened them they were cold and clear. When he spoke his voice was not raised yet seemed to ring out in the stillness.

  “The message which I received in Vanegas had no connection with anything which has happened upon this train.”

  “I’m afraid, Mr. Jeanes, that we cannot take your word for that.” Jeanes’ thin shoulders rose in a suggestion of a shrug. “I have told the truth. I can say no more.”

  “This message in my hand,” Rennert extended it, “was it intended for you?”

  “I cannot say.”

  There was, Rennert felt, an air of granite-like resolve about the man as he sat with straightened shoulders and upraised chin. It was not defiance so much as the calm acceptance of impregnability.

  “I think,” Rennert said, “that you are making a grave mistake, Mr. Jeanes, by maintaining that attitude. Remember that as soon as we arrive in Mexico City in the morning the Mexican authorities will take over this investigation. They may not be disposed to be lenient with your silence.”

  If the man was conscious that his face was the cynosure of their eyes he did not betray it by the movement of a muscle. The wraith of a smile that hovered about his delicately chiseled lips was but the reflection of his own thoughts.

  Watching him, the thought struck Rennert rather forcibly: He is not concerned by my insistence upon what will happen in Mexico City in the morning because he does not expect to reach Mexico City!

  When King got to his feet it was as if a tautened wire had snapped.

  King’s face was gray and his eyes looked as if they had sunk into hollows. He kept his hands buried in the pockets of his coat and his shoulders braced. He looked at Rennert and then at the others.

  His voice was brittle: “My friends, I’m going to speak frankly. I don’t like the way things stand now. Remember we’re not in the United States but in a foreign country. I’m convinced, as Mr. Rennert has said, that there’s a cold-blooded murderer on this car. Personally, I don’t look forward to spending the night in the same car with him, without knowing who he is. What assurance have we that he hasn’t kept the hypodermic needle with which he has killed three people already?” He paused and swallowed hard. “I’m going to suggest that everyone on this car submit to a search, both of his person and of his luggage. Then, if no trace is found of the needle or of another weapon, we can at least spend the night with some feeling of security.”

  He sank into his seat as if exhausted by the effort of speaking, felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it over his face.

  For several seconds after he had concluded there was silence.

  Rennert waited.

  It was Radcott who spoke up at last, rather uncertainly.

  “I agree with Mr. King, of course,” he said, “although I rather dislike the idea of being searched. Still, if I thought it would do any good in finding out which one of us is the murderer, I’d be glad to submit to it. But do you think, Mr. Rennert, that this person will have kept the needle? Won’t he have thrown it away?”

  “Miss Van Syle was killed after the train stopped,” Rennert reminded him. “The needle, therefore, is either on this car or cannot have been thrown very far.”

  “Oh!” Radcott stared at him. “That’s right. In that case I second Mr. King’s suggestion.” he said feebly, dropping into his seat.

  King looked back over the car.

  “If Miss Talcott will be kind enough to retire to the ladies’ room we can go through with it right now,” he suggested.

  Rennert watched their faces. He was rather taken aback by King’s suggestion and by the ready acquiescence of the others. He had been determined to enforce this search in case the needle were not found elsewhere in the train but he had expected to meet with considerable remonstrance. He had the feeling now that the needle would not be found upon any of them, that if it were found at all it would be in a position which would implicate no one. Still, the search might bring something else to light. If it accomplished nothing else, it had at least added to his knowledge of Mr. King.

  Miss Talcott had risen and was standing in the aisle, smoothing out the cuffs of her dress.

  There was an abstracted smile on her face as she looked back at Rennert and said in a clear voice: “Wouldn’t this be a good opportunity to find out if my paper-knife is still in this car?”

  Rennert looked at her thoughtfully. “Yes, Miss Talcott, it is an excellent opportunity.”

  She started to turn away, paused and said: “But perhaps some of these people have seen it. Have you asked them?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  King was sitting bolt upright in his seat, staring at Rennert. “What’s this,” he demanded, “about a knife?”

  “Miss Talcott has lost a paper knife,” Rennert told him evenly. “She suggests that I ask whether any of you have seen it.”

  It was a grim silence that held them for a moment.

  King looked back at the woman. “Was it—” he faltered, “sharp?”

  Rennert could see that she repressed a smile as she gazed at his agonized face. “Yes, Mr. King,” she spoke very distinctly with, he felt, a certain sardonic humor, “it was sharp—very sharp.” She watched him for an instant then looked up at Rennert. “I’ll retire now if you wish. You may search my luggage, too, if you like. It’s unlocked.”

  She walked down the aisle toward the rear of the car.

  Rennert turned and entered the passage. He spoke briefly to the two soldiers who stood there. The needle, he learned, had not been found in the compartment which they had searched nor in the smoker. He gave them directions as to what was to be done in the Pullman. They were to concentrate their energies, he told them, on finding the needle and the missing knife.

  King was standing in the aisle with a worried look on his face when Rennert returned. “I think,” he said hesitantly, “that we would all prefer to be searched by you, Mr. Rennert, rather than by those Mexicans.” He looked about him for support.

  Radcott and Searcey nodded agreement. Spahr and Jeanes made no motion.

  “Very well,” Rennert said, “if you will all stand in the aisle I shall do so while these men are going through your luggage. When I have finished you can step into the smoker until we are through here.”

  They obeyed.

  Afterwards, looking back upon that scene, Rennert realized the strain to which he as well as the rest of them had been subjected during that day. It manifested itself on his part by an almost irrepressible feeling of amusement as he passed down the aisle, searching each one with careful practiced fingers. It brought back to him memories of other days, at border ports and crossings, and of indignant, resignful, or panic-stricken tourists, most of them with
trifling peccadilloes looming large upon their consciences. The highly respectable and law-abiding lady who he knew had a large and awkwardly-shaped bottle of French perfume concealed in her bosom and whom he hadn’t been able to resist torturing with his knowledge. The terrified schoolteacher with the alcohol which really had been bought in Mexico for medicinal purposes … It brought back other, grimmer memories….

  They submitted without protest, emptying pockets and unbuttoning vests and coats. King, in grim earnest as he opened his billfold and held it out for inspection, even offering to unlace his shoes; Spahr, lethargic and, Rennert noticed as he ran his hands over his body, trembling with occasional spasmodic twitches; Jeanes, like a figure of stone, his eyes upraised martyr-like; Searcey, with a slight smile hovering upon his lips and a word or two of banter; Radcott, seemingly so anxious to show his readiness to help that his fat fingers kept getting in the way.

  At last it was finished, the last of them had moved forward into the smoker and Rennert had found nothing suspicious. As he walked down the aisle, watching the two Mexican soldiers busy at their task, he told himself that this was exactly what he had expected-nothing.

  He paused at the seat on his left where one of the soldiers was engaged upon a considerable quantity of luggage. Radcott, he knew, occupied the lower berth here and Searcey the upper. He recalled the fact that Radcott had said that he represented a novelty supply company as he watched the Mexican going through the contents of a large sample case. It contained a number of gaudily colored boxes of popcorn, candy, and other confections. Rennert picked one or two of them up, looked at them thoughtfully and put them down. At an afterthought, he picked one of them up again and opened it. Satisfied, he replaced its cover as best he could and returned it to the case. He stared down at it for several moments. The box which he had opened had contained, besides the molasses-coated popcorn, an ornamental and worthless watchchain which looked like (but wasn’t) gold. The wrapping of each of the boxes proclaimed the fact that other hidden treasures were within, as premiums for purchase of the dainties. Rennert was thinking of the popcorn which he had found upon the floor between the seats where the man who had been murdered that morning and his unknown vis-à-vis of the night before had sat. There was the stickpin, too, and the child’s ring which Miss Talcott had found. Rennert was wondering several things about the bland-faced Radcott and his popcorn.