Brian clicked his glass to hers. “Thank you very much, Miss Palmer.” He sat again in his chair and sipped at the Chablis. “How do you find the wine?” “Very pleasant.”
“In an earlier and more affluent period of my life, I was something of a wine snob. Of late, however . . . well, no use crying over spilt Chablis, is there?”
The waiter had wandered off once more. Diana placed her half-empty wine glass down and asked Brian, “Do you want me to arrange an interview for you with Mr. Walker?”
“If you could, dear girl,” said Brian. “I cherish the perhaps forlorn hope that he may be able to arrange some sort of clemency for me. Not that I don’t expect I’ll have to serve time in prison . . . but I’m terribly anxious to avoid the gallows if at all possible.”
“What made you decide to quit at this particular time?”
“I’d been thinking about doing a bunk for some time, almost since I joined up with this ruddy band of
cutthroats. Now they’ve taken to murdering people and I find I can’t stomach that at all.”
“Who’s been killed?”
“Some chap who knew too much,” replied Brian. ‘1 don’t know all the grim details, but I heard enough to make me want out.” He frowned, watching her face. “Don’t you feel well, Miss Palmer?”
Diana had started to perspire. She put her fingertips against the table edge and noticed the tabletop seemed to be swaying. Silence was closing in on her. She couldn’t hear what was going on three tables away any more. The silence pressed tighter and then she heard nothing. She slumped in the chair, her eyes falling shut.
“This is terrible,” Brian said loudly as he leaped out of his chair.
“What’s wrong, sir, what’s wrong?” asked the waiter as he ran over to the table.
“I don’t know how serious it is,” Brian told him. “But fortunately I’m a physician. Perhaps you’ve heard of me—Dr. Folkestone?”
“No, sir, I—”
“I’ll rush her to my clinic and I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.” He lifted Diana out of her chair.
“Perhaps the hotel doctor,” suggested the stunned waiter.
“Wouldn’t think of it. This is a case for a specialist such as myself.” And he boldly carried the unconscious girl across the terrace and out of the hotel.
CHAPTER 21
The door of Lieutenant Kiwanda’s office snapped open and the Phantom came striding in. “Have you heard anything more?”
“I’m afraid not,” said the black policeman. “But, as I told you when you called, they say they will phone you here before the day is out.” He paused, then added, “I’m very sorry that Miss Palmer...
“I should have realized she might be in danger,” he said. “I stopped by her hotel before coming here.”
“So my men reported.”
“I’d say it was definitely Brian Folkestone who carried her off,” said the Phantom. “The waiter who handled their table isn’t certain what they talked about. But he says something was being celebrated and he’s sure he heard the word pirate.’ ”
“It’s possible this Folkestone approached Miss Palmer and offered to give her some information about the goggle-eyed pirates.”
“Yes, that’s what I think.” The Phantom began pacing back and forth in front of the lieutenant’s desk, “Then he slipped something in her drink. The whole thing is very audacious . . . Folkestone is more or less thumbing his nose at us.”
“A man with a sense of humor such as his ... well, we will do everything we can,” Kiwanda assured him. “When the call comes in I’ll put a trace on it.”
“They’re sure to anticipate that.”
“Perhaps, but nevertheless, we will try it.” He watched the Phantom pacing for a moment. “This is a new crime for them, kidnap for ransom.”
“I’m not sure that’s what they actually have in mind.”
“It is what they implied.”
The Phantom slowed. “They know I’m hunting for them,” he said. “They may figure this is a good way to divert me.”
“But it must also have occurred to them you are working in cooperation with us,” the lieutenant pointed out. “Especially since they know you can be reached through my office.”
“Certainly. I doubt, though, they realize I know as much about their upcoming activities as I do. They whisked the countess away before you could even assign someone to watch her—”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“So I’m assuming they don’t realize we know they have a new raid scheduled for four days from....”
The left-hand phone on Lieutenant Kiwanda’s desk rang. “Hello, Kiwanda speaking. Yes, I’ll get him.” He reached under the desk with his free hand and pushed a button. Then, after putting his hand over the mouthpiece, said, “It’s them. Keep them on as long as you can.” Carefully, he picked up his other phone to listen in.
After waiting five seconds, the Phantom said. “This is Walker.”
“Afternoon to you, Walker,” said the voice of Brupp. “We’d like to negotiate a little deal with you.” “Who are you?”
“Might as well go along with the press and other news media and call us the goggle-eyed pirates. You ready to listen now?”
“Go ahead.”
“We got your lady friend, Miss Diana Palmer. You want to see her again in this world, see her alive and kicking, that is, you do exactly what we tell you to do. First off, get together ten thousand dollars ... and that seems a pretty fair price for such a swell-looking gal. Small denomination bills, not in sequence, and no funny stuff. Take the dough in some kind of suitcase and go wait around the lobby of the Alta Mira Hotel. Get there by four this afternoon and don’t bring any of your copper friends. You’ll get another call. Bye.”
“Is she ?”
The phone buzzed in his ear.
A freckled sergeant looked into the office. “Not enough time to trace it, Lieutenant,” he said and withdrew.
Kiwanda said, “I can perhaps arrange some way to get the ransopi money, if you wish.”
“Yes, I intend to pay it. While your men are trying to get some lead on how Folkestone got Diana away from the hotel and where he took her, I’ll see what I can learn by confronting them,” said the Phantom. “I can get the ten thousand dollars myself without trouble.” In the heart of the Deep Woods, within the Skull Cave which served as the Phantom’s base headquarters, were two vast rooms crammed with a wealth of gold, silver, precious gems, and other treasures accumulated by generations of Phantoms. Some of the treasure, from time to time, was converted to cash and invested. As a result, the Phantom had substantial bank accounts in most of the major cities of the world. Here in Mawitaan, in fact, he had two separate accounts. “It is, as friend Brupp observed, a fairly low ransom.”
“They probably think you’d have trouble raising more,” the lieutenant replied. “Most law-enforcement people would.”
“Possibly,” said the Phantom. “It’s also true I could raise that amount quicker than one much larger.” “What is it you suspect then?”
“That the kidnapping is a gambit designed to get me out of their way.”
“For good,” asked Kiwanda, “or only until after the next pirate raid?”
“Can’t be sure, can we? We know they’re capable of committing murder if they think it necessary.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if they think my demise is necessary or not.”
Brupp was back in the small park he enjoyed. Sprawled on a wrought-iron bench, chuckling, “Coming along fine, real fine.”
A small old man with an obvious straw-colored hairpiece was sitting beside him. “You think this Walker fellow is going to fall for the gambit?”
“Hook, line, and sinker,” the pudgy pink man assured his associate. He studied his wrist watch, which was still the cheap one that went with his Detroit disguise. “In just about three more hours there won’t be any Walker.” He chuckled further. “Well, there’ll be a Walker but it’ll take a jigsaw expert to piece him b
ack together.”
The old man gave a wheezing sigh. “What of the young lady?”
Tapping the face of his watch, Brupp said, “She should be safely hidden in Ngoma, if all went well with our little nonscheduled flight. I think we’ll keep her a while. She may be of use again.”
“Everything is arranged with the house at the beach?”
“Bet your bottom dollar. And it’s going to work out just fine. Yes sir, one half a minute after Mr. Walker steps into that-there house, it’s going to blow him to glory.”
“A shame to destroy the ten thousand dollars along with him.”
“Hell, it’s worth more than that to get rid of that fellow.” Brupp laughed louder.
CHAPTER 22
Twilight was spilling down through the hills. The Jeep made yet another roaring turn around a curve in the twisting road. Then, with a squealing and bouncing, it cut off onto a narrow sideroad which zigzagged across a grassy plateau.
In the back seat, Lumbard said, “I’m glad we’re
only renting this thing. If it was mine, I’d ”
The heavyset man beside him said, ‘Don’t talk so much.” His .38 revolver rested on his knee. “Be more like your friend.”
Bockman was in the front passenger seat, silent, holding tight with his right hand to the window ledge. On the half-hour ride up into the hills beyond Ngoma, he’d said nothing and only moved his hand to swat at insects.
“I always like to strike up conversations when I travel,” said Lumbard. “On trains and planes, even in
jeeps. I can’t seem ”
“Shut up,” the man with the gun suggested.
The jeep made a screeching stop in front of the high stockade fence which loomed up in front of them. The thickset driver hit the horn. He waited a half-minute, then honked again.
“Maybe nobody’s home,” said Lumbard.
After another half minute, the wide gate was ij pulled inward. “Welcome to Shangri-la,” called out a youthful voice.
“Another wise one,” grumbled Lumbard’s guard.
On a grassy stretch of flat land sat a low, sprawling wooden house with a veranda fronting it and a roof of thatch. Off to the left was a large warehouse with a truck backed up to it. The rear of the house looked as ; though it was hanging out in the air. The land dropped away suddenly there; some hundred feet
I below was a small lake. It was starting to turn black as the day waned.
“Jove, it’s the insurance chappies,” exclaimed Brian Folkestone. He was casually dangling a .32 revolver. “Come along, disembark now and follow me.”
‘Well, if it isn’t Brian Folkestone.” Lumbard jumped to the ground.
“Disillusioning, isn’t it? You probably thought, when you noticed me on the ill-fated Paradiso, that there was yet another clean and upstanding English lad.”
“No, I had you picked for a phony right off.”
Brian grinned at the two captives. ‘It helps to have a sense of humor in life,” he said. “Up the steps now if you will.”
“How come you didn’t just have your boys knife us?”
Lumbard asked. He glanced at the warehouse, noticing some activity within.
‘Your ultimate fate hasn’t yet been decided.” The lanky young man followed the direction of Lumbard’s
gaze. “Yes, we’re in the process of moving out our boodle. Far too many people seem to know we’re doing business at this location. Into the house, please.”
In the living room, lying on a low purple sofa, was Diana. She was still unconscious.
“Hey,” said Lumbard, “that’s Diana Palmer, Walker’s girlfriend.”
“Yes, we’ve got a ruddy houseful of guests at the moment. Trot yourselves along that corridor over there.”
“What’s she doing here?”
‘Well, actually, Miss Palmer is serving as a bit of bait,” exclaimed the grinning Brian. “Even though the trap itself is a few hundred miles from here in Mawi-taan. Yes, the last door on the right is the one you want. Open it, go on in.”
Lumbard went into the bare room first, his partner followed.
Staying out in the corridor, grinning in at them, Brian said, “I hope you won’t mind our ignoring you for the rest of the night, chaps. We really have to get ticking to clear everything out of our little hideaway. Like your new digs?”
“A bit Spartan,” said Lumbard.
Brian said, “You’ll notice there’s only one small window. When you climb up to investigate, as I’m certain you will, you’ll discover it gives you an absolutely jolly view of the lake ... which is roughly a hundred and four feet from you, straight down. Oh, and by the bye, there won’t be any dinner tonight. You both look like enthusiastic trenchermen, but it can’t he helped. Cheerio.”
The door was closed and locked.
“Sort of foolhardy,” said Bockman, looking up at his partner.
Lumbard was clinging to the ledge of their room's only window. “The water looks to be fairly deep down there at our end of the lake.”
“Suppose it’s shallow.”
“Okay, suppose we wait around here till Bertie Wooster and the two goons get enough free time to slit our throats?”
“We aren’t sure they’re going to kill us.” Bockman rubbed at an insect bite on the back of his neck. “What are the odds in each case? If you were going to write a policy on yourself, which situation has the least risk? Jumping out the window or waiting here to see what the pirates intend to do?”
“The kind of life I lead, I wouldn’t issue an insurance policy to me under any circumstances.” He pulled himself higher, pushed at the windowframe with the heel of his hand. “Being compact of build, I can squeeze out through here easy enough.”
“Ever done a dive like this?”
“In Acapulco a few times.”
“That was a while ago, wasn’t it?”
“On a college vacation, not all that many years ago.”
“Let’s say you survive, what then?”
“I hustle down to Ngoma, enlist the local police to come back here for you and the Palmer girl.”
“Downhill on foot, that’s going to take some time.” “They probably wont look in here for the rest of the night. You can talk to yourself now and then, to give them the idea the both of us are still here.” Slowly and steadily, he eased the window open.
“Good luck, Lum.”
He pulled himself through the window, twisted up until he was standing outside the house, facing it, with his feet on the ledge. He looked once, turned to face the water, and jumped into the darkness.
CHAPTER 23
Earlier that afternoon, about twenty minutes to four, the Phantom had entered the lobby of the Alta Mira Hotel. He was carrying a dark attache case. The Alta Mira fronted on a wide strip of yellow beach, its spacious, glass-walled lobby giving a wide view of sand and sea and tanned girls. The powerful air conditioners made the air inside feel chill and slightly unreal.
Stopping at the circular desk, which sat like an island in the center of a half acre of sea-blue carpet, the Phantom asked, “Any messages for Mr. Walker?” The clerk standing closest to the sign offering Information was small and dark, with a thin meticulous mustache. “Walker? One moment.” He went halfway round the circle and returned with a folded sheet of hotel stationery. “Here you are, Mr. Walker.”
“Thanks.” The letter had one word printed on it in ballpoint ink—WAIT. “Do you remember who handed this in?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“Or how long ago?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“Okay. If any more messages come for me, I’ll be here in the lobby.” He crossed to one of the imitation-leather armchairs facing the beach. He sat, resting the case on his knees. “The message told me to wait,” he said in a low voice. Pinned to the inside lapel of his trenchcoat was a tiny microphone. It kept him in contact with Lieutenant Kiwanda and his men.
The sky began to cloud, making, the waters of Mawitaan B
ay turn a muddy blue.
“Still nothing,” the Phantom said after a long while.
Behind the masking clouds, color commenced to slowly fade from the sky. The water grew gray.
Far out, near the darkening horizon, a small yacht passed, running with its lights on.
Dusk came on. More lamps blossomed in the Alta Mira lobby.
“There’s a phone call for you, Mr. Walker,” said a young bellhop, stopping beside his chair.
The Phantom stood up. It was now over two and a half hours since he’d arrived.
“You may take it in the second booth in the row of phones over there, sir.”
When the Phantom picked up the receiver and said hello, Brupp’s chuckle came through to him.
“Bet you got mighty stiff in the joints sitting around all this time,” said Brupp. “I know my legs always go to sleep when I sit for any real long spell. Well, sir, Mr. Walker, you got the money?”
“I’m carrying it with me.”
“Figured that’s what you had in the black satchel,” said Brupp. “Here’s what you do next. You mosey out of the hotel and go straight down Seacrest Drive,
heading north. After five blocks you’ll come to a boarded-up restaurant called Papa Benjamin’s.”
“You want me to leave the money there?”
“Nope, you just wait out front by the phone booth on the comer. After a spell, you’ll get another call. Bye.”
The Phantom hung up. ‘I’m going to Papa Benjamin’s restaurant now,” he said into the mike hidden beneath his lapel.
Lieutenant Kiwanda came into the communications room with a plastic cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand. “Where is he now?”
“Walking along Seacrest Drive,” said the man who was monitoring the equipment.
“That beeper we concealed in the attache case still functioning?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Maybe we can save the girl then,” said the lieutenant. “With a little bit of luck.”
“If she’s still alive,” said a chunky sergeant who was sitting with his backside on a windowsill. “You notice they aren’t letting her talk.”
Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 10] Page 7