The Ruby Ray Mystery

by John Blaine

  The surgeon walked straight to the Air France counter and took out his wallet.

  Rick’s binoculars were ready. The agent issued a ticket, then tagged both the overnight bag and demonstration case with labels marked ORL. That, Rick knew, was the symbol for Orly Field, International Air Terminal atParis,France . He watched as the ticket agent stamped a green boarding pass with TOURIST CLASS in large black letters.

  That was all he needed to know. He ran down the stairs and moved out of Keller’s line of vision. He cast a quick glance at the departure schedules. The next AirFrance flight toParis left in forty-three minutes from Gate 7. After that, there wasn’t another flight for several hours.

  Rick waited until Keller mounted the stairs to go through final departure procedures, then hurried to the Air France window.

  “Two first class toParison the next flight,”he requested.

  The agent filled out the tickets, then asked, “Baggage, sir?”

  “None,” Rick said.

  The agent pulled out two orange first-class boarding passes and marked them for Gate 7, then accepted the bills Rick pushed across the counter. The boy received a handful of silverkroner and 0re in return.

  Rick walked outside and found a corner where he was unobserved. He took out the Megabuck unit and held it close to his lips. “Scotty, are you close to the airport?”

  He heard Scotty ask, “How much farther, driver?”Then, after a brief pause, “Oh, only about five minutes? . . .Fine.”

  Rick smiled and settled down to wait.

  It was closer to ten minutes before a taxi pulled up and Scotty got out. Rick walked to meet him.

  “Any sign of Keller?” were Scotty’s first words.

  “Yep.He’s in the waiting room. Let’s go.” Rick led the way to the balcony, explaining as they went. They paid their airport tax and checked through passport control, then showed their boarding passes and pushed cautiously into the main waiting room.

  The waiting room was enormous, very modern in design and furniture, spotlessly clean, and crowded with lounges, shops, and a snack bar that served the famous Danish open-face sandwiches called smfirre-br0d. Rick looked quickly around the vast terminal but saw no sign of Keller. The boys moved into the waiting room slowly. Rick looked up at one of the many television screens that dot the room and saw that their flight was still posted for the same gate and time. It should be called in a very few minutes, he thought.

  Boarding was normally twenty minutes before departure time.

  They walked with caution, ready to step back at the first sight of Keller. Rick was not afraid that Keller might know them; he had no reason to think Keller was even aware they existed. But there might be times later when they could not avoid being seen, and if Keller realized that two boys with knapsacks kept showing up wherever he went, it would be easier to shake them.

  Keller was not in the waiting room. He probably had gone right to Gate 7. Rick led the way to the long corridor where Gate 7 was located. Four men were visible at the gate entrance far down the long stretch. Heunslung his new binoculars and focused them.

  Three men were reading newspapers. The fourth was Keller. He was standing a little apart from the others, staring out the window at the waiting jetliner.

  “He’s there,” Rick said with satisfaction.^’Good. What’s the play?” “Let’s have a sandwich. I’m hungry.” “Amen,” Scotty said promptly.“Then what?” “We’ll have twenty minutes after the flight is called. We’ll wait until ten minutes before departure, then board. Since tourist class goes aboard via the rear and first class through the front, we won’t go past Keller.”

  “If he’s aboard, he can be looking out the window. He might see us.”

  “True,” Rick agreed. “But he might be on the side of the plane away from the entrance.

  And even if he’s on our side, he might not be looking. It’s worth the risk.”

  “Okay. I’ll buy it-after I’ve bought a sandwich.”

  Danish sandwiches are made up of choice, tasty foods placed on one small piece of bread. The boys settled for one apiece of a high mound of tiny Baltic shrimp with mayonnaise, and one apiece of thin-sliced Danish ham with a topping of mulberry jelly.

  A tall glass of fresh milk completed the meal. In the midst of the meal, the loudspeaker sounded. As Rick and Scotty looked at the nearest TV screen, the list of flight schedules disappeared from the screen, and a very pretty girl came on. She announced the departure of AirFrance 101 at Gate 7 in Danish, English, German, and French. The girl vanished and the departure schedules took her place again.

  The boys bolted down the rest of their meal, slung their packs over their shoulders, and walked to the ramp.Then down it to Gate 7. Two people were going through, but Keller had disappeared. The boys got into the first-class line, separated from the tourist-class line by a pipe railing, and handed their boarding passes to the stewardess. “The front entrance, please,” she said.

  They walked down the covered stairs and emerged on the concrete parking area. In a few steps they were in the shadow of the plane’s wing, out of sight of tourist-class passengers until they started up the stairs to the front door.

  “See Keller in any of the windows?” Scotty asked.

  “Not a sign of him. Move up the stairs quickly.”

  “Right behind you, chum.”

  Rick led the way into the plane and handed his boarding pass to the steward at the entrance. Scotty followed on his heels. They were shown to seats at the very rear of the first-class compartment.

  The sliding door leading to the tourist compartment was partly open. Rick took a quick look, then ducked into his seat. Scotty had already taken the window seat.

  “Keller is about halfway back, on the starboard side. He couldn’t have seen us.”

  “Anyone sitting with him?”

  “He’s alone.”

  Scotty grinned. “Maybe we’re getting lucky. For a while, I sort of wondered.” He

  outlined the events atTivoli for Rick’s benefit.

  Rick listened thoughtfully. “So he’s working with someone who doesn’t want him followed. That’s sort of odd. I mean, the way they handled it. You were taken off his tail very neatly, but I haven’t been spotted. I’m sure of it. There were no taxis in front of me or behind me, except the one with Keller’s belongings, and that had only the driver.”

  “Maybe the driver was a plant,” Scotty suggested.

  Rick didn’t think so. “The porter flagged down a passing taxi. No, I suspect Keller’s buddies just wanted to check him out and see if anyone was showing undue interest.”

  “Maybe,” Scotty agreed. “Anyway, I was spotted. Otherwise the guy in the ghost chamber wouldn’t have known who to grab. So they have my description.”

  Rick rubbed his chin in thought. “I suppose you’re right. But there’s been no chance to pass it on to Keller.”

  “My pal in the chamber may not be able to pass it on, either,” Scotty commented. “I gave him the savote, and my heel connected with his chin like a sledgehammer. If he hasn’t a broken jaw, he’s made of iron.”

  “Did you have to hit him so hard?” Rick asked.

  Scotty smiled mirthlessly. “He came at me with a knife. I didn’t figure it was the right time for sweet gentleness.”

  “I was just asking,” Rick said quickly.

  “It’s okay. I don’t like to hit people, and I hate to hurt anyone. But people shouldn’t jump me in dark corners, either.”

  Behind them, one of the jet motors started up with a whine that increased in pitch until it passed through the range of audible hearing, then the second engine started. The plane taxied out for take-off. The boys settled back to enjoy the ride.

  By the time the jetliner leveled off at thirty-five thousand feet, the steward had offered them a choice of newspapers in several languages and promised to find them two bottles of coke.

  “When we get toOrly ,” Rick said, “I’ll get out as soon as the door opens, clear through immigr
ation, and be waiting in front. You get on Keller’s trail again and follow. That

  way we’ll have him bracketed.”

  “Keep an eye open for interested parties,” Scotty warned. “And if I go by you, check to be sure I haven’t a tail of my own.”

  “Will do,” Rick promised. He settled back and closed his eyes. A nap would be helpful if they ended up without sleep for any reason. He was content. They were with Keller, but Keller didn’t know it

  CHAPTER V

  The Ploy atOrly

  Rick awoke from his nap as the jet slowed for the descent. He rummaged in his bag. His hand touched the third Megabuck unit, the one shaped like a headband forBarby , then moved until it located a chocolate bar. Like most Americans, Rick had quickly developed an appetite for Swiss and Dutch chocolate, preferably with hazelnuts. He shared the bar with Scotty and watched as the roofs ofParis slid by on the approach.

  When the seat-belt light went off Rick was ready. With a wave at Scotty, he headed for the door, and was the first one out. A stewardess waited to lead them into the terminal, but Rick ducked past and hurried in. A huge sign read “ Douanes -Customs” and he followed the arrow. He knew he had a good lead, but there was always the possibility of being held up by a slow-moving line. The terminal was crowded with arrivals from all over the world.

  The customs official in his typical French uniform with cape waved him past after a single question, “Anyzingtodeeclar ?” Apparently he took Rick for a student. Many students were traveling inEurope , and most of them carried knapsacks like Rick’s.

  The immigration official riffled through Rick’s passport, stamped it, and handed it back without a word. He was now officially inFrance . He hurried to the nearest bank window and bought twenty dollars worth of NF’s, or New Francs, then paused to survey the situation.

  The main doors of the terminal stretched along a wide arcade. He went out through the center door and found himself in front of a row of taxis. Buses to theParis air terminals within the city were a short distance away.

  In the direct center of the loading area, in front of the taxi line, was a Citroen limousine

  with a uniformed chauffeur. He had parked where a taxi should have been waiting, and it was obvious that the French taxi drivers resented it. Their comments were directed at the chauffeur, who ignored them completely.

  Then, as a tall man with gray hair emerged, the chauffeur stepped forward and inquired, “Monsieur le docteur Keller?”

  The man shook his head. Rick stopped in his tracks. His mind raced. He had hoped Keller would take a bus to the terminal, so the boys could get there ahead of him in a taxi. How they were to trail Keller through a city where neither of them had ever been was a real problem. Now here was a car waiting for the American. If only therewere some way . . . .

  As he thought about ways to keep up the trail, his hand caressed the outline of the Megabuck unit in his pocket. There was a way! He moved swiftly down the line of taxicabs,unslinging his knapsack. He took the third Megabuck unit from the knapsack and stuck it into his pocket. Then, grinning, he fished out a handful of change, mostly 0re coins, the most valuable worth less than eight cents.

  Prepared, he walked back to the head of the line of taxis, where a knot of drivers were gathered. When he reached the head of the line, he stumbled. Coins cascaded from his hand and rolled in all directions, and some of them went under the Citroen sedan.

  Berating himself aloud for a clumsy idiot, Rick knelt and picked up those within reach, then attempted to reach under the rear of the Citroen. Finally, he had to crawl under to get his money. Looking up, he saw that the chassis was made of perforated steel channels. He pulled the Megabuck unit from his pocket, then took the handkerchief from his rear pocket, and using the handkerchief as a rope, he tied the unit firmly to the steel between two of the holes, close to the exhaust pipe. He pushed the button to

  “On,”picked up the coins, and crawled out.

  The French taxi drivers had also picked up some coins. They handed them to him, grinning broadly. Rick grinned back, and gave them a polite “Merci, messieurs,” then he retired back down the line of taxis, keeping the taxis between him and the chauffeur.

  It wasn’t long before Keller appeared, followed by a porter with his bag and demonstration case.The chauffeur stepped forward and Keller nodded. Rick kept a sharp eye out for Scotty as the bag and case were being loaded into the car. Keller climbed in and the chauffeur started the motor. Rick heard the roar of the exhaust in his earphone.

  The gadget was working.

  Scotty emerged as the sedan pulled away. Rick ran to the first taxi in line, and yelled for

  Scotty. His pal joined him and Rick directed the driver, “Paris, monsieur.”

  The taxi pulled away.

  “Suppose he’s not going toParis ?” Scotty asked.

  “Then we’re sunk. How’s your French?”

  “About like yours. Hello, thank you, and goodbye.”

  Rick leaned forward and addressed the driver. “Do you speak English?”

  The driver looked back. “ Non , monsieur.”

  “That’s a big help,” Scotty said. “What’s that roaring in my ears?”

  Rick explained that he had plantedBarby’s Mega-buck unit on the sedan and Scotty chuckled with pleasure. “This will be known to history as the Orly Ploy.Another example of the Brant genius.”

  “What’s a ploy?” Rick demanded.

  “Halfway between a play, like in a game, and a plot, like in the movies.What happens if the chauffeur shuts off the engine?”

  “We lose him,” Rick admitted.

  The Citroen was in sight. They hadn’t lost him yet.

  The superhighway toParis was heavy with traffic, so there was no danger Keller would suspect he was being followed. In fact, Rick thought, he wasn’t really being followed by the taxi-the driver was merely taking them toParis .

  The miles rolled past, and the taxi topped a hill. The boys sawParis spread below them.

  Rick felt a thrill at the sight of theEiffelTower , so often seen in pictures but never before in the flesh-or, rather, in the iron. Ahead of them, the sedan took a turn to the right.

  Rick wished he had taken French in school instead of Spanish. The first year in junior high he had been given a combination course-a few weeks each of Latin, French, Spanish, and German. It was supposed to help him choose his language major in high school, and it had. He had chosen Spanish. But at least he knew a word or two of French, if he could only remember. He tried to recall the French for “right,” but could

  only think of the Spanish derecho. What was that old French motto? ... He had it! “ Dieuet man droit !-God and my right!” He yelled, “Monsieur, a le droit !”

  The driver understood. He took the right-hand turn, following the Citroen.

  Scotty sat back and took a deep breath. “Good going,ol ’ buddy. I could see us heading for Marseille or something.”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” Rick warned.

  They were inParis itself now, in heavy traffic on crowded streets. A truck intervened between them and the sedan. When the taxi had passed, the Citroen was gone.

  For an instant Rick felt panic, then he realized the sound of the Citroen exhaust was still fairly loud in his earphones. The tiny antenna of the Megabuck unit was directional.

  Rick turned his set until he found the direction in which the exhaust was loudest. It was clear the Citroen had turned off, but which way?To right or to left? He had to make up his mind quickly. Then a sign loomed on the next street, an arrow that pointed to the left.

  It was a one-way street.

  Rick’s smattering of French came to his rescue without thought. “Gauche,” he called. “A la gauche” He wasn’t sure whether gauche was masculine or feminine. Maybe he should have said le gauche. No matter. This was no time for niceties of language.

  The taxi driver obediently swung left, and Scotty gave Rick an admiring grin. “I take it back. You know five wor
ds of French.”

  “And I know my left from my right,” Rick added. “When you’ve said that, you’ve exhausted the Brant reservoir of knowledge.”

  The signal in the earphone was growing louder, and Rick smiled in triumph. It had worked out. He peered ahead, but there was no sign of the Citroen.

  “Keller must be ahead of those cars,” Rick said confidently. “We’ll catch up.”

  “Hope you’re right,” Scotty said. “You’d better be.”

  Rick’s confidence slipped a notch. The exhaust noise was getting fainter. Quickly he turned the Megabuck unit, and the sound picked up slightly. The Citroen had turned again.But where, and which way? The sound grew fainter, and then stopped entirely.

  “It cut off!” Scotty exclaimed.

  “It was too sudden to be attenuated by a building or anything like that,” Rick said, with more sureness than he felt. “We’d better stop.But how?”

  Scotty’s few words of French came to the rescue. He leaned forward and said, “Void!”

  The driver understood that one word, “Here!” He pulled over to the curb. Rick took out a fifty-franc note and handed it to him. The driver found an old-fashioned purse and rummaged for change. The boys waited impatiently. Finally thetaximan counted an endless number of tiny bills into Rick’s hand. The boy took several and handed them back as a tip, not at all sure he hadn’t doubled the fare. The man accepted them graciously and drove off.

  For a moment the boys just looked at each other. “What do we do now?” Rick asked finally.

  Scotty pressed his Megabuck earphone more tightly into his ear. “Hear that?”

  “Sounds like the Battle of Bull Run,” Rick muttered.

  “Battle, nothing!”Scotty exclaimed. “I recognize the sound. It’s an air hammer, Rick.

  Someone’s tearing up a street next to where the sedan is parked!”

  Now that Scotty had identified the sound, Rick knew that his pal was right. Somewhere in the city ofParis , where the Citroen was parked, a construction job was in process.

  There was only one thing to do, and that was to walk, using the Megabuck units as direction finders.