Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “And that means that North and South America could present a united front against their common enemy,” Jo said earnestly. She turned impulsively to Curtis. “Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing, Allan?”

  CURTIS looked up from the menu.

  “What, Jo?”

  “Oh, Allan,” Jo said disgustedly, “you weren’t even listening! Here you are, heading right into one of the most important sections of the world today, and all you’ve got on your mind is a lot of old relics and ruins.”

  “Well,” Curtis said practically, “somebody’s got to collect the relics. Might as well be me as the next person. Are you having the steak, too?”

  Jo sighed despairingly.

  “Yes, I suppose I’m having the steak.”

  “Good idea. By the way Carlos what is this ‘something’ that keeps Peru and Ecuador at each other’s throat? You see, I was listening after all.”

  “I do not know, Senor. But always it is something. Just when the gods are beginning to smile, ‘something’ happens to prevent a happy settlement. Trouble will break out unexpectedly. A Peruvian minister will be assassinated in Ecuador, or a band of Peruvian soldiers will be set on by Ecuadorian troops. Then there will be rioting and killing and more hatred is stored up in hearts of the people of both countries.”

  “It sounds very much to me,” Jo said emphatically, “as if the whole thing might, be Axis espionage. Don’t you think so, Carlos?”

  “It is difficult to prove, Senorita,”

  Carlos replied gravely. “What do you think, Senor Curtis?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Curtis said. “I never gave it much thought, I guess. Espionage has always seemed to me something that occurred in books for the most part.”

  “That,” Jo said, “is a typical statement coming from you, Mr. Curtis. You can’t see the storm signs until you’re up to your neck in trouble.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors, Jo,” Curtis said with a grin. “Let’s mix something else for a change. How about a drink?”

  “You’re hopeless, I’m afraid,” Jo said a little angrily. “So we might as—”

  She let the sentence trail off uncompleted.

  “What’s the matter?” Curtis asked.

  JO WAS looking over his shoulder to the main door of the dining room. Curtis twisted around curiously in his chair.

  “It’s nothing,” Jo laughed. “My attention was distracted by that distinguished couple who’ve just entered. Do you know them?”

  Curtis easily located the couple Jo referred to. The man was tall and blond with a hard, impassive face. The woman was also blonde, but her complexion was as clear and fine as a young girl’s. There seemed to be something curiously detached about her, as if she wore an invisible cloak of enchanted mystery.

  They stood under the archway of the door, seemingly oblivious to the comment their entrance had occasioned. The woman wore a black satin evening gown that revealed the shimmering grace of her lithe body, and the man was immaculately attired in formal evening clothes.

  The woman murmured something to her companion and then she took his arm as they started into the dining salon.

  “Dios!” Carlos said unexpectedly. “She is the one. It is impossible that I am mistaken!”

  “Oh, do you know her?” Jo asked. “I was hoping there was some way to meet her. She looks very interesting.”

  “Why, of course I know her,” Carlos said eagerly. “I met her in my own country a year ago. Would you like me to invite them over to our table?”

  Curtis was leaning forward slightly and his lidded gaze was centered on the couple, who were being seated at a table on the opposite side of the room.

  “Yes,” he said softly, “bring them over, by all means.”

  Jo looked at him queerly.

  “Don’t tell me,” she laughed, “that you’ve fallen for the mysterious blonde? It would serve you right to have your heart broken with a shipboard romance.”

  Curtis had settled back in his chair. The momentarily tense lines had faded from his face and he was smiling casually again.

  “Nothing like that,” he said. “I just thought it’d be fun to have a drink with them.”

  “It shall be done,” Carlos said promptly.

  He stood up, bowed charmingly to Jo and then marched across the floor to the distinguished couple’s table.

  Curtis was in a position to watch their faces as Carlos stepped to their table and bowed smilingly to the lady.

  Not a flicker of recognition touched their features as they regarded the young Latin-American.

  Curtis glanced at Jo. She, too, was watching the scene absorbedly.

  CARLOS was speaking to them now, a bewildered expression on his face.

  The pale, blonde woman stared coldly at him for an instant, then turned and murmured something to her escort.

  The man stood up and said something to Carlos.

  Curtis was too far away to hear the remark, but he saw the dull flush of anger that stained the neck and face of the young Carlos Benevedas.

  “What’s up?” Jo asked.

  Curtis didn’t answer. Every atom of his attention was focused on the scene that was taking place at the other table.

  Carlos was speaking now, directly to the woman, and Curtis could see that his hands were clenched into angry fists.

  The woman’s thick-shouldered, blond companion spoke sharply to Carlos, then imperiously summoned the head waiter.

  His implication was obvious. With one last hot. exclamation, Carlos wheeled and marched away from their table. He didn’t return to Curtis and Jo, but strode out of the dining salon.

  “Well!” Jo said. “Did you ever see anything like that?”

  Curtis was absorbed in the menu again.

  “Like what?” he inquired blandly.

  “Why,” Jo said indignantly, “those people cut poor Carlos dead. They acted as if they’d never seen him before.”

  “Maybe they hadn’t,” Curtis suggested. “Now, how about ordering our dinner?”

  “I don’t feel like eating now,” Jo said. “Let’s get some air.”

  Outside in the soft velvet of the Pacific night, Jo rested her arms moodily on the rail of the steamer and stared up into the starred heavens.

  “That scene upset me,” she said. “I’m sorry if I spoiled your dinner Curtis. It wasn’t very considerate of me, was it?”

  “Not a bit,” Curtis said promptly.

  “I wonder who those people are?” Jo said.

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  Jo swung about to face him, her face a pale blur in the darkness.

  “Honestly, Allan, you can be the most exasperating person in the world. This is a terrible way for a secretary to talk to her boss, but I feel it’s for your own good. You don’t notice anything that’s going on, because you’re so terribly wrapped up in your work. Even the international situation is just a big joke to you.”

  “It isn’t always funny,” Curtis said. He glanced up and down the dark deck and moved slightly away from the girl so that his back was protected by the converging corners of the companionway.

  “I won’t bite you,” Jo said peevishly, as Curtis moved. “I’m going to my cabin. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  Curtis grinned at her.

  “I wasn’t thinking of the danger you hold.”

  CHAPTER V

  The Corpse in Curtis’ Cabin

  HALF an hour later Allan Curtis was still standing in the shadows of the deck, his mind sorting and shuffling the events of the past six hours. Particularly his thoughts centered on the scene he had just witnessed between Carlos and the distinguished couple.

  His contemplative smile was without humor as he flipped his cigarette into the air and watched its glowing tip fall through the darkness to the water.

  In the game he was playing, a participant was generally allowed only one mistake. And Curtis had reason to believe that someone in the game had already made that mista
ke.

  He turned slowly from the shadow of the companionway and, after a careful, yet casual glance in both directions, he sauntered back toward the passenger cabin section of the ship.

  There was one young man he was very anxious to talk with. Carlos Benevedas should have something very interesting to say . . .

  He descended the broad carpeted stairway that led to the lower cabin decks and stopped before the door of his own stateroom.

  The lighted corridor was deserted.

  Curtis started to insert his key in the door, but it wasn’t necessary. The door was ajar. Curtis frowned and glanced carefully up and down the empty corridor. He was certain that he had locked the door before leaving.

  For an imperceptible instant he hesitated. If anyone were in his cabin, Curtis would provide a choice target for him when he opened the door and silhouetted himself against the glaring light of the corridor.

  Cautiously he swung the door open about ten inches. Then, with a swift lithe motion, he slipped through the narrow aperture and slammed the door shut.

  Back against the wall, hand in his coat pocket, he waited tensely. There was no sound in the cabin other than the heavy pumping of his own heart.

  There was no sound, no sudden shot, no rustle of stealthy movement, but Curtis’ keen senses perceived that something was radically wrong.

  For a moment he remained motionless in the darkened cabin. Then he snapped on the light.

  In the sudden illumination that flooded the room, Curtis saw the body of a man lying face downward on the floor, a long-handled knife protruding from his back.

  Grimly Curtis knelt beside the twisted figure. He turned the man over gently and his face hardened as he recognized the death-distorted features of the handsome young Peruvian, Carlos Benevedas!

  IN THE deathly silence of the cabin, Curtis stared at the body of the young Peruvian. His thoughts were churning swiftly, but his long, angular face was expressionlessly blank.

  How long he knelt beside the dead man he had no way of knowing, but he was finally aroused by a footstep in the corridor.

  He looked up just as the cabin door swung inward and a uniformed figure appeared. Curtis recognized the chunky, red-faced steward who’s insistence on baggage inspection earlier that day had almost caused his accidental death.

  The cold blue eyes of the steward took in the scene carefully. His scarred chin moved as he said,

  “Accident, sir?”

  Curtis didn’t answer immediately. He stood up slowly, giving himself time to think. This was the” man who had been the indirect means of his almost losing his life when the packing crate had crashed to the deck that afternoon. It had been this steward who had led him to that particular spot of the deck. Now he was on hand again, miraculously materializing at another serious occurrence.

  “I don’t think it was an accident,” Curtis answered at last. “It isn’t possible to stab a man in the back by accident.”

  “Isn’t it, sir?”

  Curtis said, “Get the captain and the ship’s doctor.”

  The steward hesitated.

  “I’ll ring for them from here,” he said. “I don’t think it would be right for me to leave.”

  Curtis smiled grimly. He knew what the man was getting at, but he determined to force his hand.

  “Why?” he snapped.

  The steward faced him stolidly, not a flicker of emotion on his face.

  “I must see that you do not leave, sir,” he said.

  “Are you accusing me of this murder?” Curtis demanded.

  “I am doing nothing but my duty,” the steward replied. “You must realize that the circumstances are suspicious.”

  Curtis relaxed then. He had learned what he wanted. He let a helpless look spread over his face.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “I see what you mean. But this is so silly! I didn’t kill the man, By all means ring for the captain.”

  THE captain arrived a few moments later. Curtis was seated in a chair smoking nervously. The steward was standing carefully beside the body, his expression impassive as stone.

  The captain was a tall, florid-faced sea dog, with tufts of white hair sticking up ludicrously from his pink scalp.

  He took in the scene with one sweeping glance and listened in silence while the steward told him what had happened.

  Then he turned to Curtis.

  “Mr. Curtis,” he said, folding his arms and squinting down at him. “What do you have to say?”

  “Not much,” Curtis said. “I came to my cabin a few moments ago and found this man lying here on the floor with a knife sticking out of his back. While I was kneeling beside the body, the door opened and this steward walked in. That’s all there is to tell.”

  The captain stroked his chin and frowned.

  “Did you know young Benevedas?”

  “Not well,” Curtis said. “I met him for the first time today.”

  “Did you dislike him?”

  “I told you I hardly knew the man. He seemed very charming and agreeable. I can’t understand who would want to kill him.”

  He glanced helplessly at his clenched hands and then said suddenly.

  “Steward, how did you happen to come to my cabin tonight? What prompted you to stop in here?”

  He looked up and saw the faint shine of perspiration that beaded the stocky steward’s brow. His sudden shot had caught him off balance.

  “I—I was walking through the corridor. I thought I heard a noise. I stopped to investigate.”

  “Oh, I see,” Curtis said. “That explains it.”

  The steward, Curtis knew, was lying. Somehow, he was mixed in this affair. The captain said,

  “Mr. Curtis this is a serious affair. Until we definitely discover the murderer of young Benevedas, I shall be forced to insist that you remain in cabin custody.”

  Curtis was silent as the captain talked on about the necessity of taking every precaution to apprehend the killer. He was thinking of what it would mean if he were delayed at docking by Peruvian officials, if he were forced to kill time while the routine of a police investigation were carried through.

  It would mean—

  “I UNDERSTAND your position, Captain,” he smiled suddenly. “I won’t make things any more difficult. You can depend on me to stick to my cabin.”

  “We’ll have to post a guard, you understand,” the captain said. “It’s a formality, but a necessary one. The Line is not accusing you nor anyone else. That’s not our job. We’re just following orders. You’ll have your meals here. I’ll send for the doctor now and get—ah—things cleaned up here.”

  “I would appreciate it,” Curtis said, “if you would notify Miss Matthews, my secretary, about the state of affairs. If possible, I would like to talk to her about our work.”

  “I think that can be arranged,” the captain said. “I’ll inform her myself of this—ahem—accident.”

  “Pardon me, sir,” the steward said, “but I feel it my duty to report that Senor Benevedas dined with Mr. Curtis’ secretary tonight. Also that he left suddenly shortly after Mr. Curtis arrived. Senor Benevedas seemed quite angry as he left the dining salon.”

  “Just what are you implying?” Curtis demanded. “That Carlos Benevedas and I were fighting over Miss Matthews’ affections?”

  “I do not imply anything,” the steward said respectfully. “I only tell what happened.”

  “What about this, Curtis?” the captain asked. “Any bad blood between you and Benevedas?”

  “None at all,” Curtis said.

  He realized he was in an uncomfortable spot, but he now knew definitely the steward’s role in the situation. The steward’s anxiety to add to the evidence against him, was definite proof that he was involved.

  He smiled at the man as he moved with the captain to the door.

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “You’ve told me just what I wanted to know.” The steward’s face was gloatingly triumphant as he closed the door.

  CHAPTE
R VI

  An “Escape”

  IT WAS almost an hour later when Jo Matthews, breathless and whitefaced, arrived at the cabin to which her employer had been confined.

  She found a guard posted outside the stateroom and, inside, Allan Curtis striding nervously back and forth before his bunk, taking deep and frequent draughts from a cigarette.

  “Oh, Allan,” she exclaimed, distraught. “Is it really true? They told me Carlos Bene—”

  “Yes,” Curtis cut in quietly. “Yes, Carlos was murdered. I found him in my room, stabbed in the back. A steward, the same one who started to inspect my luggage before the almost-accident this afternoon, burst into my cabin while I was kneeling over the body.”

  Jo’s face was bewildered, frightened.

  “That’s horrible,” she gasped. “But surely they can’t think that you—”

  Again Curtis cut in, pausing in his pacing.

  “My friend the steward summoned the captain immediately. Then, before I knew it, he was implying to the captain that I had a quarrel with Carlos over his attentions to you, and that young Benevedas left the dining salon in a rage.”

  “But surely the captain didn’t belie—”

  Once more Curtis interrupted her.

  “I don’t know what the captain believed,” he said. “I don’t think he took what the steward said with any too much consideration. But I was found with a man who was slain in my cabin stateroom. Any further investigation of the matter until we reach port is beyond possibility. The Peruvian authorities will take charge when we dock. In the meantime, being the solitary suspect of any sort, they feel obliged to keep me in a sort of semi-gracious custody.”

  “Oh, Allan,” Jo cried, dropping to a lounge chair and putting a slim hand on her forehead. “This is simply frightful! Poor, poor Carlos—they can’t think that you’d have reason to kill him. You only met him for the first time less than ten hours ago!”

  “All that will be proved,” Allan said. “I’m not worried about my ability to prove I had nothing to do with it.” Relief shone on Jo’s face.

  “Then you’re sure they won’t try to embroil you in it?”