The Five Arrows

  _Chapter seven_

  It was not quite six when the phone next to Hall's bed rang and a tiredSouza said, "Your driver is on the way up to your room, Senor."

  Hall admitted Pepe a moment later. "What is it?" he asked. Unshaven,heavy-eyed, the big Asturiano seemed thoroughly upset.

  "_Nada_," he said. "It is just time." He went to the window, locked theshutters, and held his finger to his lips. With his other hand, he firstpointed to Ansaldo's room and then to his ear.

  "Oh," Hall said, raising his voice. "Thank you for waking me. Sit downand have a smoke while I dress." He gave Pepe a pencil and a sheet ofpaper.

  Pepe wrote: "The Englishman Fielding was killed three hours ago."

  "How?" Hall asked.

  The driver vigorously pointed to the street. "You will miss your train,Senor," he said.

  "I'll hurry." Hall dressed quickly, shaved, and went downstairs withPepe. They got into the car and Pepe headed in the direction of therailroad terminal.

  "Fielding was run down by an automobile near his house," Pepe said.

  "Was it a Rolls-Royce?"

  "I don't know. There was only one witness. An old woman. She said thathe was walking across the street and the automobile just hit him andkept on going. She said it looked as if he walked into the car."

  "Who is the old woman?"

  "A farmer's wife. She was on her way to the market with a wagon ofmeal."

  "Didn't she describe the car?"

  "I don't think so, Mateo. The Englishman died instantly. He had a gun inhis pocket when they found him. Didn't have a chance to use it againsthis murderers."

  "Where are we going now?"

  "No place. I just pointed our noses toward the railroad for the benefitof anyone watching us from the hotel."

  "Oh. I have an appointment at the beach at eight o'clock. Let's havesome coffee until we're ready to go."

  Pepe drove to a cafe near the Transport Union building. They found atable in the back of the place. "Do you know any of the Englishman'sfriends?" Hall asked.

  "Not many."

  "Did you know his friend Harrington?"

  The name left Pepe cold. He was certain that he had never met Harringtonor heard the name mentioned. Nor did he know anything about Fielding'semployees. "His secretary is a middle-aged Hermanita. She lives alonewith a parrot and minds her own business. I knew a man who was her loveronce, but that was fifteen years ago."

  "Do you know much about Felipe Duarte?" Hall asked.

  "Sure. But why?"

  "I'm to meet him at eight this morning."

  Pepe looked at the clock. "Then let's go," he said. "Sometimes Duarte islike a crazy man, but he is a good friend."

  "Does he know you?"

  "We have met many times. Did you know him in Spain?"

  They went to the car, and Hall told Pepe about some of Duarte'slegendary feats in the war against the fascists. He was in the midst ofa story about the Ebro retreat when they reached Duarte's cottage.

  Duarte came to the door wearing a towel around his middle. "So you gotup?" he laughed. "And you got Pepe up, too! Come in and fill your guts."He led them through the small living room, put on a pair of shorts andmismated huaraches.

  "We'll all eat in the kitchen," he said. "I'll bet you forgot that I'm awonderful cook, Mateo." He served a twelve-egg omelet whose pungentfires brought tears to Hall's eyes.

  "This is really going to kill me," Hall said.

  "The lousy gringo," Duarte said to Pepe. "He's got a gringo stomach."

  Pepe defended Hall loyally. After he had his coffee, he rubbed hisbristling beard and asked Duarte if he had a razor that could cutthrough steel wire. Duarte took him to the bathroom.

  "Shave and bathe while I talk to Mateo," he said.

  When they were alone, Hall asked him if he knew Fielding. "Sure, I do.He's the one English planter in South America who knows that the worldis round."

  "He's dead." Hall told Duarte all that he knew about Fielding's death,and what little he knew about Fielding himself. Duarte listened instunned silence.

  "And you still think that attempt on you last night was a bluff?" heasked when Hall was done.

  "I'm more convinced than ever that it was a bluff. But whoever drovethat car knew that an hour later Fielding was going to be killed by acar. And I'll bet that it was not the same car that made a pass at uslast night."

  "Then you're hiding something from me, Mateo."

  "The hell I am. I'm going to tell you everything I know. Just give me achance. Do you know Juan Antonio Martinez?"

  "The young teacher?"

  Hall told Duarte about Juan Antonio's phone call to _Mundo Obrero_ andhow it reached the Cross and the Sword in a matter of minutes."Fernandez and his boy friends told me about the phone call at theEmbassy last night. They warned me that it meant the Reds were going toprepare an attempt on my life. Now my cue is to run to them for helpbecause of the Rolls-Royce in the Plaza."

  "Will you go through with it?"

  "Tomorrow. But I don't like the idea. They don't act as if they knewabout my record in Spain. But it's crazy to think they're going toremain in the dark."

  "What are you doing today?"

  "I'm catching the eleven o'clock train to Juarez. I have an idea I'llcome back with a pretty good line on the Cross and Sword camarilla."

  Duarte laughed. "I have an idea you'll come back from Juarez withsomething else," he said.

  "Not today, Felipe. I'd like to, but not today."

  "She's a good piece."

  "Forget it. I'm after stronger meat today."

  "Like that nurse with the red hair?"

  "I'm serious, Felipe. And we haven't got much time. Listen, did you everhear of a guy named Harrington? Fielding said he was his associate, andthat he knew a lot about the Falange at the waterfront."

  The name meant nothing to Duarte. "But then, I didn't know Fielding toowell. I've only talked to him once; he wanted to find out if I had knownhis son."

  "Well, you've got to find Harrington, if he exists," Hall said. "And oneother thing: Fielding had dinner with the new British Naval Intelligenceofficer for this port the night before last."

  "Commander New?"

  "That's the guy. You've got to see New this morning. Better send amessenger to the British Embassy with a sealed note. Don't use thephone."

  "What do I say in the note?"

  "Anything. The idea is that you've got to stop the British Embassy fromraising a stink about Fielding for at least a week. Let the Falangethink the British Embassy accepts the police verdict on Fielding'sdeath. In the paper this morning the police described it as anunfortunate accident."

  "Some accident!"

  "Act as if you know plenty when you see New. You'd better have him visityou, Felipe. Tell him that in a week you'll have the true facts."

  "Will I?"

  "I don't know. Well, tell him you think you'll have the full facts. Andfind out all you can about Harrington, if New knows anything. See if youcan arrange for me to meet Harrington."

  "I understand." Duarte looked at his watch and shouted to Pepe to getout of the bathroom. "We've got to get started," he said to Hall. "IfI'm to stop Commander New, I'd better not lose any more time."

  "Good. Where will you be tonight at about nine? That's when the returntrain gets in."

  "Call me right here. What name will you use? Pedro?"

  "Pedro is O.K."

  "If we have to meet tonight, I'll tell Pepe where we can do it. I'dbetter tell him now. Have some more coffee while I dress, _chico_. Anddon't worry." Duarte went upstairs.

  Hall endorsed a hundred-dollar money order and ran after Duarte. "Oneother favor, Felipe. Ride to town with Pepe and me, and after I get outat the railroad station, please force that Asturian mule to accept thischeck. He's refused to take a cent from me since I'm in town--and Ifound out how much gasoline is selling for in San Hermano."

  * * * * *

  The train to Juarez was on the line
to the north which had been built inSegura's time. The graft which had gone in to the building of the roadwas now scattered over the far corners of the earth. Somewhere in Paris,one of the chief contractors still lived on his share of the booty,paying varying fees to the Nazis for butter and woolens. In New York,one of Segura's army of illegitimate sons was studying medicine on theproceeds of some shares in the line which had belonged to his mother.Estates whose rolling lands touched the rails on either side belonged toold Seguristas who had bought the lands with the money they had managedto steal from the project. The money was gone, but the steel cars thebuilders had bought in Indiana and Pennsylvania remained. It was still agood railroad, and even though it now belonged to the government, thetrains not only ran on time but were much cleaner and charged lowerfares than before.

  Hall watched the green countryside until the rolling landscape and therhythm of the wheels made him drowsy. He turned away from the window,opened his newspaper to stay awake. The news was vague. The bulletinfrom the Presidencia stated simply that Ansaldo had spent four hourswith Tabio but had issued no verdict. Those were exactly the words, "noverdict," and reading them again Hall grew angry. He tried to figure outsome foolproof way of cabling to Havana, but the censorship hazards weretoo great.

  The inside pages had little of interest. Bits of international andWashington news. A feature story from Mexico City on the great religiousrevival that was sweeping Mexico and threatening the Marxist forces inthe government. This was in _El Imparcial_, and Hall recognized thebyline of the author, a prominent lieutenant of the Mexican fascistleader, Gomez Morin. There was a full page of local society items, drystuff about weddings, dinners, parties, the goings and comings of thesmart set. And the inevitable puff story, this one about the "great andnoted lawyer" Benito Sanchez, about whom no one had ever heard a thingand who would sink back into obscurity until he paid for anotherpersonality feature at so much per column, cash on the barrel. Hallforced himself through this flowery account of the lawyer's ancestry,wit, humanitarianism, piety, fertility, education, patriotism, skill incourt, and kindness to his mother. Try as he could, the hack who wrotethis story had not been able to completely fill three columns, theaccepted length for such compositions. The bottom of the third columnhad therefore been filled with a stock item in small type: "ShipsArriving and Leaving Today and Tomorrow."

  Mechanically, Hall read the shipping notes. The _Drottning-holm_ was inport. The _Estrella de Santiago_ was returning to Havana. Tomorrow, the_Marques de Avillar_ was due from Barcelona. Tomorrow the _Ouro Preto_was sailing back to Lisbon. The _City of Seattle_ was now six daysoverdue; U. S. Lines, Inc., had no explanation. Mails for the _OuroPreto_ closed at midnight.

  Hall turned the page and stopped. The rustle of the paper struck ahidden chord in his mind. He turned back to the shipping news, read itcarefully. The _Marques de Avillar_ became as great as the _Normandie_and the _Queen Mary_ rolled into one. He recalled the conversation hehad overheard between Ansaldo and Marina. _Find out if they cametoday.... Too dangerous to come by Clipper._ But by Spanish boat?

  He went back to the conversation. Yes, that was exactly the way theytalked. And after the talking came the rustling of a paper. Notevidence, of course, and even in wartime you couldn't shoot two bastardslike them unless you knew more. But was it worth following up? PerhapsMargaret Skidmore would be able to supply another piece of the jigsaw.She had a sharp tongue, and this meant a sharp head. Sharp and tough,and Felipe was probably right about her other value, but if it happenedat all it would have to happen when this mess was cleared up.

  The train pulled into Juarez on time. Hall got off and gaped at thestation. It was covered from ground to roof with the blazing "tigervines" whose orange orchid-shaped flowers were the unofficial flag ofthe country. Margaret was waiting for Hall under the station shed. "Hi,"she shouted, "have a nice trip?"

  "Swell. Let me look at you under the sunlight." In a tennis eye shade,green sports dress, and rope-soled _zapatos_ she seemed to be more of awoman than she was in evening clothes.

  "Well?"

  "You'll do," he laughed. "It's just that evening clothes rarely revealmore than the size of a woman's shopping budget."

  Margaret laughed easily. "You mean that you can't tell whether a girl inan evening gown has knock knees or a wooden leg. I have neither. There'smy car. That little jalopy."

  "How far is your place from the station?" Hall asked.

  "It starts right here." Margaret pointed to a green field to the left ofthe road. "I have four thousand acres between the tracks and the mainhouse, and then there's a lot of scrub forest behind the house thatbelongs to me."

  "All yours?"

  The car was raising great clouds of dust on the dry dirt road. "Uh huh.The money came from Mother's side of the family. Since she died, I moreor less keep the old man in embassies. She left him only cigarettemoney." She was very cold and matter of fact about it.

  "I see," he said.

  "Don't be so shocked. I always talk the way I feel. The old man's astuffed shirt and you know it. If he hadn't married money the best he'dget out of life would be a career as a floor-walker in Macy's. No, he'stoo aristocratic for Macy's. In Wanamaker's Philadelphia store. Do me afavor. There's a big heavy ledger in the side door pocket. Take it outand put it on my lap. No, with the binding facing the radiator. Thanks."

  "What's it for?"

  She opened the front ventilator in the cowl. The gush of wind whichpoured in lifted her skirt to the edge of the book. "See?" she said."Keeps my skirt from blowing over my head when I open the vent."

  Hall glanced at her bare legs. "Some day you'll catch cold," he smiled."What have you got planted on your land? Looks to me like soy."

  "It is soy. Three thousand acres."

  "That makes you a farmer."

  "The hell it does. That makes me an Ambassador's daughter. TheRockefeller committee planted it, with local help, of course. It's partof a demonstration project. The idea is to teach them how to grow newcrops so that after the war Detroit can keep the home price on soy downby importing just enough soy to keep it growing in South America. All Idid was donate my land."

  "What happens to the proceeds when you sell the crop?"

  "Oh, I suppose the old man will make a big show of donating the proceedsto the Red Cross in San Hermano."

  "That the house?"

  "That's my hideaway. The old man can't come out here. He's violentlyallergic to soy beans."

  She started to talk about the soy-bean project and the by-products ofits crop. The words flowed without effort. She knew the facts, thetheories, the statistics, the chemistry of the soy-bean industry as wellas she knew the road to her house. She discussed them as she mightyesterday's weather, or a neighbor's dog. I don't give a damn about soybeans, she seemed to be saying, I just know about them because I wasroped in to lend my land and I'll be damned if I'll give my land withoutknowing why.

  "Well, that's enough talk about soy, I guess," she said when she turnedoff the road to the lane leading to her house.

  "I don't imagine there's anything else to know about it," Hall said.

  "Here we are, Matt."

  "Say, it is a nice house."

  "Hollow tile and stucco. I found the plans in an old issue of _House andGarden_."

  "I'll be damned. It looks as Spanish as the Cathedral."

  "Oh, it should," Margaret said. "It's supposed to be an authentic NewMexican ranch house. Let's go in and get a drink."

  Like the railroad station, the house was also covered with tiger vines.It was built around a flagstone patio. Leaded glass doors opened fromthe patio to the two-story-high beamed living room, the kitchen, and theback corridor. This corridor opened on both the living room and thestairs to the upstairs quarters. Inside, the living room was furnishedlike a quality dude ranch--hickory and raw-hide furniture, Mexican_serapes_ and dress sombreros hanging on the walls and over the largestone fireplace, a Western plank bar with a battered spittoon at therail and a lithograph of the Anheus
er-Busch Indians scalping GeneralCuster. The saloon art classic, of course, hung in a yellow oak framebehind the bar.

  "Holy God," Hall said, "when I was a kid this litho used to give menightmares. It used to hang in the dirty window of Holbein's saloon onWest Third Street in Cleveland--that's my home town--and every time Ipassed it I used to see more gore pouring down old Custer's throat."

  Margaret took off her eye shade and went behind the bar. "A drink shoulddrive away that terrible memory," she said. "Scotch?"

  "Black rum, if you have it."

  "Coming right up. That's a pirate's drink, though. Although when youcome right down to it, you do look like a freebooter."

  Hall had his foot on the bar. "Better smile when you say that, Pard," hesaid.

  She smiled out of the side of her mouth and laughed. "Here's to CaptainKidd," she said, raising her Scotch.

  "This is good rum."

  "Wait. I can improve it." She reached below the bar for a small woodenplatter and a lemon. Deftly, she carved off a slice of thick skin,twisted it above an empty glass, dropped the peel into the glass andcovered it with rum. "Try it this way."

  "It is good. So you're a bartender, too!"

  Margaret refilled her own glass and sat down on the edge of a wheeledsettee. "Right now I'm farmer, bartender, chambermaid and cook. If youmust know, outside of the dogs in the yard and the horses in the shed,we're the only living things within five miles. All my help is in thenext town celebrating some saint's day or something."

  "You'll manage to survive," Hall smiled.

  "I'm a pretty self-sufficient lady," she said. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

  "I'm not blind."

  "Hungry?"

  "I could eat. What's cooking?"

  "Sandwiches. Cold beef sandwiches and coffee. And if you're nice you canhave some _montecado a la_ Skidmore."

  "Real ice cream?"

  "No. But a reasonable facsimile. Let's go to the kitchen. You can helpme carry the tray and stuff."

  They ate at the monastery table in the living room. Margaret told Hallthe story of how she had supervised the building of the house and thenordered her furniture from a dozen different stores between Houston andSan Hermano. She spoke of plumbing and artesian wells and wiring systemswith the same detailed knowledge she had displayed of soy-bean culture.

  "Do you know San Hermano politics as well as you know soy beans andhousing?" he asked.

  "Better," she smiled. "I'm closer to it. But we've got plenty of time totalk about San Hermano. I thought we'd saddle up two horses and go for aride in the backwoods. Do you ride?"

  "After a fashion. I spent a summer vacation as a ranch hand in Wyomingonce."

  Margaret concentrated on Hall's feet for a minute. "Oh, I can fix you upwith boots and breeches. You sit here and I'll go on up, change, andfind you riding things. Just turn on a radio and relax or fix yourself adrink while I'm changing."

  She went upstairs to her room. Hall lit his pipe, turned on the radio.He found a program of Mexican marimba music.

  "That's swell," Margaret shouted through the open transom of her door.

  He could hear the water splashing into the bath upstairs. He lay backand closed his eyes, the radio keeping him awake. In San Hermano, theannouncer looked at the studio clock, gave the station's call letters,and read another "no change" bulletin on the health of the President.

  "Matt ..."

  "Ready so soon?"

  "Come on up to my room. It's the third door to the left of the stairs."

  "Sure."

  "Would you shut off the radio, too?"

  He flipped the radio switch and climbed the stairs to the upper landing.Margaret's door was slightly ajar. "That you, Matt?"

  "The old pirate himself." He pushed the door open.

  Margaret was standing near her bed, freshly bathed and completely naked."I changed my mind," she said, thickly.

  "Margaret ..."

  "No. Don't talk." She had her arms around him, her mouth against hislips. The pine salts of her bath and the sharp perfume in her hair andbehind her ears choked in Hall's throat.

  "You're biting my lips," she said.

  He picked her up and carried her to the bed while she undid the buttonsof his shirt with closed eyes and steady fingers. "I knew you were apirate," she smiled.

  Hall kicked his shoes off, drew the blinds.

  "Are you surprised?" she asked.

  He locked the door and joined Margaret. "Don't talk," he said. "You kisstoo well to talk in bed."

  There was the pine scent and the perfume and the savage odor of whiskyon hot breath and then there was the faint saline taste of blood on histongue and the rigid breasts of the girl pressed against his bare skinand she was trying to gasp an insane gibberish of love words and sexwords and sounds that were not words at all. He shut off the gibberishwith his hard mouth and then he started to lose himself in the devilsthat were coursing through his blood and the sharp pain of her nailsdigging fitfully into the back of his shoulders and the taut smoothnessof her writhing thighs. For a searing moment the emptiness and theagonies of the past four years rose to the surface like a two-edgedrazor in his brain, rose slashing wildly to torture and torment, andthen, as suddenly, they were lost in the devils and the blood and thewhite, pine-scented thighs of the girl and Hall stopped thinking andgave himself completely to the one, to the only one, to the only thingthat could answer the devils and the pain and the moment.

  Then she lay at his side, limp, whispering, "God, oh my God, oh my God,"and smiling at him with tear-filled eyes.

  "Hello."

  "Was I good? Was I, Matt?"

  And he realized how adept she actually was at it. Sex was a soy bean,something you used, developed, exploited. "You're very good at this sortof thing," he said, "and you know it."

  "I'm not always good," she said. "This is one thing that takes two forperfection. Like now." She reached into the drawer of the night table."Cigarette?"

  "No."

  "Light mine for me, darling. I'm half dead."

  She smoked her cigarette in happy, satisfied silence, moving closer toHall and putting her free arm under his neck. Then, with an abruptmovement, she ground the butt into the ash tray and kissed the scar onHall's chin. "Who cut you up?" she asked. "Some Frenchwoman's husband?"But before he could answer she was lying on his chest with her openmouth pressing heavily against his lips.

  This time he could ignore the devils until the hot furies thatdrove the girl finally moved him to respond. But what had earlierbeen an experience which reached in and shook the guts was now aperformance--overture, theme, variations, theme and soaring climax andmaybe it was what she wanted and maybe it wasn't but baby that's thebest you get this trip. When it was done she seemed happy enough. Shesmoked another cigarette and then she fell into a light sleep, her headnuzzling under his arm pit like a puppy's.

  Hall lay watching the sun rays as they stretched between the shutteredwindows and the smoothness of Margaret's glistening back.

  "What are you thinking about?" she asked when she awoke.

  "Really want to know?"

  "Uh huh."

  "About a girl from Ohio."

  "Your wife?"

  "No. Just a girl I know. I've been wondering if she has freckles on herback."

  "Well, anyway, you're frank."

  "When are you going back to San Hermano?"

  "Tonight. I'll drive you back. I think we should get ready. The helpmight start straggling back in an hour or so." She kissed him tenderly,then savagely. "No, but this is silly," she said. "We'll get caught."She rolled away and got out of bed.

  Later in the living room, Margaret made two rum drinks. She had changedher tennis dress for a dark suit, and her fingers now carried threeelaborate rings. "Now I'm dressed for town again," she laughed. "Withoutmy rings I'd feel naked." One of them was a wedding ring; Hall asked noquestions about it.

  "Are you still interested in San Hermano politics?" Margaret asked.

  "Sort of."
br />   "What do you want to know?"

  "Everything. Fernandez and his friends had one set of ideas. I guess youknow what they are. The Tabio crowd speaks differently. What's thelowdown?"

  Margaret went to the wide window of the room. "Look," she said, "see allthat land between the fence and the top of that hill? I've got some ofit in soy and the rest is just lying fallow. What do you think it'sworth?"

  "I couldn't say."

  "Neither can anyone else. That all depends on the politics down here."

  "That's true back home too, isn't it?"

  "In a way, yes." She poured another drink for herself and sat down onthe settee. "I'll let you in on a secret, Matt. I'll tell you how I cameto buy this place. Sit down. It's a long story. And it leads right intothe thing you're interested in."

  "When did you get it?"

  "Two years ago. A young mining engineer in San Hermano met me at a partygiven at the University. He wanted me to put him in touch with anAmerican financing outfit. On a field trip he had undertaken as astudent, the young engineer inadvertently stumbled across a treasure inmanganese. The deposits lay in an area he alone could reveal, and for aconsideration and a share in the profits, he was willing to lead theright parties to the site of his discovery.

  "I became the right party," Margaret said. "The soy is growing over afortune in manganese."

  "What happened to the young engineer?"

  "He's in the States. I got him a scholarship in a good mining school.When he gets out, he'll be able to run the works down here."

  "You don't miss a trick, do you?"

  "Darling," she laughed, "my grandfather didn't come up from a plow onhis muscles alone. But why don't you ask me why I'm not mining mymanganese now?"

  "I suppose that's where the politics comes in," he said.

  "Now you're catching on. You see, Matt, anyone who didn't know the scoredown here might start mining like mad. There's a war on, the Germanshave grabbed most of Russia's manganese fields, and Russia had apractical corner on the world's manganese supply. It's almost worth itsweight in platinum today."

  "Then why in the hell don't you cash in?"

  "Because I intend to live for a long time after the war, darling. AndI'd like something for my old age. Not inflation-swelled war dollars,but real hard money. That's where the politics comes in, Matt. It costslike hell to start a mine. I'd have to dip into my reserves to get itstarted, or get partners and let them pay for the works. But theywouldn't do it for nothing. They'd wind up with an unhealthy share ofthe profits. This is my baby, and under certain circumstances I can runit by myself and make money at it. But those circumstances aredetermined by the politics here."

  "By that," Hall said, "I take it you mean Tabio's politics?"

  Margaret was not smiling now. Her eyes had narrowed down to sharp slits,and although she talked as fluently about the mine and Tabio as she hadearlier discussed soy beans, her voice had taken on a sharp, metallicedge. "I most certainly do," she said.

  "Then you agree with Fernandez and the Cross and Sword crowd?"

  "Now don't tell me," she said, wearily, "that they are all a bunch ofdirty fascists."

  "I'm not telling you a thing. I'm here to get the lowdown, not to hanglabels on everyone in San Hermano."

  "Thank God for that," she said. "I can give you the lowdown, if youreally want it."

  "That's what I'm here for."

  "I'm so sick of these smart-aleck pundits who are so quick to hang thefascist label on everything they don't like," Margaret said. "I'm notafraid of labels. I'm only interested in the facts. I'm interested in mymanganese operation. I'm interested in protecting what I have. And I'llfight against anyone who tries to steal what's rightfully mine."

  "You've been threatened?"

  "Not directly. That's the hell of it. If not for me, or someone elsewith as much money to risk as I'm risking, this manganese would beuseless to everyone. But I'm not going to sink a fortune into the mineonly to have the cream taken away from me."

  "By Tabio?"

  A slight smile touched Margaret's lips. "Not exactly," she said. "I'm alittle more rational than Fernandez and his friends. It's not Tabio I'mafraid of, darling. It's the thing he's started. You don't open a fewthousand schools all over a backward country and then expect the peopleto remain the same. It's not only the kids who go to these schools;grown-ups pack the same school houses every night. People don't wantthings they don't know about. But when they go to school they startlearning about a million things they'd like to have--and none of theseare free. They begin to want modern houses and radios and refrigeratorsand pianos--you have no idea what they begin to want, Matt!

  "The schools are only the beginning. Once the miners learn how to readand write, the unions come along and flood them with printed propagandaabout higher wages. They tell the miners that higher wages mean higherstandards of living."

  "Don't they?" Hall asked.

  "Not for the mine owners, dear," she said. "Higher wages mean lowerprofits. And when you run a mine, the idea is to keep the profits up.That's where the politics come in, Matt. You don't pass laws--as thePopular Front has--forcing employers to bargain with the unions withoutmaking the unions so powerful that they can and do elect whole blocs ofunion deputies and senators. And then these blocs push through laws onhospitalization and social security and death benefits that cut into amine owner's profits nearly as much as the wage increases.

  "In other words, Matt, it all boils down to dollars and cents. Tabio andhis ideas are great vote-catchers--but the costs are enormous. And thesecosts don't come out of the pockets of the people who vote for thePopular Front candidates."

  Hall watched her in fascination as she spoke. This was no mystic PilarPrimo de Rivera, he thought, no hyper-thyroid hysteric falling on herknees in the cathedral and then rushing out with blood in her eyes andemptying a Mauser full of bullets into the warm bodies of housewivesshopping in the Madrid slums. Margaret's voice had not risen by onenote. Her hands were calm, she was still relaxed in the settee. If notfor the hard sharpness of her voice now, she might still be discussingsoy-bean culture or anything else as remote from her true interests.

  "Fernandez and the Cross and Sword crowd might be hysterical," Margaretsaid, "but they are on the right track. The government has to changequickly, or it will be too late for all of us. The Cross and Sword crowdaren't really natives, you know. They're Spaniards. They got the scareof their lives when Tabio's Spanish counterparts took over in Spain."

  "But why? They live here. Spain is an ocean away."

  "Money has a way of crossing oceans," Margaret said. "They all hadplenty invested in Spain. If Franco hadn't come along, Vardieno andDavila and Quinones and a lot of other men you haven't met would havebeen wiped out."

  "Isn't Franco a fascist?"

  "Labels don't mean a thing. I think democracy is the phoniest label inthe world, Matt. When it means a stable government, like we used to haveback home before the New Deal, I'm for it. But when it means the firststep on the road to collectivism, I'll take any Franco who comes alongto put an end to it. That goes for the Cross and Sword crowd, too. Or amI all wrong?"

  Hall laughed, softly. "That's a rhetorical question," he said. "Let'sskip the rhetoric. Then things are really bad down here, aren't they?"

  "They couldn't be much worse. I know it sounds harsh, but I think thebest thing Tabio could do for his country would be to die. With Gamburdoin the Presidencia, you'd see a return to something resembling sanitydown here. He has a very sound approach."

  "But wouldn't he be too late? What could he do about the school system,for instance?"

  "The Cross and Sword crowd want the schools closed down at once. Theywant education returned to the Church. But Gamburdo is a goodpolitician," Margaret said. "He'd keep the schools open, but he'll cleanout the Ministry of Education from the very top down to the personnel ofthe village schools. He'll simply turn it over to the Jesuits. Theywon't have to open their own parochial schools; they'll controlTabio's."
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  "Have they enough teachers?"

  "Gamburdo told me that if they need teachers they'll import them fromSpain."

  "How about the labor laws?"

  "A law is no better than its enforcement. That's what I learned in lawschool and it still goes. Can you imagine what would happen to theWagner Act if Hoover were back in the White House?"

  "You don't need too much of an imagination to figure that one out," Hallsaid.

  "Of course," Margaret said, "Gamburdo will need more finesse than aHoover." There was the little matter of the arms everyone knew were inthe hands of the miners in the north. There was also the still painfulmemory of the one-day general strike called by the transport workers andthe longshoremen when the Supreme Court delayed its decision on thevalidity of the Tabio labor codes. Gamburdo, she explained, would haveto plan his acts like a military strategist. "Because unless he does, hewill need a military strategist to pull him out of the hole."

  "You don't mean a civil war?"

  That was exactly what Margaret did mean. But Gamburdo had a plan foraverting such a war, or, if it had to come, to guarantee the victory forthe forces of sound government when the issue was drawn. He would begingradually by restoring to their army commissions the old officerstrained in Segura's military college. This he would do before attemptingto circumvent the labor laws. "Then, when the war ends in Europe, a lotof good professional military leaders will be out of jobs," she said."Gamburdo plans to give them jobs."

  "How about the troops? Will they be loyal to the new order?"

  Gamburdo had provided for this, too. The army would have the best ofeverything; it would be made more attractive than life as a miner or asoy-bean cultivator. "But a boy will have to have the O.K. of his priestbefore he will be taken in. And what a priest learns at confession isnothing to be ignored. The Church will keep the unreliable elements outof the army." Once he had an army, Gamburdo would then be ready torestore sound government in the nation.

  "He's a clever guy," Hall said. "I had a hunch he was the coming strongman on the continent when I applied for an interview."

  Margaret thought that this was very funny. "Don't be a child," shelaughed. "He won't admit to anything like this for publication."

  "That doesn't matter. What counts in my business is that I'll be onrecord as the first American to interview him, and that I'll get thecredit for discovering him before his name is a household word."

  "Right now all he'll talk is platitudes. But you might get him to talkoff the record. He's gotten around to telling me things. And stoplooking at your watch. I'll lock up and we can start back to town atonce. You'll be back in plenty of time to sleep with her tonight."

  "With whom?"

  "Whoever you have that date with. I know I should be nasty about it. ButI never demanded fidelity and I always hated men who demanded it of me.That's the way we both are, darling, and as long as it goes off as goodas it did upstairs today we can expect to do it often." She left thesettee, walked over to Hall's chair, and kissed his ear. He slapped hertrim buttocks, shouted, "Cut it out!"

  "Let's get going," she said. "Time's a-wasting."

  Hall thought, as Margaret drove him back to San Hermano, that PepeDelgado would have approved of her skill as a driver just as much as hewould disapprove of her politics. The ledger on her lap, she pushed theroadster through hairpin curves and back-country roads with a confidenceas cold as her reasoning about her manganese properties.

  "I'll walk to my hotel from the Embassy," he said, when they reached thesuburbs of San Hermano. "I could stand a little walk."

  "So you're meeting her in the lobby," Margaret laughed. She kissed himfondly when she stopped the car near the Embassy. "Darling," she said,"don't ask me to the Bolivar. But I have to go back to the farm in a fewdays. I'll let you know ahead of time, and we can have a nighttogether."

  "Call me," Hall said. "Or I'll be calling you."

  An hour later he met Duarte in the home of one of the secretaries of theCuban Embassy. The Mexican had borrowed the home for the evening. "Wehave at least two hours to talk here," Duarte told Hall. "My friend isat the cinema."

  Duarte opened two bottles of cold beer, set one before Hall. He took along look at Hall and burst into laughter. "Did she give you anyinformation, Mateo?"

  "You bastard," Hall said.

  Felipe Duarte doubled over with laughter. "Mateo the Detective!" hechortled.

  "O.K.," Hall laughed. "So I was raped."

  "Raped is the right word, _chico_."

  "When did she take you into her bed, Felipe?"

  "Long ago. My first week in San Hermano. Then once more after that. Igave way for an American aviator who came here to sell planes to thegovernment. He was succeeded in a week by two men, a local _senorito_named Madariaga and the First Secretary of the French Embassy. Afterthat I just stopped noticing."

  "Who is her husband?"

  "She has no husband."

  "She was wearing a wedding ring, Felipe."

  "That's a new development. I never heard of her having a ring or ahusband."

  "She's a very clever girl, Felipe. And a confirmed fascist."

  "She's only a rich _puta_, Mateo. The hell with her."

  "She might be useful, Felipe. What happened to you today? Did you learnanything?"

  Duarte shrugged his shoulders. He had little real information. "I sawCommander New. He looked down his nose at me during our whole interview,and then, like an English trader, he started to bargain with me. Aboutthe week, I mean. He said that a week was too long. He would only giveme three days. Then--if I gave him no more information than you got fromthe _puta_ today, he goes to the police."

  "That's not so good."

  "Who knows? The counsellor of the British Embassy spent the whole daygoing through Fielding's files with the widow. If they found thosereports you saw that night, maybe the Intelligence officer will give usthat full week."

  "Did you find out anything about Harrington?"

  "Commander New never heard of him, he says. Then I thought I would makea real surprise for you. Souza arranged with some smart boys to searchAnsaldo's room with a fine comb. But they combed not a louse, Mateo.They found nothing of interest except that Ansaldo's _maricon_ is amorphine addict."

  Hall lit a black cigar from the Cuban's private collection. "Where thehell is my letter from Havana?" he said.

  "Take it easy, _chico_." Duarte opened a fresh bottle of beer for hisfriend.

  "I'll be all right," Hall said. "I won't explode tonight."

  Duarte recalled an earlier occasion in a Madrid hospital, when a phonecall from the Paris office of the AP had made Hall lose his head. "To mydying day," he told Hall, "I'll never forget those curses that shot outof your guts."

  "Don't remind me," Hall said. "I get sick when I think of it again. Thatwas the time they held up my story on Guadalajara because they weren'tsatisfied that I had definite proof that the troops captured by theRepublic were Italian regulars."

  The Mexican laughed. It was a laugh made bitter by the silver plate inhis skull. It covered an injury he had suffered in fighting the Italianregulars at Guadalajara.

  Hall understood. "There are too many bastards in this world," he said."I wish curses alone could stop them. But we've got work to do. Pepedidn't bring me here. He was busy on something else. I'll have to useyour driver. Have him drive me to some decent restaurant. I wish you'dcome along too."

  "Why didn't you tell me you're hungry?"

  "I forgot. But there's one thing your driver can do for us. Do you knowwhere the Compania Transatlantica Espanola pier is located? Good. Justhave him drive very slowly past the pier on the way. I want to look itover."