Read Online Assignment to Disaster by Edward S. Aarons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward S. Aarons
Tags: det_espionage
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Neville."
"No, please! Not to her!"
"Why not?"
"I will be discharged," Miguel said slowly. "Are you also from the police? When I carried your suitcase, it was too light for a traveler. And your clothing is not the sort of clothing one wears in the desert. You have come from far away, suddenly, without preparation."
"You are an astute man," Durell said, nodding.
"But I wanted to be certain. I did not trust my thinking. I had to see for myself, with my own eyes. You are of the police, señor?"
"No," Durell said. "Not of those you have seen here before. Why should you be interested in me, whatever my clothing or luggage?" When the old man did not answer, Durell stood up, pretending impatience. "Come along. We will go to see Miss Neville."
"At this hour? It is three o'clock. She will be very angry."
"I, too, am angry," Durell said. "You are stupid. If you would trust me, we might each accomplish our mission successfully. Since you do not, we shall see what Miss Neville has to say."
The old man seemed about to speak, then was silent. He stood up as if he was tired in every bone of his old body. Durell was disappointed. He had suddenly been sure that Miguel was the contact Padgett had hoped to use to reach his sister when she arrived.
If
she arrived. But it was too much to hope for. Maybe the old man was merely a petty thief. He certainly was not working with Cora Neville, or acting under her direction. His reluctance to be taken to face her was genuine.
Durell slid his feet into his shoes and let the old Mexican precede him from the cottage. Overhead, the desert stars glittered and gleamed. The stars in their courses, unchanging, eternal, he thought. Not any more. His shoes grated on the fine gravel of the winding path that led past other dark cottages. There were lights still on in the central building of the Salamander layout, but only from the tall glass doors of the stone lobby entrance and one other window, which was partly shaded, on the third floor in the rear. The wind felt cold.
Durell halted. "Does Miss Neville live here all the time, Miguel?"
"She has a ranch in the Tiengas Hills. It is about twenty miles from here." The old Mexican's voice was suddenly harsh. "But that is her apartment, up there with the lighted window at the balcony you see. She is there now. With Senor West, no doubt."
"West?"
"He is the manager of the Salamander, but he is more than that to Miss Neville. Perhaps I should not say it, señor. It is not my business."
Durell said abruptly, "I understood she was in love with a young man named Calvin Padgett."
The name seemed to hang on the edge of the desert wind. There was a silence. Durell waited.
Miguel said, "Yes. He has been here several times."
"Then you know him?"
"He is a good young man."
"Do you know of his sister?"
Miguel's eyes were liquid white in the dark shadow of the shrubbery where they had halted. His breath made a soft hissing sound. "Senor, do not ask anything of me. I am a simple man. I do not understand all this. I have a feeling you may be a friend, but I cannot trust my feelings in this matter. I must do what I am told."
"Then you know where Calvin Padgett is?"
"The police also asked me that. I told them nothing. To them I am an ignorant old Mexican."
"But I am asking you. For Padgett's sister."
"I can tell you nothing."
"Would you consider Miss Neville a friend of Padgett's?"
The answer was sharp and vehement. "No, señor. Never. Whatever the young man hopes, she is not for him. She is a snake, she is a sorceress. She is all evil. But he cannot be advised in this, for he will not believe such things about her."
Durell drew a deep breath. He looked up at the lighted window. There was no one else in sight at this hour, anywhere on the lavishly landscaped grounds of the Salamander. The wind whimpered in the shrubbery, rattled the palm fronds, blew sand from the crouching desert.
"Will you tell Calvin Padgett of me?" Durell asked.
"I cannot, señor. I do
"No, please! Not to her!"
"Why not?"
"I will be discharged," Miguel said slowly. "Are you also from the police? When I carried your suitcase, it was too light for a traveler. And your clothing is not the sort of clothing one wears in the desert. You have come from far away, suddenly, without preparation."
"You are an astute man," Durell said, nodding.
"But I wanted to be certain. I did not trust my thinking. I had to see for myself, with my own eyes. You are of the police, señor?"
"No," Durell said. "Not of those you have seen here before. Why should you be interested in me, whatever my clothing or luggage?" When the old man did not answer, Durell stood up, pretending impatience. "Come along. We will go to see Miss Neville."
"At this hour? It is three o'clock. She will be very angry."
"I, too, am angry," Durell said. "You are stupid. If you would trust me, we might each accomplish our mission successfully. Since you do not, we shall see what Miss Neville has to say."
The old man seemed about to speak, then was silent. He stood up as if he was tired in every bone of his old body. Durell was disappointed. He had suddenly been sure that Miguel was the contact Padgett had hoped to use to reach his sister when she arrived.
If
she arrived. But it was too much to hope for. Maybe the old man was merely a petty thief. He certainly was not working with Cora Neville, or acting under her direction. His reluctance to be taken to face her was genuine.
Durell slid his feet into his shoes and let the old Mexican precede him from the cottage. Overhead, the desert stars glittered and gleamed. The stars in their courses, unchanging, eternal, he thought. Not any more. His shoes grated on the fine gravel of the winding path that led past other dark cottages. There were lights still on in the central building of the Salamander layout, but only from the tall glass doors of the stone lobby entrance and one other window, which was partly shaded, on the third floor in the rear. The wind felt cold.
Durell halted. "Does Miss Neville live here all the time, Miguel?"
"She has a ranch in the Tiengas Hills. It is about twenty miles from here." The old Mexican's voice was suddenly harsh. "But that is her apartment, up there with the lighted window at the balcony you see. She is there now. With Senor West, no doubt."
"West?"
"He is the manager of the Salamander, but he is more than that to Miss Neville. Perhaps I should not say it, señor. It is not my business."
Durell said abruptly, "I understood she was in love with a young man named Calvin Padgett."
The name seemed to hang on the edge of the desert wind. There was a silence. Durell waited.
Miguel said, "Yes. He has been here several times."
"Then you know him?"
"He is a good young man."
"Do you know of his sister?"
Miguel's eyes were liquid white in the dark shadow of the shrubbery where they had halted. His breath made a soft hissing sound. "Senor, do not ask anything of me. I am a simple man. I do not understand all this. I have a feeling you may be a friend, but I cannot trust my feelings in this matter. I must do what I am told."
"Then you know where Calvin Padgett is?"
"The police also asked me that. I told them nothing. To them I am an ignorant old Mexican."
"But I am asking you. For Padgett's sister."
"I can tell you nothing."
"Would you consider Miss Neville a friend of Padgett's?"
The answer was sharp and vehement. "No, señor. Never. Whatever the young man hopes, she is not for him. She is a snake, she is a sorceress. She is all evil. But he cannot be advised in this, for he will not believe such things about her."
Durell drew a deep breath. He looked up at the lighted window. There was no one else in sight at this hour, anywhere on the lavishly landscaped grounds of the Salamander. The wind whimpered in the shrubbery, rattled the palm fronds, blew sand from the crouching desert.
"Will you tell Calvin Padgett of me?" Durell asked.
"I cannot, señor. I do
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