Read Online Puzzle of the Blue Banderilla by Stuart Palmer - Free Book Online Page B

“If during his vacation in our midst the Señor finds his pleasures”—the spokesman cleared his throat—“finds his pleasures interfered with by overvigilant officers, he has only to display this card!”
    “Thanks,” Piper said. “But I don’t see—”
    “We also wish to extend to you, señor, the most cordial invitation to make the jefatura here your home-away-from-home while in our city. As we say in Spanish, my house is your house. The unfortunate episode of last night is forgotten.” There was a chorus of smiles and nods from the other members of the committee.
    “Forgotten, is it?” The inspector managed a faint, one-sided smile. “Thanks. And any time you boys come up to New York City we’ve got some things we can show you too. Make you right at home in the back room …” He winced again under Miss Withers’ bony thumb.
    Then, as a parting gift, Captain de Silva handed over a wad of papers which looked familiar to Piper. “All in order, señor !”
    Oscar Piper ruffled them, then buttoned the identification papers carefully inside his coat. He was wearing a new, rather pleased expression. “So you did nab that girl, then? Found that I was right after all, didn’t you? She had swiped my papers trying to avoid arrest? Get a confession yet?”
    “A confession, señor ?”
    “You know,” he insisted. “The girl I wanted picked up as a suspect in the murder case at Nuevo Laredo.”
    “That matter, señor, is being taken care of by the lieutenant colonel personally, who flew north yesterday to investigate. An arrest is expected at any moment.”
    Piper found himself being escorted to the street door. “Good morning to you, señor. Good morning, señorita.”
    “Wait a minute,” objected the inspector. “If they haven’t picked up the Prothero girl, then how in blazes did they get my identification papers?”
    “Shhh,” Miss Withers counseled, hurrying him down the steps. “They got the papers from me.”
    “Now I know I’m nuts,” said Oscar Piper, all resistance gone. “And that crack the guy made about my feeling better this morning? I suppose that was your work too?”
    The schoolma’am nodded, led the way into a taxicab. “Yes, Oscar. Forgive me. But I thought they might be more apt to overlook your poking an officer in the eye if I insinuated that you were—er, just a teeny bit under the influence when you arrived on the train last night.”
    They rode on for some distance in comparative silence. Then the taxi came to a stop, remained there indefinitely.
    “This isn’t the Hotel Georges,” Miss Withers accused the driver. “I distinctly told you to drive to the Hotel Georges!”
    The chofer turned, said something about “la huelga” and shrugged. Then Miss Withers noticed that all other traffic was stopped. A parade came into view, several hundred extremely gay young men with bright placards and a few red flags. One group was doing its best to remember the words of the stirring “Internationale.” Sellers of fruit juice and sliced pineapple were doing a rousing business by running along the sides of the marching ranks, and the general atmosphere was one of holiday.
    “This can’t be May Day!” the inspector ejaculated. “Oh, I know. It must be that strike they were talking about on the train. Looks more like a Boy Scout parade. Anyway, we might as well get out and walk.”
    There was no room to walk anywhere but in the street, and so it was that Miss Withers and Inspector Piper came marching into the heart of Mexico City on the fringe of a Communista demonstration.
    Suddenly the street narrowed and changed its name, and Miss Withers peered into the doorway of a massive tile building. “It looks like a giftie shoppe combined with Grand Central,” she observed, “but I smell coffee.” They wandered through a silver shop, an art store, past counters filled with genuine “Made in Japan” Mexican curios, through a drugstore, a perfume shop, and a liquor counter,