West of Guam (61 page)

The Island detective went slowly towards an exit from the cock fight arena. The crowd milled around the dry ground beyond the entrance, chattering excitedly.
Calesos
and noisy, battered cars were making sound. Cardoro was not in sight, but there was talk of him. A well-dressed Chinese near Jo stated to his companion that the great one had lost much money. He had backed Riazo to the limit. Such a bet had not been made in many Sundays.

Jo Gar moved slowly to his
caleso,
nodded to the driver, who drowsed on the seat. Señor Ronisa passed close to the
caleso,
spoke cheerfully to Jo.

“I was lucky,” the fat one stated. “I have won many
pesos.
But most have lost.”

Jo Gar’s eyes were very small. He placed a Panama carefully over his gray hair.

“It is not good—when most lose,” he said quietly.

The fat one shrugged. “It is good for the few who win,” he replied. “The winning is greater.”

Jo Gar smiled a little, climbed into the
caleso.
The driver lifted the reins and spoke shrilly to the ancient horse. Jo said in a toneless voice:

“And the hating of the losers is greater.”

He closed his eyes and relaxed in the seat. The
caleso
jerked forward and the light wind fanned greater heat against his face. When he opened his blue-gray eyes they were smiling. But the smile was a hard one, and very thoughtful.

Sadi Ratan frowned across the few feet of Jo Gar’s office that separated the two. He looked cool despite the heat; his khaki uniform was spotless, well pressed. He said with a slight accent, speaking in English. “You have perhaps seen that the magician, Cardoro, is dead, murdered?”

Jo Gar leaned back in the wicker chair. He nodded very slowly. “Yes,” he replied.

The Manila police lieutenant’s frown deepened. There was a short silence broken by the whistle of small craft on the Pasig.

“The crime was committed by the American, Markden,” Sadi Ratan announced. “The gambler, Markden. He has been in difficulty before this. He has vanished. The Constabulary has been notified.”

Jo Gar smiled pleasantly. “Is that so?” he said thoughtfully. “So it was Markden who knifed Señor Cardoro?”

Lieutenant Ratan nodded again. He stood erect, but did not smile. “That is the way it was,” he stated. “He had been betting against Markden three nights since he has arrived here. Large sums. He had lost each time. Last evening he made a big bet. It was Sunday and he had little money. He agreed to cable his bank in Australia this morning, if he lost. He lost and he refused to pay. At dusk tonight he was knifed to death by Markden in his room at the Manila Hotel. Markden escaped, but he will be caught.”

The Island detective continued to smile. “Of course,” he said simply.

There was another silence, and during it Sadi Ratan watched Jo closely.

“The knife we have not found. Perhaps it was not a knife. Beside the body was a blood-stained spur such as the cocks fight with. A knife spur. The wounds were on the back of the neck—many of them. The spinal column was struck. Markden was seen drinking very much at six o’clock. He talked of what he would do to Cardoro if he failed to pay. Perhaps it was that he fastened the silver spur to wood, and used it that way. He entered the room while Cardoro was sleeping. There was no struggle. Cardoro was stunned with the first blow and before he staggered from the bed to die on the floor. Markden had struck many others. Then he fled.”

Jo Gar lighted a brown-paper cigarette. “Why did Señor Cardoro refuse to pay his bet?” he asked, after a short time.

Lieutenant Ratan smiled a little.

“He had been told, before the cock fights, that the champion bird, Riazo, had been drugged. The fight was not fair. Markden had bribed the Filipino who cared for Riazo.”

Jo Gar smiled with his eyes almost closed. “Why did he not cancel his bet?” he asked.

Sadi Ratan shrugged. “Perhaps he was not sure. Perhaps Markden would not allow it. The fight was not a good one. Riazo did not attack. Cardoro refused to pay. Markden drank saké and thought about it. He murdered the magician.”

Jo Gar looked at the ceiling fan that whirled at slow speed, spreading tepid air around the small office.

“A foolish man,” he observed. “He knew that murdering Cardoro would not get him the money he had won. He knew that leaving the knife spur behind would betray him. He knew that running away would make matters worse. Yet he did all three of these things.”

Sadi Ratan smiled narrowly. “He hated,” he said simply. “It is a hot country. He drank and he brooded. Perhaps he did not
intend
to leave the spur behind. He fled when he discovered it was lost, or when he sobered. He knew the police would think of him.”

“And they
did
think of him,” Jo said pleasantly.

Lieutenant Ratan frowned again. “I attended the cock fights and was near Cardoro. I saw Markden mock him, jeer at him. And I heard the magician call out ‘I will not—’ I knew that he meant he would not pay his bet.”

The Island detective nodded. “It was fortunate you were so near,” he observed. “After the murder you thought instantly of Markden. You questioned the bird handlers and learned that Riazo had perhaps been drugged and was unfit to fight, and that Cardoro had been warned of this fact. You have had the red on the spur knife analyzed and you know that it is human blood. It is common knowledge that Cardoro was betting heavily. Markden has vanished. Thus, he is the murderer.”

Sadi Ratan’s dark eyes had widened. They narrowed now. He spoke in a tone of triumph.

“That is so.”

Jo Gar inhaled deeply on his cigarette. He regarded the police lieutenant with faint interest, reached for the palm leaf fan that was on the desk near his chair.

“And it being so, why do you visit me?” he asked softly.

The police lieutenant smiled, his white teeth showing.

“The Señor Markden was seen with you, not long before the hour of the first cock fight,” he said slowly and clearly. “You were walking along the bank of the Pasig, talking seriously. You were seen by the police.”

Jo Gar chuckled. “One never knows who watches,” he said half to himself. His blue-gray eyes narrowed on the dark ones of the younger man. “It is true. We walked and talked together.”

Sadi Ratan smiled coldly. “I think I should know what you talked about,” he said.

The Island detective said thoughtfully “I think you should. Señor Markden wished me to learn if the cock fight—the final one—was to be honest. He stated that he had a large sum of money involved.”

He paused and after a few seconds Sadi Ratan said impatiently:

“Well—did you accept the commission?”

Jo Gar nodded. “I made inquiries. I did my best. And I reported to him during the cock fights.”

Sadi Ratan said, “You learned that the bird Cardoro was betting on was unfit to fight?”

The Island detective shook his head. “I reported to Markden that I felt the birds were evenly matched physically. It would be a matter of skill.”

Sadi Ratan’s brown face showed red color. He swore in Filipino. He said thickly:

“I do not think—”

He checked himself. Jo Gar smiled. “That I tell you the truth?” he asked quietly.

The police lieutenant’s body was tense.

“You are protecting an American. You have always protected them. You like them. He was your client.” Jo shrugged his narrow shoulders.

“I was not paid that well,” he said with irony. “I doubt that I could ever be paid that well. Riazo was not drugged. You have no proof of it.”

Sadi Ratan said hotly, “I stood over Juan Derigo when he told me—”

Jo chuckled again. “A Filipino does not like to be beaten,” he said. “He preferred to let you think as you wished.”

The police lieutenant said, “It will not be good for you to protect Markden, Señor Gar. When we have caught him—”

The Island detective fanned himself. His smile was gone and he said slowly:

“The birds were in condition. Each of them. Riazo was defeated. That is all.”

Sadi Ratan said excitedly, “It is not all. Markden was betting against Cardoro. Cardoro stood up and shouted that he would not pay. I saw Markden’s face—there was hate in his eyes. And Cardoro was murdered. A spur knife was used. Markden has vanished. We have searched the city for him. He is the killer of the magician!”

Jo Gar sighed. “Then it is all very simple,” he said quietly. “You will find him, and that will be the end.”

His calmness infuriated the police lieutenant. He said fiercely:

“And you will be brought to trial for lying to me, a police officer!”

Jo Gar placed the palm leaf fan on the desk. It was almost midnight. He said thoughtfully:

“He was murdered at dusk—that would be about eight-thirty. You have been searching for the American for three hours. That would give the
real
murderer sufficient time to travel far.”

Sadi Ratan swore again. He pointed a brown finger at Jo.

“We will not accept the alibi that you establish for the American,” he said. “Remember that.”

Jo Gar smiled pleasantly. “That is unfortunate,” he said.

The police lieutenant went to the office door, turned and faced the Island detective.

“Markden was seen on the grounds of the Manila Hotel, at eight-fifteen,” he stated grimly. “The sun was very low over the Bay. He was seen by several servants. And then he was not seen again. At the time he was seen the magician was in his room, sleeping. There is a porch through which one may enter.”

Jo smiled cheerfully. “In a hot country the screened porch is desirable,” he said softly.

Sadi Ratan pointed a finger at him again. His voice was rising as he spoke.

“It will be bad for you,” he warned. “A murderer is a murderer.” Jo Gar leaned back in the wicker chair and closed his almond-shaped eyes.

“It is so,” he agreed almost tonelessly. “And I think it would be wise for you to find this one.”

Sam Markden sat slumped on the bench that faced the door of the dully lighted hut. A faint, hot breeze rustled the thatch roof. Markden seemed smaller than ever; his eyes moved at every sound. He was perspiring heavily. He spoke in a thick voice, softly and unsteadily.

“I tell you—they’ll get me. They hate me in Manila. The fight was on the level. Maybe some haven’t been in the past. This one was. They’ll get me and frame me. You’ve got to do something, Señor Gar.”

Jo Gar shook his head. “I have not got to do something,” he corrected. “But your position is unfortunate. The police will not even believe me when I tell them you wished me to learn if the cock fight was to be fair. They will laugh at that. If I told them Cardoro had asked me that—they would have believed. But
you
—”

He checked himself. Somewhere beyond the hut on the edge of Manila, a dog howled. Markden shivered. Jo Gar said slowly and firmly:

“You have sent for me—you trust me. Do not trick me. Did you murder Cardoro?”

Markden sat up straight and struck clenched hands together. “No—no!” he said desperately. “I threatened him, yes. That was in the afternoon. But I didn’t kill him. I went to the hotel grounds, to talk to him again, just before dusk. But I was afraid to trust myself. I didn’t see him. I went away. Then word reached me of what had happened. I hid out here—and sent for you.”

Jo nodded. “It was difficult for me to reach you without being followed,” he said. “The police are watching me carefully.”

The American groaned. “They’ll get me,” he breathed. “I’d won from Cardoro. So much that I wanted this last fight to be absolutely fair. It had to be, or I knew he’d squeal. That’s why I went to you.”

Jo frowned. “It’s a bad alibi, in any case. In this case—it’s impossible.”

Markden covered his soaked face with both palms and rocked on the bench.

The dog howled again. Jo Gar said:

“You do not know of any enemies Cardoro might have had?”

Markden removed his hands, shook his head. “I didn’t know him well. He was just a man with money, who wanted to bet.”

The Island detective frowned. “You drank—and talked. Made threats before others?”

Markden’s eyes were staring beyond Jo. “I drank saké. But I didn’t make any threats. Only to Cardoro, and we were alone. I was careful not to make threats.”

Jo sighed. “It is difficult,” he said. “It was a good thing for someone who hated him enough to kill—this hatred of yours. But if we do not know the one who could have made use of it—”

He broke off. Markden muttered “Bilibid—I’ll hang for it! They won’t believe me.”

Jo Gar half closed his eyes. He said in a calm voice:

“If
you
hang for it—
I
will be forced to leave the Islands. I think you are telling the truth. I do not wish to leave Manila. You do not wish to hang. You will stay here and I will do what I can.”

Markden stared at him with bloodshot eyes.

“But what can you do?” he muttered. “All the evidence is against me. All that they have.”

Jo Gar rubbed moist fingers together and smiled grimly down at the gambler.

“Perhaps there will be some evidence they do
not
have,” he said softly. “There is a chance.”

The American said bitterly “It’s a hell—of a chance!”

Jo Gar drew a deep breath, shrugged. “Even a
hell
of a chance is worth while,” he observed steadily and softly, and went cautiously from the thatch-roofed hut.

The girl said, “It seems to me it’s pretty late for me to have to talk about—this terrible thing.”

Jo Gar stepped inside the large, high-ceilinged room, smiled apologetically.

“It is so, Miss Rayne,” he said. “It is almost one o’clock. I am sorry.” The girl stood aside as he moved to the center of the room. There was moonlight beyond the Manila Hotel, on the water of the Bay. The girl was pretty, but her mouth and eyes were hard. She said huskily:

“I’ve been questioned—by the police.”

The Island detective nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I suppose so. I am not of the police.”

She watched him very closely. “I know. You’re Señor Gar, a private detective.”

Jo bowed slightly. The girl said: “Markden did this terrible thing. I was to have—married—Dario—next week—”