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Show j. CARIBBEAN K CONSPIRACY.:! Ho luul tin1 Moil for n moment of orilei'lnu lilm to tiilm II nn.vwny, luul KiviiiK n little sound lulvlee while ho wn.s iloinn It. He lu-sltateii. Wlletix whs a iret(y nlliiu'tivo i-hnp niul omild prohiilily lioM his own. Miguel Mig-uel Vulern whs iittnictlve too, of eom.se. Still. Wilcox whs Umi;h enoiiKli to t:Ue it. "Suit yourself," he sniil. "If you eh:mi:e your mind, let me know. What have you not there? Sit down iiiui luive n cigarette." Tete put the two slips of pnpcr on the desk nnd snt down. A trnnsln-tion trnnsln-tion hnd been typed nt the bottom of eneh one. "Miguel Viileru nttended tho meeting of the Society of tho Spanish Span-ish Friends of the United States last nicht! I do not know of my own knowledge but it is said that he 1ms been in New York undertaking to organize nationalist sentiment for Puerto Rican independence to collaborate col-laborate with Central nnd South American groups under European fascist domination. Don Alvaro Va-lera Va-lera was not present nor was Diego Gongaro. Diego Gongaro has not been seen at any meeting since the toast was drunk to the fall of France." It was not signed, and was obviously obvi-ously written by an educated person. per-son. Colonel Fletcher looked at the second letter. "Miguel Valera visited the house of Sebastian Diaz, Caleta San Juan, at 11:25 and left at 12:46. S." "Sebastian Diaz?" he asked. "What do we have on him?" "He's the brother-in-law of the guy that stole the dynamite from Isla Grande," Pete said. "They live in TIIK SI'OHV SO FAN: Anne llywmit, br.-tnflhil il.-tulitrr wr;illliv Nt'v ork nt' sup'r publisher, Koo (n Puer. to Kirn on mi asslKiumMit (or hor l;ithor'i luivr. ,. i no on thi Island are IVto Wilcox, Wil-cox, a n-poiler on hor f;illnr'i p.iprr, now a I'. S. Army InirlllmMH'O ottU-cr; MUnol Valors, a 1'uorto Itlt-un edm-ulnl In lire I'lrUed Stales Nliosp outers to report re-port to an ni my ramp were abruptly ran-relied; ran-relied; Itlehard Taussig, an engineer uhose Identity as a German nnent Is nuspeeted but not yet proved; and Russell Vortor, a young Amerlean engineer, nnd his wife. Sue. Walking through the streets of San Juan, Anne has a feeling; she Is belut followed. Now she has Just nret Miguel Valera. CHAPTER IX Anne sipped the cool frosted daiquiri dai-quiri subtly blended with almond and rum that the waiter had put in front of them ns soon as they sat down. "Miguel," she said suddenly. "How strong is the Falange here?" He glanced nt her calmly. "It's been disbanded. Why do you ask?" "I wqs just wondering. Was your father a member of it?" "Most of the Spanish people here were." "Were you?" "Im not Spanish I'm Puerto Rican," Ri-can," he said with a smile. "What would you like to eat? You'd better get used to Spanish food gradually. What about some chicken soup and an omelette? I don't want you to have a stomach ache or to get fat." Anne could not tell when she first became aware of the woman in the black dress on the other side of the street. She was standing in front of a shop window, looking at them through the open arcade. Her eyes met Anne's now, and held them so intently that there was no possibility of being unaware un-aware of her any longer. It was not a hostile interest exactly, but it was not friendly in any sense. And most of the glances she'd met on the street had been very friendly Indeed heart-warmingly so, as a matter of fact. "The people of Puerto Rico are extremely loyal to the United States," Miguel was saying. "Independence "Inde-pendence isn't a burning issue, not now. Statehood, or some kind of dominion do-minion status " "Miguel!" She interrupted him abruptly. "Who is that girl across the street?" She realized at the same time that she didn't want to know, and that it was too late. He was turning around. Her heart died slowly. Why couldn't she have been a woman of the world? Or Latin . . . Pete Wilcox sat in the office of the Assistant Chief of Staff, G 2, at the General Headquarters of the Puerto Rican Department. He won-'. won-'. jered what the shades of the cowled monks who had read their breviaries and told their beads along the cool interior galleries would think if they knew. It didn't look much like a monastery now, with the clerical force trooping out and the staff officers offi-cers and uniformed soldiers closing up for the day. He looked at the clock. He was waiting for Colonel Fletcher to get back from a meeting meet-ing with the local representative of the F. B. I. He hadn't talked to Anne all day. She was out the three times he'd called. The message in front of him, that she'd meet him at the Granada at seven, was cold comfort, but it was comfort all the same. He couldn't get her out of his head. He lit a cigarette and opened the paper folder stamped "SECRET." There were two new items to go in it. One was brought in at noon by a taxi-driver, the other later lat-er by a ragged urchin who sold papers and lottery tickets. The whole thine was a good collection He i;rlnned nt her and gave, her hand n liltlo Nipicee. "What have you been doing nil day?" he asked tin soon iih he could get his vocal curds Ktrnlf.hlened out. The way she got In n car, nnd the way she sat In the corner slightly facing him, with her knees crossed, ns If she didn't cure where they were going or If they went nny placo nt nil, was something ha ulways waited for. "I've been sight-seeing, nnd I went to the Country Club for a swim this afternoon." "How's the story coming?" "What story?" "The story llawley sent you down to write." Anne looked up at him in surprise. sur-prise. "Did he tell you?" "No. You did." Pete grinned. "I was pretty sure of It anyway." "You're a pig, Captain Wilcox," Anne said. "As a matter of iact, I seem to have forgotten all about It- I'm glad you reminded me. Tell me about the Falange." "There isn't any. And if there was, it's been written so many times it's corny. I'll find you a story. You spend your time at the Country Club. It's cooler, and pleasanter." "And you used to be so nice," Anne said wearily. She hadn't paid any attention to where they were going until Pete turned down a narrow street lined with cars, the sidewalks full of people peo-ple standing aimlessly about. She realized suddenly that she was going go-ing to Mallorquina again. A sharp unhappy feeling of not wanting to go there with Pete just then did something odd to her throat. "You'll like this place," Pete said. A man on the sidewalk motioned him to an empty space and opened the door. "Local touch for that old louse Hawley of The New York Chronicle, Chroni-cle, Miss Heywood," Pete remarked taking her arm. "You give these birds a nickel and they watch your car all night. If you don't they cut your tires, or so I'm told." They were back again where she and Miguel had been with the girl watching them from across the street. The table they'd sat at was empty. Anne passed it quickly and went to one in the corner under the towering majolica vase. She sat down and glanced around so she wouldn't have to speak for a moment. mo-ment. It was funny how clear it had all been clearer than the present moment by far. The nostalgic sentimental senti-mental ballad a Mexican girl was singing with the orchestra heightened height-ened it sharply for her. The room was pleasantly crowded, gay and noisy. That seemed to heighten it too. Pete looked at her, worried. He'd thought she would like it, because he did. And she wasn't herself at all. He watched her eyes moving around the room, and saw them stop, darkening an instant as they reached the bar. He looked around. A man in a wrinkled white linen suit was standing there, his back to them. In the mirror Pate caught a glimpse of his face. He had seen them too, and turned to nod smilingly smiling-ly at Anne. His mouth reminded Pete of a barracuda, thin and cruel and fishy-white in the hard glare reflected from the spotlight on the chanteuse. His eyes were lost behind be-hind the thick lenses of his spectacles. specta-cles. "That's your friend and shipmate the eminent plumber, isn't it?" he remarked. "Sanitary engineer, Captain Wilcox," Wil-cox," Anne' retorted lightly. "And tourist extraordinary." She sipped her almond-flavored daiquiri. "What do we eat?" "Poella," Pete said. "It's everything every-thing they have in the sea with a shell on it, mixed up with rice and beans and stuff. And a lobster cocktail. cock-tail. This is the first place I've k ?x f t jT fplt "Who is that girl across the street?" two rooms in one of those old houses down there. He worked for a powder pow-der and explosive firm In New Jersey. Jer-sey. He's an old employee of the Valera Central, too." Colonel Fletcher took the folder and ran through the other items filed in it. He closed it and leaned back in his chair. "You went to that meeting last night?" Pete nodded. "He was there, all right. All the old boys cheered him like mad. He was about the only one they did, but he was the only one who didn't for less than three days, Pete thought grimly. If it weren't for Anne. Her face was there in the folder, looking up at him, wide-eyed and wilful . . . and very precious. "I'm going bats," he thought. He picked up the two sheets of cheap tablet paper. He was sick of all the spying ferrets, slinking around, reporting re-porting every move people made. Pete lit a cigarette. He heard Colonel Colo-nel Fletcher's quick firm tread coming com-ing along the gallery. He put the cigarette down and started to get up- "Sit down," Colonel Fletcher said. "Or bring that stuff and come in my office." He hung up his sun helmet and put his swagger stick on the chair. "What about a couple of weeks' leave, while Miss Heywood is here, Wilcox?" he said. He sat down at his desk and looked up pleasantly. pleasant-ly. "There are plenty of us to carry on." For an instant Pete's face brightened bright-ened as if he were six and had been given a toy plane that flew. Then he shook his head. "Thanks a lot, sir. I'd rather wait till later, if it's all right with you." Just offhand he couldn't remember remem-ber when he'd made a decision so totally opposed to his own best interests. in-terests. If it hadn't been for the folder in his hand he wouldn't have made it. If ne went on leave he would be out of touch with what was going on. If he stayed on the job, maybe he'd be able to soften the blow keep her, maybe, from getting hurt. Colonel Fletcher looked at him. make a long-winded harangue. Maybe May-be that's why." Colonel Fletcher smiled. "Maybe." "May-be." He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "What about your friend Taussig?" "I thought you'd called off the Hounds of Hell," Pete said sardonically. sardoni-cally. "I supposed you'd keep one eye open," Colonel Fletcher answered dryly. "It's a little delicate. If he finds out we're on his trail there'll be a political uproar. If he did find it out, it would practically prove it, of course. Innocent people don't know they're being watched." "Then I've got an unofficial green light?" Pete asked. "Orange," said Colonel Fletcher. "Just before the red one comes on. It may land you on fatigue duty somewhere in Montana. That's your problem. I won't know anything about it. Okay?" "Okay, sir." Pete got up. "Then let's go and have a drink. You're sure you wouldn't like to take a couple of weeks leave instead?" in-stead?" "Damned sure, sir." Anne settled comfortably down in the front seat of Pete's car and took a long relaxed breath. "This is wonderful, Peter," she said. And it was. It was the warm effortless ef-fortless feeling she always had when she was with him. She felt the same way when she came home after aft-er being away all summer, curling her feet up under her in front of a winter night in the country ever had all the lobster I could eat." "What about Maine?" "I've never been to Maine." , Mr. Taussig had moved around to the end of the bar and was watching watch-ing them. Pete could see him reflected re-flected in the mirrored pillar under the clock. "Tell me about Taussig, Anne," he said. "I thought you knew everything that's what you told me." " Then she does know something," some-thing," Pete thought. Maybe it wasn't Valera after all. "I saw your friend Miguel at the meeting last night," he remarked. He said it casually, to see how she'd take it but he hadn't expected her to take it the way she did. She looked at him blankly, her lips parted a little, the color receding re-ceding from her face. She put her glass down. "Miguel at the Falange? Are you sure, Pete?" "It's not the Falange," he said. "It's the Sociedad del Amigos del Estados Unidos." "But you said last night " "I was just being funny." "No, you weren't" she retorted. The color had come back into her face in two hot bright spots. "Look, Pete. You've got to tell me. Do you think " "I never think," Pete said placidly. placid-ly. "I'm in the Army. We're not allowed to " "Stop it Pete!" Her voice was low and tense. She was leaning forward, her eyes wide, and getting dark and hot "I've got to know." (TO BE CONTINUED) |