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Show ' !! BLACK IbK StTy CLIFFORD KNIGHT 1 Elsa Chatfield, Hollywood artist, It disinherited dis-inherited by her Aunt Kitty, who died from an overdose of morphine. Hunt Rogers and Barry Madison go to Mazatlan, Mazat-lan, Mexico, to solve what they believe to be Kitty Chatfield's murder. On arrival ar-rival they find that ELsa's party had preceded pre-ceded them by plane. During a fiesta at the ranch of Sam Chatfield (Elsa's father) fa-ther) James Chesebro is murdered. Lorn-bardo, Lorn-bardo, chief of Mexican police, arrests Reed Barton. Chatfield promises to use his Influence to get Barton out. The party goes on a fishing trip for mafliin, and on their return decide to. visit Reed Barton. He has already been freed. They decide to go swordflshlng next day In the Pacific rollers. CHAPTER Xni "Did you heai? that Reed Barton has been released?" he asked. "Yes. He's now dancing with Elsa at the hotel here." "It was too early to arrest him or anybody else, for that matter," he said. A friendly hand struck me lightly on the shoulder and I turned about to discover Dwight Nichols. Sam Chatfield was with him. "Still sleuthing, you two?" Dwight asked, and when Rogers repeated the observation he had just made to me, Dwight laughed. "Why not have a table? The night's young, and the beer's good." So we moved to a table and ordered or-dered a round of beer. As the mozo set the order on the table, a stocky figure in a huge black sombrero shoved in and sat down in the remaining re-maining vacant seat. "Hello, fellows." rasped the husky voice of George Rumble. "Mind if I set down with you white guys? I get fed up with these Mexicans. Maybe all this around me is glamour, glam-our, but I think it's the bunk." "Every fellow to his own taste," remarked Sam Chatfield. "I love Mexico." "I don't. I wish I was heading home tomorrow." "What's keeping you?" I asked, striving for a humorous jibe. There was a hurt expression in Bumble's eyes as if I had struck him an unexpected blow, and I apologized apol-ogized for the remark. "Oh, I know you mean it all right, Barry," he replied. "Maybe I have hollered too much about this town. I guess it's true what they say; when you leave the good old U.S.A. you can't expect the same service. We're tops in everything. But since you ask me, there's only one thing that's keeping me. That's Elsa." "Elsa?" echoed Sam Chatfield, turning to Rumble questioningly. . "Yes. You know, Chatfield, if I had a Chinaman's chance -with her, I'd soon be calling you Poppa." An extraordinary expression flickered flick-ered briefly in Sam Chatfield's round, tanned face. Dwight laughed. "I mean it," insisted Rumble. "Elsa is the swellest little person I've ever met, and I've been around quite a bit." He turned abruptly and glared at Dwight. "What are yoU laughing at?" he demanded. "I never was a guy to hide what I think and feel. H I love Elsa I'm going to say so. But I know I haven't got a chance. If Elsa was my wife, though, I wouldn't be a cheater, like some fellows." He plunged a hand into the pocket of his brown- slacks and drew forth a billfold, opened it, took out a hundred hun-dred dollar bank note and dropped it in front of Dwight. "I don't want it," he said. Dwight Nichols half rose in his chair; his face had drained of its color underneath his tan. His fists were clenched and his lips set tight. An angry light was in his eyes and the next moment he would have launched himself upon Rumble, who continued to sit, a scornful look on his face, glaring at Dwight. "Gentlemen!" warned Sam Chatfield Chat-field sharply. "Don't forget yourselves." your-selves." "I haven't," Rumble reminded him. Dwight sank down into his seat; his hands dropped trembling upon the table. "And I suppose," Rumble continued, preparing to leave, "that you'd rather I got out." He glared about the table as if we all were his enemies. "Well, I'll go." He stood up. His eyes caught the gaze of Rogers. "Hunt," he said, "I ain't got anything against you. I'm wise to some things you'd like to know. You want to know who killed the Chatfield woman, wom-an, and who killed Chesebro. I'll see you later; it'll interest you to hear what I can tell you." Rumble pushed away from our table, pulled his enormous black sombrero down upon his forehead, and walked through the crowded bar and out into the night. No one spoke until the door had closed behind be-hind him. Then Sam Chatfield said, 'Extraordinary person." "Yes, isn't he?" Dwight agreed nervously. He picked up the bank note, folded it precisely and slipped it into his pocket. His gaze swept about to include all of us. He bit his lips slightly, then said, "Well, Rumble has made it necessary for rre to explain something." "Not if you don't feel like doing it, Dwight," I counseled. He brushed my remark aside with an impatient gesture. "I'll be brief." His voice was crisp. "I was the man who ran from Kitty Chatfield's house the evening eve-ning she died the panicky man and not Reed Barton. Rumble lied the other night, damn him, when he said it was Reed. I knew that he knew it was I, out I couldn't fathom why he lied about it. I thought, though, thai It was for blackmail. Anyway, I gave him the hundred yesterday, and he asked, 'What's that for?' and I said, Think it over." I thought everything was all right, and that he'd be quiet, or else raise the ante on me if he thought it was worth more than that." "But blackmail " began Rogers. "Yes, I know, Hunt. I'm the last person in the world to submit to that, but you don't know Margaret. I'd rather cut my own throat than have her suspect me of any wrongdoing; wrong-doing; I wouldn't deceive her for worlds. I never have. There was never anything between me and Kitty Kit-ty Chatfield, except a friendship. But I never could explain to Margaret Mar-garet why I was at Kitty's that evening. eve-ning. She thought I was at the Explorer's Ex-plorer's Club meeting. As a matter mat-ter of fact I did go to the meeting. Kitty telephoned me there and asked me to come over at once; she said she needed my advice about something. It was urgent, but she wouldn't tell me what it was on the telephone. And I never did find out, because she was dead when I got there. I'd entered without with-out knocking, stumbled over the body on the floor. I heard some- His fists were clenched and his lips set tight. body moving around upstairs. Someone Some-one came in at the front door Margaret has since said that it was she and I did get panicky. I ran out. I didn't stop running until I was up the street a way. Perhaps I passed Rumble; he says I did. I don't know." He ended his confession, plunged his hand into his pocket for his cigarettes, and lighted one before any of us could speak. The rhythmical beat of the ship's engines filled my waking consciousness. conscious-ness. For some minutes in the faint light of dawn I lay looking at the humped figure of Huntoon Rogers in the opposite bunk, not realizing what it was or why there was the sound of the engines. Finally I roused completely, got up and looked out of the porthole, and there before my eyes, fading in the morning mists, was the sleeping town of Mazatlan. "Oh, yes,". I muttered to myself, returning to my bunk, "we're going fishing." And so we were. At last Dwight Nichols was to indulge in the sport that had brought him so far from home, and which had suffered interruption inter-ruption and delay by what had happened hap-pened on shore at Mazatlan. Not until after breakfast, however, did Mazatlan and all it stood for fall away from me like a cloak dropped from the shoulders, and I became a part of the Orizaba and a member of a fishing party. Margaret looked up from her plate as breakfast drew to a close, and exclaimed, "Why, Where's George Rumble?" For a moment no one replied, and then Arturo, the flat-faced Filipino Fili-pino who served, spoke apologetically. apologetical-ly. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Nichols. The gentleman in question do not come aboard las' night, as you say for him to do." Sam Chatfield was talkative, more so than at any time yet in my brief acquaintance with him. "You and Elsa are quite good friends, ' aren't you?" he observed sociably, as he watched Dwight paying pay-ing out the teaser, a cunningly carved and pivoted piece of wood which began to leap and wriggle and twist like a crazy fish in the choppy water. "Look to starboard, gentlemen," sang out Reed Barton, pointing in the direction. "A collection of fins, or I'm mistaken." "Where?" demanded Sam Chat field eagerly, swinging about in his swivel chair. "About two hundred yards," Dwight estimated, motioning to the man at the wheel to change our course slightly to cross in front of our quarry. Suddenly the three dorsal 5ns cutting cut-ting the water near by disappeared. We crossed and re-crossed what we deemed to be the area where they might be found, but there was no sign. We stood in closer to the larger larg-er of the rocky islets. Something struck on Dwight's tackle, and was gone again. He reeled in and found part of his bait bitten off and he set to work to sew on another. Before Be-fore he had finished Rogers called out as he had done in the bay at Mazatlan, "Thar she blows!" A great silvery fish a quarter of a mile or so nearer the shore line leaped clear of the water, seemed to walk on its tail and fell back with a splash visible from our small launch. "They're here, gentlemen," declared de-clared Sam Chatfield with satisfaction. satisfac-tion. "It wouldn't be according to best tradition, however, to catch our fill the first half hour we're out. That isn't fishing. Although the last time I was here we took three in a short afternoon. That's " He gripped his rod as his reel whined; something had struck hard. "That's it, Sam!" shouted Dwight "That's a marlin." "Yes, I think so, Dwight." He let the line run out, then his body suddenly stiffened. He checked his reel and pulled hard to sink his hook. A veritable submarine explosion ex-plosion followed at the end of his line, and away the line went for a long run. while Sam Chatfield settled set-tled down in his seat, the muscles about his mouth set hard, his eyes intent upon the area of blue water in which hfs marlin must be. "Oh oh, fellows," shouted Reed Barton. "I've got something. 'Tisn't a marlin, though. "So have I," echoed Rogers. They each had hooked a mackerel of five or six pounds, and were proceeding pro-ceeding to reel them in when suddenly sud-denly Sam Chatfield's marlin came to life. The swivel chair under him groaned and creaked as he braced himself to hold the giant fish in its desperate threshings below the surface. sur-face. Little by little he had reeled it in close, but it was not yet ready for the gaff. Suddenly the dorsal fin of a marlin appeared close by the launch, drawn, as we were soon to realize, by the rushes of the two mackerel. "Look, fellows," Reed Barton shouted. "He's after my fish!" Indeed it was; the long sharp sword was pointed in the direction of Reed's fish, now fighting at the surface. With an incredible rush the marlin was upon it, striking it with his sword. It was Rogers who first realized the danger we were in; he called a warning. "I don't like that thing too near, Dwight." He started vigorously vig-orously to reel in his own catch. The next moment I saw two wicked little turquoise blue eyes rising through the water, gleaming like sparkling gems as they caught the rays of the sun. And then something some-thing happened. We were a long time piecing together to-gether exactly what occurred in the next few seconds of time. We went over and over it to make sure that we were correct in the sequence of events, and to the best of our belief this is what occurred: Sam Chatfield's Chat-field's marlin put on the brakes only a few feet, perhaps, below the surface sur-face and not far from the launch. Sam, thereupon, sat back hard in his chair, and the swivel mechanism mecha-nism beneath him gave way and he fell suddenly to the deck. The marlin mar-lin must then have executed a turn and headed back toward his enemy in the- launch. This accident at the height of the excitement which gripped us, with two marlin being played, and Rogers Rog-ers and Reed Barton both reeling in smaller catches, which of a' sudden sud-den were being pursued by a hungry marlin, was bewildering. Sam Chatfield Chat-field appeared to scramble to his feet; he had thought only for his fish. But the breaking chair underneath un-derneath him and his abrupt fall dislodged the butt of his rod from its le'ather socket, which struck him a hard blow in the pit of the stomach, stom-ach, for he grunted sharply as if his breath had been knocked partly from him. He had sufficient strength to get to his feet and presence of mind to keep a firm gryp on his rod -with a single hand, but as he rose to his feet he was off balance. The launch was pitching in the small chop of the waves, and of a sudden, before we could lift a hand, he toppled over the stern into the water. So startling was this, and so quickly quick-ly did it happen, that no one even so much as cried out At the same time Rogers had risen to his feet in a desperate effort to swing his small fish from the water out of the reach of the pursuing marlin. There was a final short rush of a huge torpedolike torpedo-like body rising from below, a mighty splashing as Sam Chatfield came gasping to the surface of the water, and the huge marlin he had been playing was upon him. Before our horrified gaze the long rapier-like rapier-like bdny sword drove directly through Sam Chatfield's chest frora front to back. STO BE CONTINUED) |